Twelve

Body image is a touchy subject with women, me included. There is so much psychology mixed with physiology combined with sociology... it's enough to make a woman want to go live on an island by herself. I don't love my body but I also don't really hate it either. I know I have good features (my legs are pretty decent) and not-so-great features (I like to keep wearing maternity shirts just for the extra length. Believe me, NO ONE needs to see my muffin top.)

When I graduated high school, I knew I didn't really have the greatest body. Not repulsive, but let's just say that I ONLY wore a bikini when I was by myself, on the dock at the lake, trying to get a tan and spraying lemon juice on my hair.

My high school cheerleader's uniform was a size 12. Well, I guess I was an 11/12, since technically juniors are odd sizes. But, the 12 was always part of the equation.

Going to college, I didn't really gain the freshman 15, because I already had learned horrible eating habits at home years before. My family was all about having Cokes with dinner every night of the week and dessert was a regular affair. I never once ate non-sugared cereal before I got married. Luckily my genes and metabolism prevented me from becoming a mammoth-sized. I was just basically ignorant when it came to good nutrition: I knew the 4 basic food groups but really it had never occurred to me that Cokes might be bad for me. Or that having unsugared cereal might be a wise choice, every once in a while. I felt like a nutritional champion if I had a serving of fruits and vegetables at lunch AND dinner.

When I graduated college, I'd gained about 5 pounds, but I was still a size 12.

I met my husband when I had been out of college for 3 years. All those years being a single person, cooking for one, can be a boring job. Quite often I would just stop at Casey's general Store and get a slice of pizza for dinner or else eat a bologna sandwich at 10pm. If I ever bought grapes or a head of lettuce, it would inevitably go bad before I was able to eat it all. I just never could motivate myself to make an effort.

When I finally got married in 1998, I had gained another 5 lbs. And my wedding dress? A size 12.

Now I am the mom to 4 kids. Pregnant with #5. I can't stand to look at my stomach. I would NEVER wear a bikini now, no matter how much money you paid me. I don't hate my body, mostly because I have decided that hating my body is simply wasted energy. I have resigned myself to have the attitude of: If I want to eat the foods I like, then I have to accept the body I have. If I want to have a better body, then I have to give up foods that I love, like chocolate and braunschweiger.

After almost 11 years of marriage and birthing 4 children, I have gained an additional 5 pounds. And, I'm still a size 12.

So, here's the mystery: How in the hell am I still a size 12? I know damn good and well that my body is NOT the body that I had in high school. And, granted, back then I was probably a 10-or-12 and now I'm more like a 12-or-14, but last year I finally gave away a pair of jeans that fit me in high school and still fit me when I put them in the Goodwill pile. I had to pass them along because I just had to make more room for more up-to-date purchases. And, still I can occasionally fit into a size 10. So, what gives?

I consider myself quite blessed that my family is pretty healthy (relatively speaking) and I don't have any relatives with any type of obesity. If anything, all my female relatives end up losing weight as they get older. So, I have that to look forward to, which is nice.

But I keep wondering, will I be a 12? What if I drop 25 pounds - will I still be a 12? And, after I've gained these 15 pounds since 1990, where did I put it if I am still wearing the same size? When people see me and say, "Gosh, you really look exactly the same as you did in high school" I can say that I honestly do believe them.

But, deep down, I have always wanted to be a single-digit kind of gal. In high school, when everyone else was complaining of feeling fat in their size 6 skirts, I hated knowing that I would *always* be on the bottom of the cheerleader pyramid. I would never be the "flyer" but always the "base". I was never called "pretty" but rather, people referred to me as "athletic" or "cute". I always longed to be thought of as a delicate female, but people always thought of me as the tough girl with the sharp wit who you didn't want to mess with. I think my size-12 body kept me from believing that anyone thought I was beautiful. I still have trouble believing that. Not that size 12 is anything to be ashamed of, but of all the people I hung around with I was always the biggest. So, "size 12" represented "least desirable girl in the group". Of course, this is rooted deeply from back in high school, where looks were everything and putting someone's personality and character ahead of their looks was a theory only, one preached by our stupid parents who didn't know anything anyway.

But, for now, size 12 isn't so bad. I am hoping to hold onto my size 12 for a while. I just bought some shorts at Marshalls the other day, and they were size 12. With some extra room. I probably could have gotten the 10, but that just wouldn't have been ME.

Green Thumbies Help Me!

Can you successfully keep plants alive? Can you take care of your yard and your shrubs? Then you just might be the person who can help me. I am in desperate need of some landscaping tutoring. And, since I am very unwilling to part with my almighty dollar (unless it's for some Diet Coke), I am turning to my faithful readers.

Now, I know I can do vegetable gardening. For some reason, I just get it. But flowers? and trees? and shrubs? I am TOTALLY lost.

So, my backyard is not too bad. It's not a landscapers paradise but it isn't awful either. I have lots of grass, with sections that are enclosed with landscape edging and has some type of vine growing inside it and trees.
Here's a close-up of the vines inside the enclosure:
I am wondering if it is bad, good, okay, or just my choice to let the vines climb up the trees, like this:
Now, we also have some weeds growing. Here are pictures of them:

Any idea what those weeds are? I have no idea. I don't think they're poison ivy because I pick them with no gloves and have never gotten a rash or itchy. They definitely grow on a vine (not a single weed plant.) Don't know if I need to know what it is, but I'm just curious.

