Rocks In My Dryer

You See What I'm Up Against

I sat down just now to pay the kids their weekly allowance, but my mind was only halfway there. The kids get half their age (in dollars) per week, but simultaneously remembering the ages of four children and then dividing by two was simply too much math at the end of this long day.

Me: Stephen, remind me, what's your allowance?

Stephen: [Eyebrows raised in great hope, and not a moment's hesitation.] $520.

Me: Oh really?

Stephen: Yep, $520.

Me: Per week?

Stephen: Yes. You see, there's this new, um, metric system. And...um...well, $100 is the new $1, so if you convert it over, it means that $5 really equals $520. Except really it's $500, but I'm just throwing in a little tax.

Big points for creativity, anyway. (But still only $5 for allowance).

Guatemala Food Crisis :: CNN
Watch this CNN video about Compassion's work in Guatemala: "The relief group works mostly through local churches, capitalizing on existing community networks." (Yes. Well-said.)

Implanted With Wrong Embryo :: MSNBC
This family's response to an unimaginable situation will blow you away. See follow up to story here.

Doing the Best We Can :: Ann Kroeker

No-Sew Halloween Costumes :: Parenting

My Marriage Is a Teenager :: Lifenut

5 Grammar Mistakes That Make You Sound Like a Chimp :: Copy Blogger
via Worthington Wire

Packing Flowers :: HELLO My Name Is Heather

A Few Random Thoughts, Because I Haven't Had a Complete Thought Since July

Even though this blog is utterly dead silent (do I hear crickets chirping?), I am writing many hours a day on this TypePad book. Many, many hours--hours I should probably be spending feeding my family something other than hot dogs and chips...again. Deadlines wait for no one, though, so hot dogs it is, and my family has been one big, collective good sport about it. While I can't say I'd be an advocate of operating at such a frenzied pace indefinitely, it's been good for my family to pull together for a common cause. They're pitching in, helping Mom get a job done well (and quickly), and I'm thankful to them. When it's all over, I hope we all have a great sense of accomplishment. And may we never, ever eat another hot dog again.

Speaking of the book, we're officially listed at Amazon now. When I learned that, I did not squeal or freak out or call Melanie because I am much too calm and professional to act that way. Ahem.

Let's see, what else. Ah yes, I almost turned into a pancake this week, driving my kids home from school during a massive thunderstorm. We crept along at a snail's pace (zero visibility, but just enough to see the STRAIGHT-LINE WINDS, which is never good). Suddenly, a giant oak crashed across the road, less than 50 feet from our van.

Branches from other trees started pelting down all around us, and it began to hail. Thankfully, I had watched the movie Twister only days before, so I was fully equipped for a Dramatic Weather Emergency. "LEAN TO THE MIDDLE OF THE CAR!" I shouted over the pelting hail, and the kids did just that. I swung that van around more like Jack Bauer than a happy housewife, and I floored it off that tree-lined street, dodging airborne branches the whole time. I glanced in the rear-view mirror to see the 10-year-old hovering protectively his 4-year-old sister, and I thought to myself that since we were surely about to die I was glad I could remember this about him, as opposed to the smell of the soccer cleats he left in my car all day.

We finally got off the Giant Tree-Lined Death Trap and parked in a neighborhood with no trees. I sat there, eyes closed, breathing an overwhelmed prayer of thankfulness. The eight-year-old's quiet voice whispered, "Mom?" I turned to look at him. "That was WICKED cool."

I'm glad I could entertain, son.

Last thing: my friend Scott (my husband's old high school friend, actually, but I've adopted him) is one of the only 3.7 male readers of this blog, and he sent me a link to share with you. It's the Dude Perfect guys, performing some unreal stunts, all in the name of--what else?--Compassion. You've got to see it. 

But I'm Still Waiting For "National Fold Your Own Dang Laundry Day"

This blog puts me on the receiving end of so many curious PR pitches that if I were to print them all out, I would single-handedly kill all the forests in Brazil, or Oregon, or wherever it is all the forests are. It's many, many emails.

But the ones that pique my interest most are the declaration of new national holidays. Today I learned, for example, that October is National [Food-Item-Which-Shall-Remain Unnamed] Month. The irony is, the Food Item Which Shall Remain Unnamed is a food item that I loathe with such fervor that I'd rather go chew on the soccer cleats that are stinking up my laundry room even as we speak.

