My 7th Mother's Day

Days. Days. Days.

We all have them. Some are good. Some are bad. Some are just normal. You know, the not stand-out-forever-in-our-memory kind of days. Days that just evaporate into history without any indelible impression.

Pick up a calendar from last year and randomly pick a day in May. Pick a Tuesday. Or a Thursday. Don't pick a birthday. Or anniversary. Or anything special. Just pick a random day. What were you doing that day? Was it cloudy? Did your husband take the garbage out? Did the kids clean their rooms? Did you get all your housework done?

Yeah. You can't remember. Can you?

But maybe it was a random, normal day that you chose to make extraordinary. You took your kids and included them in a project around the house. And then typical you, who isn't organized or remembers to record things, forgot to write the fun day on the calendar. But your kids remembered. They still talk about it. Yeah, you could've gotten the job done so much faster by yourself but really, it wouldn't have been worth it. TIME with your kids was worth it.

TIME making memories is what makes doing chores important. It's not the act of the chore that's a success; it's the concept learned, the wisdom shared, the vision passed down and the sense of accomplishment celebrated that we aim for in training our kids. A clean room is NOT the goal. That's just a bonus.

In the moment, it feels daunting and tiresome. But so many of our entire DAYS will be forgotten in our memory. They'll just fall into the Mundane and Normal file where all everyday days go.

But today happens only ONCE. My baby is only 4 months, 1 week and 3 days old TODAY. Tomorrow she will be 4 months, 1 week and FOUR days old. Yeah it's only one day but pile those days up a little and pretty soon you have 30. Or 365. Or more.

Perspective is everything though. Like my laundry for instance. It's clean (score). It's all in the laundry room (score). In baskets (score). But it's unfolded. Fail.

But I decided that since we have a laundry room, what else should be in it but laundry. Right?

This weekend was fun. One of those "Ah, now I remember why I love being a mom" weekends. My husband doted on me. My kids were.... well, my kids. And my baby added a few more ounces of fatness to her luscious rolls. My house is pretty much a mess (but the garage is clean) and the laundry has maxed out the very last laundry basket I own.

But I don't care.

Because a year from now, I won't remember that I didn't have all our laundry folded and put away. But I will remember all the fun we had just being together.

Happy Mother's Day!

www.31daystoclean.com

The next thing on my reading list. Wait. What's a reading list? The only kind of list I have is a "to-do list." A to-do list of things that never seem to make it to the "done" list.

Well. Maybe THIS is what I need to get a DONE LIST to replace every one of my TO-DO LISTS.

Except for learning how to clean your house, I have no idea what this book is about. And no, that was not just a disjointed disclaimer. Or was it?

But since it was FREE (if I blogged about it) and my house is pretty much anything but clean and the subtitle says, "Have a Martha house the Mary way" and my blog subtitle talks something about Martha and Mary (you know, that Bible verse up there? Yeah. You know what I mean) and my house is pretty much anything but clean and I'm pretty much a Mary-wanna-be but stuck in a Martha mode and my house is anything but clean, I thought all 27 of those reasons were good enough to advertise this book on my blog despite the fact that I have yet to read it.

Okay. THAT was a disjointed disclaimer.

Ahem.

Have I mentioned my house is pretty much anything but clean?

I do supper dishes after 11:00pm.

I fold laundry only to put it in a basket and leave it there because that's the exact amount of time I have to do laundry.

I clean my bathroom because government officials would start making visits to my house if I let the bathroom go one more week day.

I mop the kitchen floor only because the dog was sick all over it.

I don't take pregnancy tests because not puking while mopping up a kitchen floor that had a sick dog on it proves that I am not pregnant.

(okay, that last reason was random.)

I have never scrubbed my diningroom floor. Ever. My MIL did it once when she was visiting. That was 4 months ago though. So I guess it's time.

I still haven't written all my "Thank You" cards for people who so kindly shared gifts with us when Korynne was born. I've only written 2. Oh wait. Make that 3 thank you cards successfully written. That dining room floor that got scrubbed once? Yeah....

I only scrub the shower after I bathe the dog anymore.

I've only bathed our 4 year old dog once.

I grow science experiments in my fridge.

As if I didn't have enough laundry to do, I decided to cloth diaper my baby. Which has been a wonderful choice. Actually. I'll tell you about that later. Maybe. IF I get my to-do list done....

And last but not least, I NEVER blog. Ever. Anymore. At all.

So maybe if I had a clean house, I'd have more time. To blog and write thank you's and stuff.

I'm the type of person that if you dropped in on me and my house was a mess, I wouldn't be able to sit and casually visit until I at least got the living room picked up. But since I know that might make my guest feel bad for stopping in unannounced, I ignore the impulse to tidy the room. And then with all the courage and strength and will power that I have left after 4 natural and unmedicated child births (please don't ask why I did that), I force myself to SIT. But I HATE sitting when the room I'm sitting in that I'm responsible for, is a mess.

I would love to be able to relax and be stress free in a messy house that's mine. I pray that God would make me content with clutter and messes. But He refuses to answer my prayers in this department.

So I guess I'm gonna give THIS book a try. You should check it out too. :)

In Which She Complains About A Good Life...

It's Monday and I feel grumpy.

So I sat down and started thinking about how horrible my life really is. And all the reasons why I'm allowed to complain and have a bad attitude.

#1: I'm tired. I was up a lot with a baby last night. And the night before. And all the nights before that since December 28th of last year. A baby that wanted to eat and add to her squeezable, kissable rolls of soft, baby fat. The nerve! What's so bad about a healthy eating baby and the ability to provide nourishment for the fat little thing? Some couples don't even have a baby.

So IF I didn't have a baby and had no hope of ever getting one, THEN I could be in a bad mood.

#2: My house is a wreck. When I look at the cause of each mess, I see a consistent trend. Toys, dirt, remote controlled car, a little red boot, dolls, scraps of papers decorated with 5-year-old penmanship, a tiny sock, an art project... on and on it goes. Clearly, there are children in this house and obviously, the children are healthy, robust and lively. Why would I complain about normal, healthy kids when some parents are sitting in a big sterile hospital watching their sick, weak child lay in a hard white bed with cords and wires and noisy alarms that constantly flash information confirming the sickness of their beloved child? That mom would give anything to trip over a pile of toys in the middle of the dining room.

So IF one of my kids were sick and perishing from an illness only known by a handful of highly educated specialists, THEN I could be in a bad mood.

#3: My husband doesn't understand. If he did understand, he would just do the laundry. And home school the kids. And wash the dishes. And offer to make supper. But would he really? Just because he doesn't offer to do all that stuff, doesn't mean he doesn't care. He's a guy. Not one iota in his body is geared towards being a housewife. If I wanted a Superwoman for a husband, I should've married something else. And besides, when I ask him to help, he readily jumps up and gets a job done without complaining. His smiles affirm me and his love supports me. I'm a mom to four kids but only because their dad is the man he is. Some women have the kids but no support from a man who's there for her every step of the way.