Now, also, I have these other things growing in my vine-area.
They kinda look like tulip leaves, but I'm fairly sure they are not. I thought they might be Yucca plants but I haven't seen any of those stem-things growing out of the center. Of course, we've only lived here since last April so some of these landscaping mysteries are going to remain just that. So, if these things ARE yucca plants, do I really want them in the middle of my ivy area? They are kinda just growing at random and spreading out and I don't really care for them much.

I'm really just kinda at a loss about what to do with this whole ivy-area. Truthfully, I like the shade in the back yard, but there's SO much shade that I'm having a hard time finding a place for my tomato plants (in pots because there's really no good place for a garden.)

Okay, I'm ready for the advice. Hit me.

Blommit

I've heard of Blog Farts - little thoughts and tidbits that, by themselves, don't mean much but when all lumped together can equal up a whole blog post.

I like to call it Blommit - like Blogging Vomit - I have these blog ideas and I am going to vomit them out on the page. So, here goes:

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I was watching Made of Honor online on Netflix. If you've seen it, you know that after the opening credits there is a scene where Patrick Dempsey is driving to work in his convertible. My first thought was, "Who would drive a convertible in downtown New York? Certainly the smog would outweigh any beautiful weather benefits." Then, as my mind was turning circles, I see a little boy in a blue-and-yellow striped shirt, standing on a busy people-packed curb. And he eats his booger. And just when I'm about to hit the pause and rewind button, he does it again. How would you like to go to school the next day, after you've bragged to all your friends, "Hey I was an extra in a big movie!", and have to face the next 10 years being known as the booger-eater?
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What ever happened to the Thermos? I remember as a kid, I had the coolest lunch box with a matching thermos. My lunch box was old, but I loved it. It was the classic lunchbox shape - long and tall and rectangular on the bottom half but round on the top half. The food fit on the bottom part and the thermos fit neatly into the top part with a little latch to keep it in place and not squish my PB&J sandwich. My lunchbox looked like a mailbox and had a pretend flag on the side for me to raise, and the thermos had ZIP codes all over it. But deep down I always longed for the NEW! square lunchboxes with a plastic thermos (mine was glass and my mom was constantly telling me not to drop it! or else I'd drink glass shards! and always shake it before opening it to see if glass shards were rumbling around inside the thermos!). My friends had lunchboxes from the Muppet Show or Barbie or Speed Racer. But, they all still had a matching Thermos. Nowadays, I'd LOVE for my kids to have a thermos. I have to keep buying and rebuying those damn Capri-Sun pouches or Kook-Aid squeezers. If my kids had a Thermos, all my mornings of stress over filling water bottles or figuring out what to do with 3 kids and only 2 Capri-Suns would be over.
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Do you think Dooce reads all her comments? I must admit that I don't read her blog, and I've only looked at it twice. I still don't know how to pronounce "Dooce" (Is it "doo-see"? or is it "deuce"? or maybe even "doo-chee" like an Italian would pronounce it? Please tell me it's not "douche" like a person with a lisp would say. Please say no! Please, God, NO!) But while perusing her recent posts, I noticed many of them were closed to comments. The last one that was open to comments had 450 comments! My eyeballs would get very exhausted if I had to read 450 comments every day. And, knowing how she's one of the most well-known bloggers in the blogging community, I'm sure that not all 450 of those comments are like rainbows and unicorns. I could NOT handle having crazy lunatics make nasty comments at me all the time. Maybe that's the reason she has closed comments...
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See? Blommit. I can't use Vlog (vomit/blog) 'cause that word is already taken. So, Blommit.

OMG I finished a book

I always have admired the women I read on blogs who are mothers, and author an amazing blog, and on top of it they participate in regular book clubs. I am not quite so multi-talented.

I'm more of a one-at-a-time type of gal.

So, you can understand my exaggerated self-praise when I recently finished a book. The book was Microthrills by Wendy Spero. It is a memoir, which is my current book style of choice. I've also recently read some Jen Lancaster and David Sedaris. And by lately, I mean since sometime after school started way back in the fall. (See what I'm saying? I mean, who has time to vacuum, fold a mountain of laundry, make time for BLOGGING, and read a book too?)

So, this book is the compliation of stories of a twenty-something (girl? lady? woman? Why don't we come up with a new word here - like "tadult" - cross between teen and adult. Or how about Girlady. I think that would cover all females aged 19-29. But I digress.) She reveals stories about her life as the daughter of a single Jewish sex therapist mother who is committed to making sure she becomes a dermatologist (or lawyer or businesswoman) and never eats chemical-laden foods. She describes herself as having OCD, which is clearly demonstrated by her inability to make choices of any type on her own (for fear she will make the wrong choice), and she's a self-proclaimed candy freak.