But now it has a month, all its own.

Well, not all its own, because I did a little poking around on some PR sites today and learned that October is also National Chili Month, National Sarcastics Month (whatever), National Orthodontics Health Month (if I tell my orthodontist I posted about it, do you think I can skip my October payment?), and National German-American heritage month (I raise my schupfnudel to you).

It is also Squirrel Awareness month. That one just needed a paragraph of its own, and I suggest you sit here and think squirrely thoughts for a minute before you continue reading, because it is very, very important that we are all properly Squirrel Aware.

I know it's a PR ploy, of course, and I suppose at times it's been successful. Some of the causes are important and have become meaningful traditions--Breast Cancer Awareness and Black History Month both come to mind.

But on the whole, I have to wonder: does this ploy really work? Do we really need a National Rice Month (September)? I mean, are there really throngs of people who rise up in celebration and finally see, for the first time....um, rice? We most certainly do not need a National Southern Belles Month (April), because if you have ever met a true Southern belle, you know that she will not be confined to one month, no ma'am, nevah evah.

I find it especially curious planning that March hosts National Eye Donor Month right alongside Workplace Eye Health and Safety Month. Interestingly, March also is home to National Optimism Month, which means, I presume, that after those 30 days you can go back to grouchy.

I laughed at these things all afternoon, until my 6th grader burst in the door after school. "MOM!" he shouted. "Tomorrow is National Talk Like a Pirate Day! I've been waiting for it all week!"

So I guess it works after all, at least in the 12-and-under crowd. I don't know what to say. Except, perhaps, Aaaargh.

When You've Lost Control Of the Imaginary Friends, You've Lost Control

...I get eye-to-eye (I think) with Katie Mexico and tell her that she has to play by our rules, or she can’t play with Corrie anymore. Corrie nods self-righteously, for emphasis. I give Katie’s head (I think) a pat, and off the two friends go.

(They don’t prepare you for this stuff in Lamaze class....)

{Read more at Parenting.com}

Repurposing

Last week we took down our swingset.

It feels like I should play a little funeral dirge behind that sentence. No swingset, after 12 years of living in a home with a swingset. Ours is gone.

I watched the disassembling from my perch on the back patio (where I sat wearing a JACKET in late August, by the way--if this is climate change, it's working for me just fine). I watched the boys handing tools to Hubs, while Corrie sang them show tunes (it was immensely helpful to them), and I coached myself: do not get sentimental, do not get sentimental. It's just a rusty old death trap that needed to come down before someone got launched over the neighbor's fence. Anyway, it would be nice for some grass to grow over there. This is purely practical--it is not some climactic harbinger of my sad, empty nest.

But because I find myself squarely in a midlife crisis at the moment, realizing that I'm just this close to not having a preschooler for the first time in 13 years--well, my raw emotions are turning non-events into events, every single day. Hubs knew this, and he called over his shoulder as he worked: "You sure you don't want to take a picture?"

"NO!" I yelled back, in all caps, "NO, BECAUSE THIS IS JUST NO BIG DEAL. REALLY. I MEAN, NO BIG DEAL AT ALL."

And then I think I may have stomped my foot.

But just before I let myself descend--yet again--into my swirly pot of self-pity that my babies are growing, I caught a look at my 8 year old, attempting to use one of the old swingset bars as a javolin. At the same time, the twelve year old was drawing up blueprints on how he could incorporate the swingset wreckage into a fort. The 10 year old picked up a garden house and started watering down the tiny sprigs of grass underneath where the swingset once lived.

They were moving on to better things. Repurposing.

It is precisely what they should do, just as it is precisely what I should do. The times, they are a-changin', and I can mourn their passing (and thus miss their passing), or I can look at what is to come. Even as I leave behind the Season Of the Swingset, I'm greeting a new season in its place. It's a season of deep conversations and belly laughs and hair gel and healthy grass and every member of my family cutting his own meat.

We're moving on to better things. Repurposing.

And I like it.

Is This Thing On?

Hi, blog friends. I'm back. Or at least back-ish. It's been a long and strange several weeks: the normal madhouse of back-to-school chaos (including our first year of middle school), plus the frantic pace of a book deadline, plus the sudden death of my father-in-law. (And by the way, many thanks to those of you who sent such kind expressions of prayer and sympathy--that meant more than you know.) I'm not sure I've ever been sprinting in so many directions at once.