So IF I had a family with no real father, THEN I could be in a bad mood.

The bottom line is I have a sturdy, warm house, sun streaming through my energy efficient windows, a troop of healthy and adventurous kids, a strong and loving husband and a cute, fat baby wrapped in a pink blanket, topped with a soft tuft of dark, messy hair.

My freezer is full of food (no excuse for not being able to cook), my wash machine and dryer work (when I do get a load put through), the toilet, sinks and shower all function properly (even if they do need to be cleaned) and a vacuum and broom work wonders (when they do finally get used).

Why am I complaining then?

That's a very good question.

Cherishing the Chaos

For some reason, I always had this lofty idea that being a mom meant reading good quality books to your kids, tucking them in at night with heirloom quilts and admiring their cherubic faces as they slept on soft, fluffy pillows covered in happy colored pillow cases.

What I didn't know was that good quality books quickly turn into well used and over-read-dog-eared-paged stacks of paper that used to be bound in those novel things call "books."

And as for tucking the said kids at night, using heirloom quilts on beds that tend to be frequently washed, is a recipe for extinguishing all heirloom quilts from our generation. Besides, whatever type of blanket or covering you use to tuck your kids in at night with, that article of bed clothing soon takes on an heirloom look with all the washings and forts and tents and tug-a-war games that it ends up being used for.

I never realized how drab looking the brightly colored pillow cases get with many washings. Or the bloody-nose stains that are sure to happen. Or how long it takes for their faces to become cherubic looking after they finally lay their sweet heads on the fluffy pillows. I didn't realize that drinks and bathroom runs and "Mom! I'm scared" and "DAAAAAADDDDDYYYYY! There's a lion in my room" sobs that would trail out the dimly lit bedroom doors long after bedtime. Oh, and the spiders that always appear right at bedtime, right along with those lions.

But the smiles these kids greet you with just after the rising of the sun the next morning, now THAT'S what motherhood is all about. And the hugs and the snuggles. And the "Mom, I wuv you so much!" are the words that put perspective on each trying circumstance that may happen between morning and bedtime.

And someday, I just know, our bookshelves will be lined with pleasantly bound books. And brightly colored pillowcases will grace the heirloom quilted beds. And I'll go to bed at night and my house will be quiet and the chatter and cries from those toy-strewn bedrooms will be silent. No spiders or lions will plague my quiet evening. And I'll be able to relax, put my feet up and not have to endure the endless era of bedtime that used to happen every night.

Then the next morning, I will greet the day alone. Without the heralding laughter of kids and toys and noise and breakfast cereal strewn all over the dining room table.

And I'd give anything to hear the "Mom, I wuv you so much!" tokens of bliss that used to fill my days. Yes, I'd even give up my neatly kept, heirloom-quilted-bedrooms of silence for just one more disruptive and chaotic evening.

Because motherhood ends way too fast.

The Tale Of The Farm Fresh Egg

Today was one of those blog worthy days. And by that I mean it was such a full, fun funny and crazy day that I couldn't even take notes, let alone sit down and blog.

In a nut shell:

The bathroom door got locked with no one inside (not a pleasant thing when you have to go to the bathroom but can't since the door's locked...)

One of our house phones was found outside with a 2-year-old who was apparently calling his therapist enjoying free phone time before he got caught.

A large amount of tinted, scented lip gloss was used as a complete make up -- including cleverly shaped eye brows and eye liner.

2-yr-old would not sleep for his nap.

And I'm not even mentioning what happened yesterday because all I can remember is setting my phone down on a window sill but finding a thick layer of chopped up chap stick instead. And I vaguely have a memory of the mud tracked all over the house because 2 small children went out their bedroom window, walked around in the rain and then came back in. Nor am I remembering how the 2-yr-old unwrapped a package of frozen steaks and set them on the stove at supper time. And the stale, dried jalapeno sandwich I found sitting in the living room next to my antique books also fails my memory.

But today is fresh in my memory. A little too "fresh" actually.

I looked outside just after lunch and spied two young children smearing yellowish-snot-type "stuff" all over the swing set platform.

Resting in a bitter, murderous heap lay a broken egg shell.

Do you know how much TWO small children can do with the contents of ONE egg?

I had no idea the volume that's held in ONE egg. Until today. I will never underestimate the power of a raw egg. Again. Ever. Nor my children's abilities to manifest amazing handiwork with said raw egg.

They got it all over the 3'x4' play set platform.

They got it all over their hands.

They got it up and down the frame of the swing set.

They got it all over the dog's head.

They generously lathered it into their hands.

They got it all over the ground.

And they got it to evenly overflow their palms and fingers and then they raved about how soft their skin felt.

Meanwhile, the dog was ravenously licking the egg as fast as she could as it trailed slowly down from the 4' high platform. Egg snot was literally pouring all over the place out there as it pooled through the cracks in the play set platform.

And it was one egg. ONE.

There was so much of that stuff out there, I finally called out and said, "Hey kids, how many eggs do you have out there anyway?"

"Just one, Mom," they called back from their Omega-fatty-acids-complete-with-high-protein-packed-in-a-fresh-brown-shell play.

My greatest disappointment but yet redeeming factor was that it was a farm fresh egg. You see, I pay for farm fresh eggs because I love eating farm fresh eggs so was disappointed we lost one whole egg to complete experimentation destruction. Yet at the same time, I wasn't worried about salmonella poisoning or other type of bacteria developing on my children's fragile bodies because the egg was farm fresh.

As I was getting a jacket out of my closet a little later today, I noticed crushed, brown egg shells on the carpet by the closet. The closet that is far from the play set where the broken egg play took place. The closet surrounded by carpet. The closet you have to go out of your way just to get to. It too had egg remains by it.

And it reminded me once again to never underestimate the power of a farm fresh egg.

Why My Life and Blog Don't Seem To Conveniently Mix Anymore

It is precisely 6:20pm and instead of roasting the pan of taters-n-carrots on the grill like I normally would for our Steak and Spuds supper, I'm baking them in the oven so as to provide blogspot.com undivided attention.

You see, if I turn the grill on, stick the food in and then walk away, I'm liable to start the deck on fire. Again. So, I'll just utilize the oven (that had it's front busted out last May when a large, heavy canister fell from the ceiling, bounced on the floor and ricocheted off the front of the stove which resulted in a generous shower of tiny glass shards) and stay inside so as to give blogspot.com undivided attention.