As far as books go, I have to admit that I'm not very deep. Maybe that's one of the reasons I struggled through high school literature classes with books like Lord of the Flies, The Grapes of Wrath, and A Brave New World. So, this book was right up my alley. Lots of short stories that had the same characters, but I didn't have to worry about putting the book down and forgetting the plot.

The real bonus for this book is that I found it at Big Lots for 50 cents. I don't know why it was in the bargain bin, but buying something for a good deal makes the purchase seem that much sweeter.

I'm hoping that my next book has some kind of plot. Already I feel like I have early-onset Alzheimer's. Maybe I should go do some Sudoku.

Something Good

When it comes to my mad skillz in the kitchen, they are pretty much non-existent. My kids' favorite meal is Hamburger Helper and my husband usually just looks at what I'm cooking, then fixes something separate for himself. And, to answer your question, YES I find that insulting but I am so used to it by now, I have become desensitized. At least he is doing the fixing for himself.

But, when it comes to canning, I'm not afraid to shine. In the summer of '07, I won 5 first-place ribbons and one second-place ribbons for canned (preserved) foods at the Clinton County Fair. (I could only find 3 of the ribbons for the picture. I think I was using the other 3 for bookmarks.)


That fair, by the way, is exactly the stuff you see (or read about) in Charlotte's Web. There is a parade, Fair Queen pageant, Kettle corn, all types of livestock judging, carnival rides, (local) celebrity cow milking contest, etc. 4-H has a booth selling Lemon Shake-Ups (If you've never had a lemon shake-up, you've never tasted summer.) And, of course, in the exhibition hall there are lots of submissions for judging, like quilts, canned foods, fresh foods, artwork, hand-sewn clothes, woodworking, etc. I submitted pickled asparagus, green beans, tomatoes, dill pickles, apples, and pear honey.That's Texan Papa in the green ball cap. He was a "local celebrity" because he's a pastor. It doesn't take much to be a celebrity, I guess.

There's Peppermint Patty, Charlie Brown, and Linus eating watermelon slices off of a frisbee after the very long and hot parade. (I walked with PP and Linus in the parade, 6 months pregnant, pulling a wagon and throwing out candy. Linus walked with the Cub Scouts.) See what I mean about it being a real country fair?

Now, in case you don't know what pear honey is, I am happy to tell you: It is a wonderful sweet spread, much like the consistency of marmalade, but with a taste of honey. However, the honey does not taste sugary-sweet, but rather fruity-sweet. I found a recipe for Pear Honey when I was given 2 bushels of very ripe pears and had no idea what to do with them. Well, as it turns out, pear honey is best made with overripe pears. It's SO simple to make. If you have pear trees or if you get pears from a neighbor, I highly recommend making it. It is so unique and your friends and family will gobble it up! I even made some and put it in small half-cup or half-pint jars and then gave it out with a mini loaf of pound cake at Christmas time. It was a perfect teacher gift and also for the church secretary and organist.

Pear Honey:
8 cups very ripe pears, peeled and crushed
1 cup Pineapple juice
8 cups sugar

Put pears and pineapple juice in a large stock pot. Add sugar. Bring to a full boil and reduce heat to medium for a gentle boil. Cook, stirring constantly, for 30 minutes. Pour into prepared jars*. Process in boiling water for 10 minutes. Makes 6-7 pints.

When you first pour the mixture into the jars, it will seem a little thin, but it will thicken while the jars are processing in the boiling water. And, once cooled, it will thicken even a little more.

*Prepared Jars are canning jars that have been washed thoroughly and warmed in a canning pot with simmering water. The jars are kept in the simmering water until they are ready to be filled. Processing in boiling water means, once the jars are filled, and new caps and rings are screwed on (tight enough to close but not TOO tight), then the jars are returned to the simmering water with at least 1 inch of water above the caps. The water is returned to a boil. This is NOT using a pressure cooker.

Compassion or Conviction?

Because of this pregnancy, and yes it's still going well (heard the heartbeat last week), I have terrible insomnia. Here's how it goes: tackle all the daily chaos, then as soon as the kids are asleep I also pass out from exhaustion. Then at around 1am something wakes me up and I can't go back to sleep until about 4:30am, which is not the greatest sleep cycle for the Iron-Mother marathon which I take part in every. single. day.

So, during last night's bout with insomnia, I ran across the story of Australian woman Janet Fraser. Ms. Fraser is a staunch advocate for home birth and for women feeling empowered to trust themselves, rather than the medical community, when it comes to pregnancy and birthing health care. The story evokes many different emotions from me: sadness, compassion, and anger. On March 27, she gave birth to her daughter at a home water birth. The delivery was unassisted by any medical personnel or midwife. Tragically, her baby died. It is believed that her baby had cardiac arrest, but the facts have yet to unfold as to whether the baby died during the nearly week-long home labor or shortly thereafter.

My sadness for this woman comes from feeling that no mother should have to experience that kind of loss. I have compassion for her because she was truly trying to do right by her baby and that very decision may have been the direct cause of the baby's demise.