Case in point: I went to curriculum night at my kids' school a couple last week, dashing out the door after a full day of writing and a thrown-together meal of macaroni and cheese. I talked with all the teachers, and I had a nice chat with the PTA president and principal and several other parents. As I was leaving the school, I looked down to see that the entire evening I'd been wearing a giant, streaky blob of macaroni and cheese stuck to the front of my shirt.

NICE.

While I'm quick to kick myself for letting things get so chaotic, I don't want to miss the lessons in the mayhem. Times like this have a way of forcing me to focus on what's important: Turn off the computer and enjoy the cool evening. Love my husband. Check my shirt for wayward pasta. Live and learn.

The good news is that the book is going very well. We're almost to the halfway point, and we're so proud of what we've done so far. You TypePad users already know how many changes are taking place as the new version continue to get up and running, and we're writing this book to the new version of TypePad, not the old one. This has meant many, many hours of poking around in my dashboard, learning the new lay of the land (and, by the way, loving it. I don't always love change, but this new TypePad design has really grown on me.) If you're a new TypePad user (or you're an old one who is still getting up to speed on all the changes), I really think this book is going to be a great help. Sit tight--I'll tell you more about it soon.

In the meantime, I'll continue to be in and out here at my blog, until we hit our final deadline later this fall. OH, the irony that spending many hours a day writing a book on blogging doesn't leave any time for...um, blogging. Also, a quick note--I'm using my personal blog as a guinea pig for implementing some of the TypePad features I'm writing about. Hopefully the changes will be (mostly) unnoticeable to you, but if anything seems wonky, now you know why.

Enough about that. What's new with you?

Charming Clothespin Tutorial :: Twice Remembered

Child Survival 101 :: Compassion

Gifts You Can Sew :: Skip To My Lou

The Great Myth :: SimpleMom
"And at the end of the day, we need to trust that God gave us the energy to do those things to which He called us, and no more..."

How I Stole Someone's Identity :: Scientific American
This article will make you change every password you've ever used.

The Next Thing :: Andree Seu
"To me belongs obedience; to Him belongs outcomes..." 

Laborious

This post was originally published in August 2008.

In honor of the upcoming Labor Day weekend, I thought I'd pull out this meme I found. It's about...well, labor. And not the kind you get a day off for, either.

How long were your labors? 

Kid #1, 12 hours. 
Kid #2, 13 hours
Kid #3, 5 hours.
Kid #4, 10 hours. 

Clearly, Kid #3 was a speed racer.  Still is.

How did you know you were in labor? 

Kid #1, water breaking. 
Kid #2, water breaking.
Kid #3, mind-numbing contraction that came out of nowhere and sent me to my knees.
Kid #4, water breaking. 

Clearly, Kid #3 liked to make an entrance.  Still does.

Where did you deliver?

With all of them, at a hospital.  Where the drugs are.

Drugs?

See above.  Oh my stars, YES.  Actually, I recall an especially precious moment during my first labor in which I grabbed my husband's shirt, pulled him in toward my face, and growled "I WANT AN EPIDURAL IF YOU HAVE TO GIVE IT TO ME."

C-section? 

Nope, though Kid #3 almost was.  He was breech until the doctor did a successful "external cephalic version" at the last minute.  That was an delightful procedure in which my sweet husband stood watch over my shoulder, holding my hand, and then he leaned in to whisper, "Sweetheart, right now your belly looks like something out of the movie Alien."

Who delivered?

Doctors, and really great ones.  I've been so thankful for them to them for helping my little ones get to me safely.  And also, for bringing the drugs. 

Kid #2 was born in a teaching hospital in a Chicago.  After all the pushing and the breathing and the glowing over my new boy, I looked down to find my doctor, joined by ELEVEN doctors and nurses in training, all, um, observing.  Goodbye, modesty.

And after a slow labor initially, Kid #4 made a sudden, dramatic appearance, beating the doctor.   The nurses did the job.  (Though the doctor, interestingly, still got paid all the same...)

If you want to play along with this meme, just cut and paste the questions into your own blog, and leave a comment so we can find you!