A tidy line of weeds grows steadily around the landscape blocks in the front yard. The yard I just mowed for the first time this year. But I shall refrain from pulling them (and absorbing the fading VitD3/sunlight) so as to provide blogspot.com undivided attention.

A busy 3-year-old-wanna-be (he's convinced every day that it's his birthday) is entertaining the dog. But I shall neglect the urge to check on him so as to give blogspot.com undivided attention. (just kidding)

Earlier today, I was impressed with all the antics my kids pulled. They provided blogspot.com with a lot of impressive tales... tales that I shall hope I never forget but probably will since I can hardly take one little clever action in before the next little clever action starts. And pretty soon in all the craziness and hubbub that is my life, I just think that my kids will be little and crazy forever and I'll have the rest of my life to write this stuff down for blackmail material. But I know that's not true. (at least for the "little" part.... the crazy part will probably only get worse.)

As for today, they took both of my brooms apart and combined the broom handles with a paint roller. Then they went around the house committing nameless acts of unmentionable things to the house and surrounding countryside.

Then they pulled all their camp chairs out and did child-like things with them. Like clutter the house with their intrusive shapes. (I'm referring to the chairs' shapes; not the kids' shapes.)

They also committed unbelievable and terrorist acts to our tiny little garden that's growing peacefully and beautifully in the jiffy pots in our only south facing window. The acts consisted of peony scented linen spray. I couldn't figure out why the house smelled so good and why the tomato plants took on a heavenly fragrance. Ignorance really is bliss, you know.

As the day continued, so did my kids. I overheard Landon acting as a football coach to his sister and hollering at her to do all kinds of things with the football. Only, he didn't call her Janae; he called her Jason.

In the end, I found a baby snake in a 5 gallon bucket in the front yard (the snake I had so kindly caught for the kids to play with while I mowed the yard) and I also found brutally beaten tulips laying in a conspicuous area. (I hope the neighbors won't mind.)

Although today feels unique and original, it really is no match for yesterday. My 5-year-old-daughter (that shall remain nameless) informed me that if I didn't get her coffee at the coffee shop drive through, she would just find another mom who would give her coffee.

Said daughter also managed to return my missed calls on my cell phone, unbeknownst to me.

My 6-year-old has decided it's time for our family to move. He's avidly searching for a new home and commenced doing so yesterday while running errands with his parents.

The wanna-be-3-year-old was certain there were monsters involved with Curious George and informed the nice ladies at the check out of his latest discovery. At the same store, he also attempted to try on some snazzy lady's high heeled sandals and was disappointed when I wouldn't let him.

As each day closes with a blur, I like to think that it was an "overly special" day. But then when I look at the week in retrospect, I'm vividly reminded that when you have a 2-year-old kid who innocently manages to snatch police officers off the street in order to carry on a deep conversation with the uniformed officer, you really shouldn't be surprised by anything anymore.

Like when all the kids disappear because they decided to randomly visit the neighbors just to see what the inside of their house looks like. Or pluck hair out of the guinea pig for no other reason than to hear the creature whistle.

With kids like mine, I think you may understand why and how blogspot.com has not had my undivided attention very well lately. But without such creativeness blooming in my little world, I would never have anything to blog about. Ever.

And since the 3-year-old-wanna-be just disappeared, I should go investigate and see what I can record for next month's blog. (don't hold your breath...)

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.

On Unplanned Mornings, Unpredictable Kids and How They Go Together

It's one of those days where I actually got a really good night's sleep, woke up refreshed and ready to start my day AND I woke up early. While getting ready to shower, my perfect morning routine was interrupted by the sounds of healthy, energetic children.

"At THIS hour?!" I wailed. Here I thought I'd beat them to the day and actually have my Bible reading done, coffee made, shower over and be fully dressed with breakfast on the table before their smiling faces graced our morning.

But, nope.

As I showered and dressed and did my usual morning bathroom routine, I could hear shouts and wails and rude talking loud activity. All indicating that a nice, quiet time out in the living room was not what I should expect with my Bible reading for this morning.

The noise and chaos liveliness continued as I put on a pot of coffee. And it was then brought to my attention that not only had this rowdy bunch of hoodlums my darling children already eaten breakfast but they had eaten their cereal out of dirty bowls from the half-loaded dishwasher. I didn't even want to think about where those bowls had been before my kids used. You see, we've been hosting our dog during the sub-zero evenings in a tight confinement area in our house and in a desperate-last-minute-attempt to give her water, I was lazily using our cereal bowls. (Mental note: Children and dogs should not share the same dinnerware. Ever.)

Turns out, the whole breakfast mix-up was one of those dad-thought-mom-had-the-kids-and-mom-thought-dad-had-the-kids mornings. So we made up a new house rule on the spot:

"Don't Come Upstairs And Eat Breakfast Without Mom And Dad."

The arguing and bickering energetic talking continued so I sent one child down to get dressed. While that child went conveniently missing from the great upstairs, I happened to find a soggy bowl of half eating cereal in a cupboard door. Of course, the remaining child upstairs assured me that the person that did that was indeed his sister and not him.

Mentally crossing "Breakfast" off my list, I went on to the next thing. The aroma drifted off the pot of coffee brewing in the coffee maker and I thought it would probably be a good morning after all.

Suddenly, one of the already-had-eaten-breakfast-children decided they were tremendously hungry. They wondered why I never fed them supper and why they couldn't have breakfast. Kids have an amazing way of heaping guilt on even the best-intention-driven mother but I didn't entertain it for a second. Assuring them they HAD eaten supper last night and that they HAD already had breakfast for the day (as evident by the bowl of milk in the cupboard), I reminded them of another house rule:

"Once You Get Up From The Table, Your Meal Is Done."

Of course, she was starving and would probably die before lunch time and she never gets food and... etc. But, since she had decided to get her own breakfast and then she had decided to get up from the table, it really wasn't my fault she was "starving."

I poured myself a cup of coffee and found a quiet spot in the living room. Too distracted by children to make a profitable attempt at reading my Bible, I decided to just read the Proverb for the day. That seemed like a good place to sponge my mind off of. I always find the Proverbs to have meaningful yet short lessons to glean from. And then it sticks with me through the day... which is a good thing, of course.

A few verses jumped out at me in the middle of all my jumping up from the chair to rescue children, wipe noses, put CD's in for a ballerina-wanna-be-child, re-fill my coffee, put snow boots on a pajama clad boy who was wearing a leather vest and fireman helmet, settle disputes and end arguments about who should get the blue pieces to the "Trouble" game going on in the living room.

Proverbs 14:22:

"Do not those who plot evil go astray?

But those who plan what is good

find love and faithfulness."

It just seemed like a good verse to apply to my day. The morning was still young, the sun was brightly shining, my day was like a clean slate and there was a list of possibilities over what I could plan to fill my day.