But my anger comes not from the idea of home birth (which I have no problem with). My issue is that, because of her distrust of the medical community, Janet Fraser admits that she never received any prenatal care for her baby. Never saw a doctor or midwife. Never had an ultrasound. Never had any genetic testing. Never had a stethoscope held to her belly. This woman has two other children, one of which who was born in an emergency c-section procedure. So, she should be intimately aware of the complications that can arise during pregnancy and delivery. Yet, she was so bound to her convictions that a woman does not need to rely on Medical professionals for health care, that she put her own daughter's life in jeopardy and faced the ultimate consequence.

Many people feel that Ms. Fraser has suffered enough by the loss of her child and that her grief should be enough punishment. Other people feel that she should face the legal responsibility, the same as any person who neglected to give a child proper medical care.

What do you think? Do you believe that this poor woman should simply live with the consequences of her actions, and let her conscience be her own personal jail? Or should she face the same punishment as any child-care advocate who was negligent in their responsibilities, thereby contributing to the child's death?

So, what's your take?

Keep Believing

Today's post is dedicated to my dear friend Angie, as today is her and her husband's 12th anniversary. Angie's husband, Brian, lost his battle with cancer last month. To read her whole story just go to her blog.

Lately I have been in a funk. I think it is hormonal, but since I have estrogen coursing through my body I don't expect to be un-funked anytime soon. I cry off an on some days, and other days I just stare blankly out the window.

I think this is a really hard thing to be going through, but I keep believing that I know someone who would give anything to trade places with me.

I have so many good friends who willingly listen to my every complaint, no matter how minor or insignificant. Before I know it, the bitching and moaning turns into joking and storytelling, and I've forgotten all about my troubles. Talking to them really lifts my burdens and I really hope that in some way, I can do the same thing for them when they need it.

But, deep down, I keep believing that no amount of jokes or "I'm here for you" or will ever make a girl feel better.

Living in Texas has had its ups and downs. We've only been here a year so I feel like I really need to wait a bit to judge my situation objectively. It's just too hard to realize what I'm going through while I'm in the middle of it. I'm trying my best to make it work, but I wonder if I'll look back a year from now (or two, or five) and think, "Yo, I royally screwed THAT one up!"

And I think of an incredible woman who will look back a year from now (or two, or five) and say to herself, "I can't believe I persevered through it."

I am not just pouring empty accolades on this woman. She is funny as hell. And she's smart as a whip. And she's like a little firecracker (tiny package, huge fire). And her outside beauty can only be matched by her inner beauty. She is generous, loyal, an incredible listener, and an amazing friend. I consider myself lucky to have had her in my life for 20+ years.

For a long time, I had a hard time to keep believing that her husband's life should be touched by cancer. I had a hard time accepting that such a wonderful person wouldn't live a life of fullness, free of pain and suffering. That was a lesson for me, in that we don't get what we deserve - we just get. And how we deal with what we get is the true mark of an individual's character. And, in turn, I understood that living a life of fullness doesn't necessarily mean living a life of many years.

Angie and Brian would be celebrating their 12th anniversary today. They lived their lives in the shadow of death every single day, but instead of being bitter and anxious, they chose to embrace every day and cherish each other every bit more.

I keep believing that I do appreciate my husband and that I love him a little bit more every day. But Angie and Brian shared a meaning of marriage that few people will ever know. Cancer ended up not being the tool that the devil intended it to be. Instead, cancer taught them to appreciate each other. To listen to each other. To trust God. To forgive more often. To laugh a little bit louder. To hug a little bit tighter. To learn the real lessons of life, together. To spend more time doing special things that the rest of us keep putting off until tomorrow.

Brian is gone now, but his love for Angie remains. I know her love for him lives on too.

Angie, your journey has been a lesson for us all in strength. But, without you realizing it, it's also been an example of how to have a lasting marriage. Brian's legacy will live on through the impact you have had on all of us.

We love you Angie.

KEEP BELIEVING

One Spunky Mama

Hi. Happy Thursday.

I don't even know how to begin this post. I keep giggling every time I look at the title. You'll know why in about 4 sentences.

I am participating in Mamakat's writing prompts today. I chose to write about a local news story. This story comes from Bedford, a community in the DFW area. Here is the intro sentence for the story on UPI:

A Texas woman has successfully sued to preserve the body of her son for sperm extraction so she might have a grandchild, officials said.

I don't want to minimize the pain that mother must be feeling over losing her son. As parents, we never expect to outlive our children. At the very least, we want to see them graduate high school and college (hopefully), get married, and have children.

But on some level, I really feel that having children should be MY decision, not my mom's.

This woman's young son was not married, so any plans he had about having children were theoretical and hopeful, at best. Now, this woman (Marissa Evans) has received permission to have her son's sperm extracted from his body. A urologist in Austin has volunteered to do the procedure. But I gotta ask, who is going to bear this child? With a grandma off her meds like that, can you imagine the kind of demands she will have for the unfortunate surrogate? And that poor child, I can only imagine the kind of questions that will be raised once the child grows to be old enough to understand where he/she came from.

Okay, if you want to see the full story, just go here. The woman presented her case to the folks at the Today show on NBC last week. I missed that one, but I bet the conversation was one for the books.