"But those who plan what is good find LOVE and FAITHFULNESS."

It was just what I needed to know how to plan my day. And I was suddenly glad my kids had disrupted my pre-conceived idea over how I had previously wanted to start my day.

And so I march on finding love and faithfulness because I'm reminded of another verse that says something about "choosing that 'Good Part' because it will not be taken away from me."

Oh Yeah... I Do Have a Blog

It just dawned on me that I pretty much never blog anymore. Never.

As I sit here typing, I can hear two small children helping themselves to Popsicles and crackers in the kitchen. Janae is teaching Alex how to say Popsicle... "Alex, say PAAAA," to which Alex says, "PAAAAA," and then Janae finishes with unintelligible syllables. She's quite the teacher.

Life is one crazy busy good thing. Death has been an ever present shadow on our lives this year and though it's easy to withdraw into morbidity and let yourself grow numb and cold to little things in life like breathing and health and things such as that, it's been a good reminder that life is precious. Each day is new. And God is good.

We've spent a lot of time on the road lately. By the time November is over, we will have spent 42+ hours in our van since October 23rd. That's not including the 36 hours we spent between July and August.

Though living out of a suitcase may not be as homey and predictable as living out of a dresser, we've enjoyed all the time spent with family and friends. And wouldn't trade it for anything.

School has been a rough thing to stay on top of -- the actual schoolwork part has gone very well but it's just getting it in and staying consistent that's been challenging. The kids love to learn and everything usually goes well until I get poked in the eye with the back end of a pencil. Or someone decides to compete in a letter-writing race with their sibling and turns out a bunch of squiggly lines that are supposed to be the letter 's'. Or Alex decides to cut the calender with a pair of scissors. Other than that, it's really good. I'd recommend homeschooling to everyone I know. (But, be sure and wear safety glasses though.)

So I guess this all just to say that I do still profess to be a blogger and just because I don't blog here much doesn't mean anything more than that I'm either riding on some long and distant interstate or doing school with the kids.

When Life Overtakes Blogging

I like writing. It's the untainted expression of what I think without distraction. And since this is my blog, I have no qualms about what I publish here.

At least that's how I feel.

But, so often I find the need to save lives to be of greater importance to blogging so... as you faithful readers (all three of you) know, my blog is neglected.

Then there's the times when I think about blogging but then I remember my list of stuff to do.

*Vacuum chocolate sprinkles that Two-Year-Old embedded in the carpet.

*Sweep up hot chocolate mix from the pantry floor.

*Locate missing Bosch part.

*Locate missing bread machine part.

*Peroxide up fresh stains on dining room floor (and try not to think about the dining room having carpet in the first place).

*Check clothes hamper for mold.

*Abolish the fragrant smell coming from bathroom.

*Pluck out popcorn kernels from carpet.

*Admire Observe the scene of Lego's peppering the boys room.

*Harvest worms Clean out guinea pigs' cages.

And the list goes on.

About the time I think I'm finally getting a handle on this whole "mothering" thing, I'll wind up shocking myself and saying things like...

"Stop doing that: you're putting holes in the wall."

"You should never put your hand on your plate when someone is putting food on it."

"Don't put that plate on your head: it's Fine China."

"Alex, do you want a time out?" (I'm not a 'time out' kind of mom.)

"If you don't stop crying right now, you WILL get out of the van and we WILL leave without you."

"No, Daddy does not know how to drive a train."

"Never put ink on your lips again. Especially red ink."

"Stop putting stuff in the melted candles."

"No, she is not your mother; I am your mother and she is your sister."

"Never cut your brother's hair again."

"Look at that kid! He's flinging food on the wall."

"If you guys don't stop fighting, we will not do school today."

"How did all that salt end up on the table anyway?"

And other such anomalies.

Such are the occurrences that occur with the passing of time within (and without) our four walls. I love blogging. I love documenting thoughts, happenings, life, etc. But some days, it's just not feasible. Then again, without my sometimes unpredictable and over-interesting life, I would have nothing to blog about.

It's all a matter of perspective.

And The Point Is....?

I thought when I started back into blogging a few weeks ago, I would be divinely inspired with an ability to blog on a regular basis. It's funny how I base my plans on mere thoughts that hold no promise of fruition. Real funny.

So I tried to think up some blogging material. You know, something that held the slightest indication that it could make sense. Or be worth reading.

It dawned on me I could write about everything I've been doing offline around here. But, my life really isn't THAT interesting and I haven't taken pictures with my camera lately. So. No pictorial update today. Or journaled account of my life, for that matter.

(I have no idea where this blog is going just now and I can't guarantee anything that won't be mumble jumbled. You are welcome to go on to the next blog in your bloglines if you wish to do so. Feel free to check your friends' facebook status too. Or even take a walk out to your mailbox and see if there's any "snail" mail waiting for you.)

It's funny how in our day and age, we have to indicate what electronic device we used to take pictures. We also have to indicate what kind of specie-of-living-thing identifies with our mail out in THE mailbox (ie., snail.) Don't get lost with me here... let me explain...

You may notice I said in one of the paragraphs above that "I haven't taken pictures with my camera lately." That sounds like a rather redundant and pointless thing to point out. What else do you take pictures with, right? The question you should consider is, "What do you do with a camera besides to take pictures?" Because there are more devices to use to take pictures with than just a camera. And there are more devices to hold mail than just a mailbox at the end of your driveway.

The one device I'm thinking of in the "take a picture" department is an item that starts with "p" and sounds like "f." Real tricky clue, I know. When you get that word figured out, you are welcome to read on.

The mail thing I'm thinking about is something that starts with "in" and ends with "box." Why don't they just call end-of-your-driveway-mailbox-mail mail and that "inbox" mail stuff "instantmail" or"cheetamail" or "superchargedandfullofcaffiene racehorse mail" etc.? Why do we have to call good, old fashioned mailbox mail, snailmail? It's just not fair to change the name of something that's always been.

Seriously though, sometimes I wonder what kind of age of technology my kids will have when they grow older. Will there even be such a thing as a laptop computer? Will phones even slightly resemble the contemporary phones we have now? Will mailboxes only be used for yard decoration? Will the tires on our cars today be displayed in the next generation's landscaping just like those old iron wheels are displayed in our yards? Will you be able to open a door without pushing a button? What about chairs... will they still have 4 legs?

It's weird how technology, as nice and good as it is, only instills fears of uncertainty in some people. It doesn't always bring the kind of hope and change the computer engineers would like us to think there is.

Education will probably change too. Pencils and old fashioned rulers will be replaced with, well, who knows what. Kids will never learn how to read Roman Numerals. Such a shame. Especially since us adults use Roman Numerals everyday of the week, all the time, all day long. Seriously, what would we do without Roman Numerals?! And arithmetic... will kids even know that word? I have this feeling that math books will be condensed in fancy, schmancy, rigged up calculators. Which really isn't a bad idea because seriously, have YOU used algebra since you graduated from high school?