Maybe Gramma can call Octo-mom. I bet she could use the money.

Tuesday Tribute: First Amendment Heroes

I love America. I love all that it stands for. Clearly we are the most powerful nation on earth. Yes, right now our country is in a state of disrepair, but even in our crappy economic times, other countries are suffering just like us. Did our financial missteps cause these other countries' economic failures also? Well, I'd kinda like to believe that they just wanna be like us real real bad.

Anyway, our country began its young life as a rebel. The very first amendment to the constitution proves that: Congress shall make no law ... abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press... blah blah blah. Freedom of speech. Gotta love it. One notable "freedom of speech" act that I think really exemplified American morale was in 1989, when the United States Supreme Court overturned the decision of a Texas court in finding a man guilty of breaking a Texas law for burning a US Flag. However, the United States Supreme Court felt that this act of expression is considered as protected under the first amendment. Way to go, judges. Because if anyone's gonna hate America, why don't we let the real experts show them how to do it.

Now, I know I will never burn a flag. First of all because the thought of biting the very hand that feeds me seems counter intuitive. Using the very freedoms that are given to me to say, "SCREW FREEDOM!" seems a bit ... disrespectful. But secondly, simply because I would never want my kids to see me doing that. Having my own opinions is awesome until I am in charge of shaping the minds of young impressionable citizens. I want my kids to love America too and if they decide that they don't love America, I will be happy to help them secure a relocation visa.

But, my Tuesday Tribute is not about Flag-burners, per se. Although, it IS about people who exercise their freedom of speech.

I'd like to give a big shout-out to all the folks who like to wear offensive t-shirts. Once I was at a children's museum with my kids, where the children outnumbered the adults 3-to-1, and a twenty-something guy was wearing a shirt that read, "MAN WHORE". Wow, dude. Smart wardrobe choice for a CHILDREN'S MUSEUM. I mean, I know it was hard to pick from that shirt and the one that said, "Panty Inspector" or maybe the one that said "Ride My Johnson" with a picture of a surfboard. Yes, I'm sure you high-five your buddies when you all meet up at the intellectual summit at T.G.I. Friday's happy hour, but couldn't you at least just wear something plain when mixing with the under-12-and-reading crowd?

Only second to annoying t-shirts are the obnoxious bumper stickers. You know, like "Don't like my driving? call 1-800-EAT-SHIT" or "Jesus Loves You. Everyone Else Hates You." Of course there are countless others. Some make me laugh but some are just moronic. Don't even get me started on the stickers with Calvin (from Calvin & Hobbes) peeing on a symbol of a Chevy. Or a Ford, or a Dodge, or whatever. Yeah, that's a look to show off to your mom & be proud of.

I guess lots of people like the shock value of their actions. But, I think the excitement of pissing people off tends to go down a notch once they have kids and can see how it's not so funny when some other free thinker's kid teaches little Junior the F-bomb. Oh, but God help us... do we really want these people reproducing?

Tuesday's Tribute is brought to you by Jay over at Halftime Lessons. Because it's not all about me.

My Legacy

Things I want to teach my children

Sadness in life is awful, but facing sadness makes the joy in life that much sweeter.

Never underestimate the power of being kind

Family ties will never unravel - they may have kinks or knots but the tie is still there

Self-respect lasts a lot longer than a great haircut, trim waistline, or perfect complexion

Things I want my children to remember about me

My mom always smiled

I never doubted my mom's love for me

My mom was smart

My mom knew me really well

I knew my mom would do just about anything for me if I needed her to

My mom helped me meet some amazing grown-ups who taught me some pretty awesome stuff
My mom could laugh at herself

Things I want to model for my children

A marriage isn't necessarily easy but it is worth it

Serving other people will empty you of your free time, but fill your heart

A tube of toothpaste is a lot cheaper than a filling

Being right is not as important as asking for forgiveness when you're wrong


This is certainly not an exhaustive list, but it's what I've got today. I'm sure as I get more "experienced" as a mother, I'll add to this list or change some things. But it will be neat to look back 10 years from now and think about this list.

Solicited Advice

When I was just a baby, a mere 27 years old, I bore my first child. I had absolutely NO idea what I was doing and didn't even try to fake it. I was fine with telling anyone that the 12-year-old Girl Scout across the street probably knew more about quieting a newborn's cries than I did.

I DESPERATELY wanted other moms to tell me, "Uh, yeah, you probably didn't know that but you're doing it wrong." or "Don't second guess yourself! You're doing it right!" The "it" was just about any aspect of mothering: breastfeeding, using a pacifier, choosing a stroller, clipping baby's nails, holding baby to comfort her, giving baby medicine, choosing baby food, etc.

So, you can imagine my relief when I found Mamasource. It's an online community of moms who are the sounding board for any question. And when I say any question, I really mean ANY question, from "How did you talk to your child about sex?" to "What's the best time of year to go to DisneyWorld?" to "What can I expect when weaning my baby from the breast?" You get the idea. After logging in, you can personalize your settings so that you connect with moms in your geographic area. How cool is that? You can ask about the zoo in your city, and other moms give you the 4-1-1. When I moved to DFW from Illinois, this is the first website I went to. I just changed my zip code in my personal settings and within one week of moving I had found a new mom's group in my new hometown.