And blogging... will there even be such a thing as blogging 60 years from now? What if a person's thoughts were immediately flashed onto an electronic device and published to the entire world for all to see? What if there were no filter between a person's brain and their expression of thought? What if their fears and inner most thoughts about mail and education and cameras just spilled out in a mumbled jumbled form and any person subject to reading it had to decipher the logic behind it?

What an awful way to live that would be...

The Subway Experience

I have undocumented proof that Subway Sandwich Servers must take a "Make-Customer-Service-Not-Your-Forte" class. Across the United States of America, this great land we live in, I have had the occasion to visit all most of the Subways along I-80. And across the board land, they all have the. exact. same. customer. service. rating in my book.

First of all, the way they look at you abruptly with plastic-gloved-hands-hanging in mid air while asking you, "What kind of sandwich do you want?" And of course, since they're making you feel obligated to answer quickly by holding their arm out with a hand extended towards the bread shelf, you start stuttering and mumbling wondering what kind of sandwich you do actually want. All the while pitying their extended arm that is sure to get a cramp in it.

In your mind you can just SEE their foot tapping anxiously on the floor.

So, you say, "Uh, um, the, um, yeah, ah, what kind of bread do you have?"

And they look at you with this shocked look on their face and answer you as if you've never been to a Subway before in your life. With a quick tongue, they roll off a bunch of words and you hear something about Italian and oatmeal and flat bread and herbs.

So you pick a bread, like wheat or white since that's the only kind you know off the top of your head, and they happen to grab it abruptly from it's nestled little bread shelf and hack into it with a huge knife. And then they stare at you again.

You don't know if you should ask them how they're day is going, how long they've worked at Subway, if they like working at Subway, if they ever feel like their hands get too sweaty with the gloves on, what town they're from, etc. Before you have a chance to engage in any friendly conversation, they ask what you'd like on your sandwich with this lets-get-down-to-business air about them.

You start to answer but then realize that there's a whole butcher shop of meat organized neatly in all those little tin containers so you ask politely what kind of meat they have.

They look at you like you've never in your life even heard of Subway.

So you pick a meat and then they wonder if you want cheese. Of course you want cheese but they have to know what kind of cheese you want. You say the name of one of the cheeses they listed off to you and then they slide your sandwich quickly down to the veggie side of the sandwich bar and head back to intimidate help the next customer.

The Subway Veggie Specialist asks you what you want on your sandwich. And since you heard a customer ahead of you say "everything but the..." you decided to try that answer.

So with a ready answer you say, "Everything but the..." and before you can say what thing you do NOT want, the Subway Veggie Specialist happens to grab a very generous handful of the very thing you do NOT want on your sandwich before you can even say "lettuce."

You find your heart beating faster, your palms getting sweaty and your voice getting weak. With all the strength you can muster, you squeak, "No, um, ah... everyth--ah, not the lettuce though."

As you look at the veggies neatly housed in each tin container, you recognize a few other things you wouldn't like so you name off a handful of ingredients you do NOT want on your sandwich. You just know your Subway Veggie Specialist is thinking in the back of her mind, "Didn't I hear you say 'everything'?"

A squirt of oil and vinegar and a couple shakes of salt and pepper and your sandwich is swaddled up in a nice, crisp sandwich paper and with that, slid into a bag. You remark to yourself that you never thought to put salt and pepper on a cold meat sandwich at home, maybe you should try it.

And then comes the bill. You have no clue how they tally up your order or decide how much you should pay to have that kind of sandwich but you did notice the $4-foot-long advertisements in the window. At Pizza Parlors, you normally pay to have each kind of topping put on your pizza but at Subway, you hope the same rule doesn't apply. Because remember? You did say "everything on it."

When your two 6" sandwiches and half a dozen cookies and two little bags of chips comes to close to $14, you decide that maybe trying a little salt and pepper on your cold meat sandwiches at home would actually save you money.



And the feeling of intimidation.

My Blogging Debut

So, I decided to make a come back. You know, a come back to the blogging world. I have nothing to blog about today but since I do have a blog, then certainly I'm entitled to blog about whatever I want. Even if it means to blog about nothing.

My brain is like a wilted flower that got too much rain and then stood in the sun for too many days without rain until it got completely dry and then was suddenly watered on by a dog. Just kind of limp and burned out and wilty. If you don't know what that looks like, plant a flower, over water it for 6 days and then set it on the picnic table to dry out in the sun. When it's dry, set what's left of the flower out in the middle of the yard and just wait for a willing neighbor dog. Take a picture and tag it with my name. Now you have an idea.

There's no reason why I'd have to look like this either. Or feel like this. I mean, we did only have a nasty cold for a week and if Toby wasn't getting me up during the night to mumble at me in some strange language, Janae was trying to slip into MY side of the bed for a middle-of-the-night snuggle. Not to mention the fact that my normal eleven-o-clock-bedtime was rudely switched to 2am. I know; my bad.

But that cold was sure a doozy. We all had it but my dear Toby had it the worst. He didn't take too well to my doctoring abilities since I also was under the weather and seemed to fail to remember any type of effective cold treatment. I caught him guzzling cough and cold syrup right out of the bottle one day and soundly scolded effectively reasoned with him as to the anti-health benefits of such practice.

When my head cleared a bit, a faint memory of something called Bite A Man Sea flashed a merry tune in my head. I kept hitting my forehead trying to remember why I was experiencing Deja vu all over again when it dawned on me that the memory stick in my brain was a little coated with snot cold drainage and I was hearing the message unclearly. So, I de-coded the message and sounded out "Vitamin C!" I took that as a sign that I should give Toby some vitamin C. And I continued to do so until the promptings ceased.

The kids fared pretty well. They all got sick a few days before their parents did so when we were at our sickest, the kids by that time were back to feeling pretty perky. Real perky. Like, poop-all-over-the-house perky. Of course it would figure that I'd get a phone call at the same time, have a text to respond to on another phone and find out right then that my husband was leaving for the rest of the morning. I've tried to space out such abnormal happenings in my day but it never works. It's like the phone call just can't wait for the poop to get cleaned up and my text blocker just doesn't activate automatically when it's obvious I'm doing 23 other things right then.

Sunday rolled around and we were desperate for social interaction. You know, like church or something. Of course, hacking and sniffing and blowing snot everywhere wasn't a very presentable way to go to church so we decided that just getting out of the house would be the best idea.

We went to the lake and got a good dose of sun, 'presh air' (as Landon calls it) and water. We caught a couple dozen little fish because Toby accidentally dropped his line into a school of fish. I didn't know fish went to school on Sunday. Come to think of it, maybe they were having church...

Apparentely the preacher was preaching on the dangers of hooks with worms. Or maybe it was a teacher teaching the class on what to look for in a worm. Either way, Toby was an excellent assistant and aided the preacher/teacher in teaching the church/school the dangers of fishermen. The preacher/teacher used that time to inocculate the audience/class to the wilds of a baited hook and since each one of the parishoners/students were too young for the frying pan, the preacher/teacher was confident they would learn their lesson AND gain permanent freedom. So now there's an entire church/school of fish in a lake in Nebraska that will never bring joy to a fisherman's heart thanks to the hands-on, life-lessons they learned that day.

We played "catch and release" for an hour or so and the kids were thrilled with each little fish they pulled out of the water. I did the honors of pulling the hook out of the fish's mouth and was pleased with my abilities to handle live fish, bloody worms and staring at fish tonsils over and over. While I did that, Toby was casting in another line and setting the next kid up for their fishing experience. The four of us had a regular system down while Alex ate sunscreen fresh out of the tube. He's a little over cautious about the effect of a sunburn on his tongue.

My late grandpa, who was an avid fisherman, would be impressed with my fishing skills. I owe all my luck talent to him. I think it's genetic because nothing in me enjoys pulling sharp objects out of paper thin lips and reaching my fingers into toothless mouths of living things while they stare at me with huge, beady eyes. But when it comes to casting the line in, well, we just won't go there yet. (My Grandpa would NOT be impressed...)

The wind was blowing pretty strong that day (welcome to Nebraska) and there were hundreds several speed boats on the lake. That combination made for some pretty impressive waves. Bear in mind that I've never been to the ocean so it doesn't take much to impress me when it comes to waves. Even my bathtub can produce some pretty sweet waves.

The combination of the beautiful day (it wasn't too hot), the sound of the waves, the 'presh air' and the nice time to just be out together like one little happy family on a lake, made for a peaceful and relaxing day.

Not to mention that subconsiously it created many blogging moments. Which gave me a ticket back into the blogging world. Which is a good thing since how can a blogger have a blog if they never blog like a blogger should?

"I'm back," said the little fish as he swam swiftly from the treacherous shore. Never mind there's a hole in his lip and his scales are a little messed up; he's off the hook and no longer a fish-out-of-water. He's happy to dive right back into the life he loves.

And so am I.

Time Stops For No Man

Not to stay in the category of morbidity and death, but I've been thinking about the implications of TIME. No matter what happens, what changes, what comes and what leaves, time goes on. And on. Unmolested by weather, politics, economy, love, sadness, happiness, suffering... time stops for no man.

The assurance of God and the faithfulness of His promise of life eternal is a concept I find refreshing to re-grasp. Even though time's heartless brutality marches past us undaunted by our lack of desire to go on in life after tragedy strikes, God's tender love is that much more present and compassionate.

Just a random thought I had that seemed to appear in this post.

In an attempt to clean out my draft bin again, I ran across a few unfinished posts. So, I've wrapped a few of those up, polished a couple others off and updated some random topics I've thought of over the past several months.

I am also hoping to re-institute the ongoing saga of "Landon Lines, Janae Jems" but may end up re-using a few of their quips in the coming post because I was unsure about the publishing status of a few of them. After this next week, everything should be fresh and new once again.

Also, if any readers make comments or questions in the comment box, I hope to answer those publicly on my blog in the future. Maybe do a monthly/weekly type "Q & A" post. So, let the comments begin.

No guarantees on the consistency of my upcoming blogging. I seem to have a bad case of writer's block right now. Hopefully I'll find a cure-all that will last for more than a couple weeks and will have a few more blogging moments than I've had in recent weeks.

Now, back to regular posting...

Mid-life Crisis

For the sake of the readers that haven't given up on my blog, this is an update to let you know that a blog post will be coming soon.

I have been in a whirlwind of activity life lately and have finally realized that life is just that: a whirlwind. I need to quit calling this lifestyle of activity I live anything else besides life.

At the beginning of the month, I got a phone call from my sister saying that she was bored and having a strange urge. She just felt like sitting in her car for 10 hours all by herself and thought she'd make it productive by actually driving that entire time. We both thought and thought of a location that would just happen to be all of 10 hours from where her car was sitting and ironically, just like sisters do, unanimously came up at the same time with the same idea that she should come to our house. Voila.

Seriously, she was all alone with no husband (he had to go to training in another state) and wanted to replace that loneliness with quality time with her niece and nephews. We were very happy to accommodate her plans of visiting us although we almost said no because we knew it would be sad to see her go.

We had so much fun together. I often marvel at how well siblings connect throughout childhood and before marriage but I was even more amazed at how strong that connection stays even after one or both leave home and marry far and distant men. (So if any of you are holding out on getting married for this reason, I have proof that you really don't need to worry about sibling relationships. Now, go get married.)

One day Britt and I were playing a duet on the piano that we had never played together before. It was a rather bouncy rendition of Yankee Doodle, a song I had never played until Britt was plunking it out that day and making me follow suit. As we jammed along, suddenly at the same time and just after the line about the macaroni in his hat, we both got the urge to modulate the key up a half a step. Without missing a beat (or saying a word), we both suddenly, without warning, landed on the key of D. We do stuff like that all the time. It's almost freaky.

My husband thinks it's weird too and gets uncomfortable when we do freaky things like that. I think he just wants in the loop he just wants to concentrate on the book he's reading instead of having to hear us giggling uncontrollably every time we share a look, stay speechless and bust out laughing.

So, as you can see, I have been rather distracted and unable to blog. A blog post will be coming soon though since I do have a lot on my mind.

Until this blog is updated, another reason why I haven't posted lately is because I think I am going through a mid-life crisis. Now, how's that for an excuse for not blogging? I bet you've never heard that one before. (I should really copyright that one.)

If you've gone through a mid-life crisis, you would know how complicated and complex deep thoughts in the back of a mid-life crisis brain can be. There is just so much there to be sorted out that I'm thinking about calling for a cease fire. It can get rather exhausting to have one deep thought after another fire away in your head. It's like my brain has set up a firing range with a target on one end and several cases of bullets and a loud gun on the other. I'm not quite sure what kind of gun it is so when I get that figured out, I'll let you know. Regardless of the gun's make and model, it definitely has a precise and accurate barrel because it keeps hitting the bull's eye. And it's really loud.

I am not a public speaker at all so to write my whole heart out to all of you right now, is just not anywhere in my mental capability. Especially considering how much of my brain is being taken up as a target right now. And also because I do not know all who read my blog or where they're at in life and how or if they'll understand true honesty and forthrightness.