So, Mamasource has launched a new sistersite called Mamapedia. It has tons of great information, all written for moms, by moms. I love to read the great questions moms have. Sometimes I think, "OOH I've been wondering that too! What did other moms say???" and other times I just type back my response. Here's a question one mom asked about allowance:

How do you handle allowance?
I'm curious what other moms do. I have been giving $5 a week and letting the kids save or spend it how they want. My husband feels we've created a monster especially with our 5 year old because now that he gets some little toy every week; he seems to be asking for more things when we go shopping and asking when we can go to the store and buy him a toy.
Hubby feels we should do $1 to church, $2 to the bank, and $2 to spend every week; and they can save up for something. He feels the $2 in the bank can buy bigger things such as my 8 year old asking about an iPod (which I can't imagine she'd need!) We tie allowance to chores which is another hot topic. I have a chart to check off what they've done every day. They lose a point for bad behavior or if they didn't do their chores. So, what do you do at your house?

Everyone has a different opinion about this. My favorite mantra is "whatever works for your family". But, as far as specific advice, I would share this (coming from the Gospel of Texan Mama):

Allowance should be an amount that is relative to the age of the child. It should be used to teach money stewardship. In our house, we give our kids $1 per month per year of age that they are. So, my 9-year-old gets $9 per month. Then they must give 10% to savings and 10% to the offering bowl. On Sunday, this is where their church offering comes from. The rest of the money is theirs to do with as they want. This really helps with us not having to buy the piddly little dollar toys that they beg for. Plus, they realize that expensive items are hard to buy with just a little money, so they can understand why we don't want to waste our money on them either. The first experience our son had with this connection was when he was 6 years old. He got his allowance, minus $1.20 (60 cents to offering and 60 cents to savings). He bought a stuffed animal for just over $4 and had nothing left. The next day he wanted a DVD cartoon from Wal-Mart and we asked him, "Well, where's your allowance money?"
"I spent it on that stuffed animal. I don't even know where that stuffed animal is now!"

"I'm sorry you can't find your animal, but I'm glad you lost an animal that YOU paid for and not me."

As far as chores and allowance, they are not linked in my household. My children have chores, but they do them because "we are all a part of the family. A family cannot be run by one person. We all need to work together to make this family work." After I've drilled this into their brains for a few years, it's finally beginning to stick!

So, if you have a question about practically anything, and you want another mom's solicited advice, just log on to mamapedia and start gabbing.

Brilliant Idea or Child Abuse?

My children are very reluctant to go to bed. We (the Texan Pops and myself) are very regular about bedtime ritual: showers, jammies, teeth brushed and flossed or flourided, read a story, say a prayer, and lights out by 8:30 at the latest. But the kids have started to revolt. Maybe it's their age, maybe it's the sun staying up longer. Whatever it is, IT. IS. DRIVING. ME. NUTS.

Don't they know that I need me some alone time?

The other day, Charlie Brown asked me, "Mom, why do you and Dad stay awake so long after we go to bed?" I tried to politely (failed) explain to him, "We need to be able to pick up messes while we don't have to chase children or clean up new messes that are created while we are doing our work. We need to be able to finish jobs without new ones popping up. And, we need time to be alone and have grown-up time."

Okay, not the best explanation. Not the most compassionate, well-thought-out answer. But, really honest.

So, I've decided if the children continue to get out of bed after they've been tucked away for the night, I will give them chores. Scrub the insides of trash cans. Clean toilets. Pick up dog poop. Wipe linoleum with a rag. You know, the fun stuff that I save for myself till they're all asleep. Because if they're going to be up at night, they might as well be having the same fun that I'm subjected to, right?

How many nights do you think they'll want to get out of bed?

See Texan Mama. Hear Texan Mama Talk. Watch Texan Mama Vlog.

Okay, so over at SITS (The Secret is in The Sauce - if you haven't ever been there then you must be living in a closet. Seriously, these girls are uber-fun) they had the Featured Blogger of the day, and it had something to do with vlogs. (In case you don't know what that is... and there are no stupid questions here... except "what's a stupid question?".... then vlog is video-log.) I am not completely sure what I'm supposed to do with my vlog, but I've decided to go ahead and post it on my blog.

Doing a vlog for the first time has taught me a few things:
1. For God's sake, I need to put on make-up before doing on-screen appearances. And, you wouldn't believe this but I actually did comb my hair today. But, picking up a baby and putting her down a dozen times will cause the crazy hairs to do their own thang. Plus my hair is in that ever popular but really annoying in-between stage.
2. I think I have a lisp that no one has ever told me about. I never noticed it before. Maybe it's just my camera.
3. When video-ing a large area, I need to do less sweep the whole area quickly back and forth, and do more of show each area steadily, then slowly move to another area. I sincerely apologize if you get some motion sickness from watching this video.
4. Apparently I have a few systems that are in place but not working. Okay, actually, I have a lot of systems that definitely aren't working. I must put some attention on improving that.

Since I've been waiting for my video to be uploaded onto YouTube (does it usually take this long? I've been waiting like 2 hours) I have successfully tidied the bedroom and cleaned the bathroom. I'm off to do more cleaning so I can someday aspire to have a vlog where I am not ashamed to go into certain areas of my house, and the semi-messy rooms are the cleanest of the bunch. That's pretty sad.

okay, so without further ado, here is my vlog:

On the Way to School Today

Today was a day like any other. It began as it usually does, a little earlier but pretty much the same ritualistic pattern repeated.

(Kisses and snuggles) "Time to get up. It's going to be a nice day today so you can wear shorts. Remember to dress all the way down to your shoes before breakfast."

"Where is your backpack and lunchbox? You must have your backpack in the car and your lunchbox on the counter before you eat breakfast."

"Yes we're having non-sugared cereal for breakfast. No more sugared cereal in the morning. Or you can have toast or a bagel."

"TURN THE TV OFF! Go brush your teeth. And run a comb through that hair too. A headband or barrette would be nice too."

This is the verbatim monologue I do every morning, with the occasional "Don't forget to study your spelling words during breakfast" thrown in.

How do your mornings usually go?

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On the way to school today, Linus looked through his lunchbox. And he said, "Awesome lunch today mom!" Funny, 10 years ago I never would have imagined how a simple comment like that would give me such a high. Now, THAT is the accomplishment feeling I have been waiting for my whole motherhood. Being a mom is one long string of finishing tasks and never seeing the fruition of our efforts. We comb children's hair, only to have it be smeared with jelly. We scrub stains until our fingers are wrinkled, only to have more stains appear on the same garment. We teach kids to say "please" and "thank you" and "excuse me" but wait for years to have the lessons actually applied to a real conversation. For so long, I have told my husband that being a mom is hard if, for no other reasons, there is no feeling of a job that is finished, where I can stand back and look at my accomplishment and say to myself, "I did that well." Today, I did something well. I made a lunch that my son likes, and he cared enough to tell me so. Why am I tearing up typing that?

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On the way home from school, I passed by a "lingere" shop in a strip mall. (Hee hee - lingere shop in a strip mall... get it???) Anyway, They had written on their window, "Edible lubes and undies". Uh, just my opinion, but is that really something you need to ADVERTISE on your WINDOW? Wouldn't it be enough to just put "Fun Adult Gifts and Toys"? Maybe I'm just a prude. Maybe I just don't want my kids, who can read - very well, I might add - to ask me, "Mom, what are edible lubes and undies?"

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Baby Sally likes to talk on the phone. I like her to not destroy my cell phone. So, when we're in the car, I have given her an old TV remote, which she thinks is a cell phone. She doesn't actually say words, but she puts it up to her cheek and gabbles on and on, just like mama. Aah, the things they pick up without us teaching them!

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I have a long commute to school every day (about 50 minutes there and back, twice a day). I don't like the long drive but I think I'm going to miss it this summer.

The Price of Communication

So, I was perusing some of the new Entrecard ads that are waiting for approval at my dashboard over at Entrecard.com. Do you know what Entrecard is? Basically it's a way to promote your blog on other blogs/websites. You earn credits by accepting advertisements on your blog and also by visiting other blogs. You spend credits by purchasing advertising space on other blogs. The credits are all just virtual... there is no money involved. Well, not until lately. I think now you can actually purchase credits with real money. The more credits you have, the more expensive blogs you can purchase advertising space from. Anyway... I usually check out a blog before I approve it to run on my personal corner of the blogosphere. I visited a site called washwords.com. There was a good post about the lost art of letter writing. It is sad that this art form is going the way of everything else that is non-digital. There was a writing prompt also, which I decided to do:

Question/ Writing Prompt: What was the last (snail-mail/real) letter you remember writing or reading? Why does it stand out?

Hmmm, that's a good question. I love to write letters. I feel that they are just so personal. I love to lick the stamp and hand-write the address. An even better feeling is when I can include a special photo of a recently taken family member. Sending letters are like unconditional love notes. Like, "here's this communication and I don't expect any immediate response. I just wanted to tell you hello, and I love you." Letters are better suited for a time that is long past. In today's society, we expect and desire an immediate response to everything. Call someone on the phone? Well, I can't wait until I get home, so I have to get a cell phone to call them at any given moment. What if they can't talk? Well, I'll just send them a text message! But the written word is much more complex. Words, once inscribed onto paper, cannot be taken back, cannot be changed, cannot be undone. A letter tells the recipient that you took the time to sit down and devote some undivided time to just that one person. Letters are a commitment.

As much as I love to write letters, I love to get letters more. I must admit that it is actually much easier for me to throw away a picture of someone's darling 3-year-old in a ballet tutu than it is for me to throw away a hand-written correspondence. The photo may show a precious child with a perfect smile, but that smile is for no one in particular. A letter is very personal, very implicit.

The last letter I wrote was actually a card. Actually, 3 cards. Two for a very good friend who may read this post before the cards reach her. And another card for another wonderful friend who probably will get the card before she reads my post because I know how behind she is on her email. And really, if you have an inbox of 100 unread messages and a mailbox with a pink envelope and a hand-written address, which are you gonna read first?