Truth is, I may actually know them but don't know they're reading here. I have noticed that often people flee the truth and hold on to ideals and then are shocked when you finally make it clear to them what the truth really is. And I don't like to find out after the fact that what I said was just too honest and open for someone to handle.

Yesterday in Church, a part in the sermon jumped out at me in the midst of juggling two very squirmy toddlers. The preacher was reading about the armour of God. My heart latched on to the part about truth. "Loins girded about with truth." It dawned on me just then that truth must be very important since the only thing girding and protecting the loins of a soldier of Christ is, truth.

But, why do people constantly shy away from the truth and instead grasp ideals, traditions, desires and facades?

Besides publicly bearing my soul here, another option would be to sit down and talk to each one of you individually. That sounds a lot more appealing. But, since I can't do that with everyone here because I don't know everyone that reads this and it's physcially impossible to make a point to talk to someone that you don't even know exists, I'll sort my thoughts, collect my thinking and endeavor to get to the bottom of the pile of bullets yet to be shot at that target.

It seems as though what makes this a "crisis" is the fact that it's like a "at a cross roads" experience of life. Yet at the same time, I could drop the gun, walk away from the firing range and send am atom bomb in to wipe out the thoughts that seem to have created the world that is my brain. That may be an easy way out actually and it is quite tempting. But, to do that would mean I gave in and gave up. I would essentially cease to think.

And that would be a tragedy.

So, I said all that to say I plan to update my blog soon. Which I guess by saying that here on my blog right now, I am basically doing NOW what I said I would do: update my blog.

I guess this blog now has a new post.

To Everything There is a Season...

Last night, I sat holding my breath at this computer, daring myself to look between the fingers that had been plastered to my whitened face.

I never knew that clicking "Save Changes" could so dramatically effect a person.

I almost felt tears well up inside somewhere when it fully dawned on my that the old look was gone. Forever. :'(

I breathed short, shallow breaths.

I felt my heart beat in hard, fast thumps.

Had I just lost all the 478 posts that I had written over the last three years?

Nope. They were all there.

But there was something else there too... It worked! The template transfer actually worked!

I found myself squealing hysterically at 11:00 at night and jumping up and down in my seat while Toby called to me from his lonely bed (which wasn't entirely lonely: he did have a computer with him) and wondered what I was doing.

Coeur d' Court had a new look and it was BROWN and PINK!!!! (and when I came back today, it was still Brown and Pink! Yay for html code that doesn't change in your sleep...)

So, for those of you that are scratching your head wondering what in the world the above jabbering is about, I know that you read my blog on Bloglines or some other blog alert thingy. The fact that you are scratching your head right now and the eyebrows on your forehead are screwed up funny, proves you are one of those blog lines blog readers. (this blog is under security camera use, by the way. Just kidding.)

I have a special invitation just for you savvy readers that use a blog update program. Yes, because YOU made the effort to put me in your blog lines, I am giving back to your great cause. Please accept my invitation just this once to personally visit my page directly and tell me what you think of this new look.

(Now, about www.bloglines.com .... I highly recommend such programs because A) they're easy to set up and B) you never have to visit any of your favorite blogs wondering if they've updated it or not: your blog program notifies you when you log into your account. A great and excellent and convenient time saver. Visit www.bloglines.com and set up your own account. Or use another program/website that someone else has recommended to you and see if I care that you didn't take my number ONE recommendation of www.bloglines.com. As long as you're saving time and spreading your metaphysical computer wings out a little more, I am pleased with your aspirations to blog savvyness whether you use www.bloglines.com or not.)

The Mad Sad Bad Glad Blog

Blogging.... ahhh! One of things that for some people is a steady diet, for other's like a cup of coffee: you only do it when it's hot, strong and fresh. And you can just really enjoy that cup, wax nostalgic and not be interrupted by 29" and 36" and 43" long people.

I'm the cup-of-coffee blogger -- it has to be hot, strong and fresh on my mind or else it's just not a good blog post. Right now, between trips and weddings and projects and sewing machines, I have so many things to blog about. Seriously. My mind is full of blog thoughts but there are too many things to think about.

I've said before that when I'm mad, sad, bad and glad all at once, I cannot blog. And that's how it is now.

If I'm mad about something, I better cool off before I write about it. If I write about the things I'm sad about, they'll come across selfishly pathetic. If I write about the way I think about some topics, I'll come across bad. And if I write about what I'm happy about while I'm still in the midst of gladness, it comes across belittled because of a gitty tendency to explain my happiness.

To complicate this, if I write about what I'm mad about while I'm sad about something else, I'll send a pitiful message about a topic that probably could be a lot more light hearted than I make it sound like. If I write about something I'm glad about while being "bad" in another area, I'll overlook the joys and humor in the happy topic and allow the "bad" thing to shadow over delightful topics.

I know: it's complicated and you're probably getting ready to delete me from your blog favorites and send a notice to my county nurse and have me sent to an institution but really you should be impressed that I have figured all this out about myself at such a young and impressionable age. At only 25 years of life experience, I have learned the absolute truth that the thing called "life" just is complicated sometimes. And I've had a lot of life around me lately. So that explains my blog hiatus.

You're probably thinking you had heard it all when it comes to reasons/excuses why people don't update their blogs from time to time. Before I leave you entirely shaking and scratching your head and saying this is by far the most unbelievable excuse, I'll mention a few titles that keep flashing through my head over in the "Blog This" category just so you know I am still an official blogger since my mind does still have the ability to think in "blog thoughts"...

You may notice I won't always tell you what is making me glad, mad, bad and sad. That is for me to know and you to just not find out.

---Mice in the basement walls are better than mice IN your basement. These Wall Dwelling Mice do not get into your things like food, storage, clothing, etc. I'll admit right now this makes me glad because if I HAVE TO have mice, I'll take the wall kind.

---Just because you are fortunate to have Wall Dwelling Mice, doesn't mean you only know about them because you have a good memory of seeing your cat pull out the screeching live Wall Dwellers on a pretty regular basis. Rather, you may be hit with the reality that you share your home with another family/race/creature every time you open your basement door. It doesn't take a hound dog to smell mice pee and I know this for a fact because I happen to not be a hound dog and I can smell mice pee and recognize it's origin the second that door swings open.

---I have had heavenly impulsive visions of tearing out the entire stair landing and replacing the flooring and anything else that could possibly be tainted by mouse pee.

---I hate to publicly announce an absolute must be done now project a possible job on Toby's honey-do list especially when I know how much he can't wait to make me completely happy by eliminating mouse pee from our house how busy he is right now. And, I have to hate to admit that Mice Pee makes me mad, sad and bad.

---If I can smell things on a regular basis -- especially disgusting things like stale cigarette smoke in our walls, mouse pee downstairs and a poopy diaper in the trash, I tend to go crazy with impulses like completely scrubbing down the bathtub or vacuuming every carpet fiber in our house or dusting all the woodwork. We all know that scrubbing your already clean bathtub is a sure way to eliminate mouse pee odors from your basement.

---Knowing that no matter how many spring cleanings I do a week, my house will still stink so I may as well drink coffee, sit at the computer and wish I could live in a single family dwelling and not share our little home with entire generations of 4-footed-pee-producing creatures.

And so ends the spurt of blog thoughts from the "Blog This" category of my brain. I had no idea mice pee fumes could intoxicate a human brain was such a big topic in there until I mentally opened that file and found how full it had become. I'm just glad those peeing mice are only in our basement.

(Now you see how I'm mad, sad and bad about those stinking mice (literally) but glad that they're not upstairs. Thus proving my whole Mad Bad Sad Glad theory and the reason why it's too complicated to blog when I share all 4 emotions at once.)

On Inspiration, Windows and Failing Computers

I am without my computer. The computer that I always use to blog on. The computer that has given me so many fits and trials since about a month after we got it. The computer that deleted all our Christmas 2007 pictures. Yeah, that computer.

Even though it's been a horrendous computer and hardly reliable, I shared a lot of blog moments on it. I hate to admit my personal feelings about a piece of technology and how it can best derive my thoughts from the cranial corners of my head but the truth be known: I relate best to blogspot.com when I can look out a window while writing. It's always been that way. When I need inspiration and I can't quite think of the word, I look out a window. Yeah... I know... you probably think I'm a tree hugger now but really, I'm not. It's just a change of scenery that I find out a window that inspires me.

The reason I'm blogging right now is because I stole away to Toby's computer while he was away for a few minutes. I looked out the window long and hard before I came down here because, horror of horrors, his computer is firmly lodged in the darkest corner of our basement and there are no windows to look out of. Thus why this blog post is lacking in articulate lingualistics. (is that even a word? I have no window to look out of in order to find a better, more fitting, accurate description/word/phrase/something-like-that.)

So, until I get my computer back and until I can blog by an open window, my blog is taking a hiatus. Or going into hibernation. Or taking a break. Or waiting for the repair man to fix my computer. Or whatever way you want to look at it. Like I said, I'm lacking window inspired inspiration right now.

I meant to contact those of you that offered advice on the layout here. I will do that when I can more easily get in contact with my email without having a busy business man hang over my shoulder in hopes that I will just relinquish his computer back to him so that he can save the world one roof at a time.

For now, I'm going to go back upstairs look out a window and wonder what I may have forgotten to tell you just now. I'll be back when all is well... or when I have a, um, chance and time to ahhh, well, I just better go find a window since I totally lost my train of thought.

What Do You Think?

The template here is old and outdated. I have 3 children now but by the background pictures on my blog, you would think I only had 2.

Yet I get a lot of comments about the background so I don't know if it would be worth replacing/changing/deleting/just leaving. When I blog, I don't actually see the pictures unless I go to my site directly. So, the background is more for the reader's benefit and not mine so much.

What do you think? Should it change? Yes? No? Maybe so?

Please reply with your opinion and no matter what you say, please include your email address. I want to personally respond to each idea, tip and comment.

If you would rather not publicly post your idea here, you can email me at tobyzluv "at" gmail "dot" com (I assume everyone would know how to decipher my email from that. Just trying to avoid public search engines that offer free spamming....)

I am wide open for your discussion!

Being Real About Blogging

A popular subject among bloggers is the whole "privacy setting" discussion. Should I or shouldn't I go private, seems to be a big thing with some bloggers. And I can see why.

I love the new friends I have made through my blog and through other blogs the past few years. I would not find it as pleasant to blog if my blog was an "invited reader's only" blog. The camaraderie among bloggers is a fun friendship to enjoy. But, I can see why some people only blog for "invited readers only". When I hear about bloggers with the privacy setting enabled, they all have a reoccurring theme that made them choose to go private: readers that either stalked, made nasty comments or interrogated them in some way or another.

I got to thinking about it in context of my own blogging.

A blogger writes what they feel; not always what you want to hear.
A blogger writes on their blog; not yours.
A blogger writes personal things and can be brutally honest; you are the one reading it.
A blogger writes based on their own conscience; not yours.
A blogger writes freely, you read it freely -- a blogger doesn't force you to read their blog.
A blogger writes what they believe without asking for your permission.
A blogger writes on their own blog BUT the website is opening in your home; if you don't like what you're reading on their blog, close the page and move on to something you do like.

A lot of readers seem to have a mentality that is inappropriately based: since my blog is coming into your home and I am willingly baring my heart for you to see it, that doesn't mean that I deserve speculation or interrogation or accusations or nasty comments just because I am vulnerable. I am not asking you to critique my work just because I make it available for you to read. And it's not that I feel a need to "trust" you with my secrets; a blog does not have secrets when it's public. I only trust you to read what I write and not come back and tell me what I should've wrote or hear how you disagree because you think you know me better and what I said is inconsistent with my life. (I say "I" and "you" in a general sense and in a way that speaks for all bloggers and readers.)

If you don't like the contents of a blog you are reading, or disagree, or have concerns with a topic or phrase, the blog author is not responsible for coming into your home and giving you a bad feeling about the blog you are reading. You made the move to enter that premises.

A blogger enjoys writing freely; if they have to think about a reader's preferences, or a reader's criticism, or a reader's inability to understand a situation, or knows a reader will strongly disagree with something the author says, that blog becomes the reader's blog; not the blogger's blog.

For safety reasons when your blog contains personal information that may pertain to you alone and/or your family, it is good to get a site meter and check it frequently. Check the referrals to see where your readers are coming from and also figure out direct hits (through IP addresses) from consistent readers: you want to know you are blogging among friends, even if the friends are people you have never met in person.

If some readers are on your blog more than you are, that's a good time to make a reference of the pages they load and the posts they're reading. That is usually a positive thing to have an interested reader but it can also be negative depending on the situation. You can see what is piquing their curiosity and what topics they seem attracted to; thus making their reading experience more inviting to them. But, there could be other reasons... are they checking for consistency in your life and/or getting information for ulterior motives and/or are they just getting to know you better?

I know I've posted this before but it's worth the read again. My friend Hannah says this:


I want my blog to be a place where I write what I’m passionate about -thoughts & people alike. What makes me laugh or cry, what grabs my soul and makes me think. A place where I share from real life, not just another collection of well-meaning spiritual rhetoric and lofty quotes of inspiration. Sometimes that can be hard to do. But I’m convinced that God’s touch is found in everything from answered prayers to eating ice cream, and much like a singer singing a song they don’t really care about, if it doesn’t mean anything to me, I certainly can’t help it mean much to anyone else.

I couldn't agree more.