And, on a sad note, did you know that the price of stamps is going up again? Yes, in May, my mailman Mario (yes, his real name) has told me that the price to send a one-ounce first-class letter will go from 42 cents up to 44 cents. In my opinion, it's a small price to pay for the joy you know it brings to someone's heart. The bill companies can go screw themselves - I'm paying those suckers online. But when it comes to my girlfriends, nothing compares to the feeling of knowing you're loved enough to get a letter.

No More Mrs. Nice Mama

That's IT. I am DONE being nice to people. Especially children.

Okay, that sounded kinda harsh. And not very motherly. Let me back up.

I am getting increasingly frustrated with other children in public. And, I am not comparing my own children to them, thinking, ooh, mine are angels and would never act like that! If anything, when I see children in public misbehaving, I shoot my children a look that says, don't even think about acting that way and if you are thinking about it you better just put that thought right into your pocket and throw it away in the next trashcan you see.

I am not referring to temper tantrums. We've all dealt with temper tantrums, and they can be ugly. They are sometimes preventable if you have a magic stash of lollipops and extra binkys and you can transport through time to get your child a 2-hour nap in just 16 minutes. I feel the temper tantrum intimately. Really I do.

The thing I'm talking about is manners. Simple, logical manners. What has happened to the children of our society?

Last weekend I took my kids to an academic contest in which Peppermint Patty and Charlie Brown were competing. At the contest, there were hundreds of children present along with their parents and teachers. The "waiting area" was the auditorium where many cafeteria tables were set up and also some folding chairs arranged into rows.

When I was entering or exiting the auditorium with Baby Sally in the stroller, I needed someone to hold the door open for me. Did a single kid help me out? The dozen or so times I passed through? Not once. And so, I ended up holding the door for THEM. And, did even a SINGLE ONE say "Thank you"? Nary a one. And, the thing that burned me up further was that these kids just raced in when someone held the door for them. They never once looked to see if it was their turn to enter or exit, or if POSSIBLY someone else had been waiting to pass through the doorway and maybe they should step aside. Nope, just basically, "I'M MOVING! OUTTA MY WAY!!!"

Then today, I went to an Easter celebration put on by Texan Papa's work. There was lots of fun to be had: a bounce house, a face-painting clown, hot dogs & soda, and an Easter Egg Hunt. All sounds fun, right? Well, during the Easter egg hunt, all the kids lined up with oldest ones in back and youngest ones in front. So, Baby Sally (18 months) was with me up front. When the man yelled "GO" we trotted as quickly as we could, considering her little pudgy baby legs were only about 14 inches long, and tried over and over again to get an egg. Just one simple plastic egg. But over and over again, we'd be about to pick one up and an older kid would run up and SNATCH it up off the ground, slam-dunking it into their own basket, then racing off to add to their stash. I finally said (kinda into thin-air, hoping someone would hear me) c'mon. Let the little kids get some eggs too. Finally I picked her up and RAN to an area with some eggs. And, sure enough, by the time I set her down to let her pick up her own eggs, all the kids came scrambling up and the eggs vanished.

Where were the parents then? Why didn't even ONE of those kids' parents say, hey let the little baby have that egg! You already have 10. Just let her have that one. But no. Nary a voice. No one surrendered a single plastic egg for this little girl's first ever Easter Egg Hunt.

Maybe, just maybe, I am overreacting. Maybe kids will just be kids. But is that an acceptable excuse? Am I turning into an old curmudgeon just because I want to shout at those kids, SHOW YOUR ELDERS SOME RESPECT! When I was a kid, I would have gotten a severe talking-to if I had ever acted that way. And, I think I'm better for it now. I don't have the "Look out for number one" attitude that is so prevalent in today's competitive society. Is that what we really want our kids to grow up with? My point is this: kids naturally start out on a lot of crooked paths. Basic, instinctual thought is to place one's self first before others. But I would hope that there are parents out there who are shaping those crooked paths into straight ones. Parents who are gently guiding kids to think more in terms of "My needs are not always the most important". How can a family work if everyone thinks of themselves first? How can a business survive? How can a community live together?

Yet, I am ashamed to admit that the conclusion I have come to after these two past events is this: I am going to be very discriminating when it comes to who I'm nice to. In the past I have always told my children to be humble and to be generous when it comes to giving someone the benefit of doubt, or if we can't tell who was first in line just step aside and let the other person go first, etc. But now? I kinda feel like, if no one is teaching their kids to use manners then why is it suddenly my job to teach them and also fall victim to their rude behavior?

Yes, I know... be the role model. It's just tough when, every single day, my kids come home with new horrid behavior and I ask them, "Where did you learn that?" Their answer: "At school. From my friend." Heh, nice friends.

This Is Not Mathematically Correct

So, has anyone else out there had problems with Feedburner? HMMMM?

I know that they kinda blew a big internet fart on my buddy Scary Mommy and she had a big contest to get her readers back.

But me? I just can't figure it out. One day I had 147 subscribers. The next day, 26. Uh, WHAT? I hadn't changed my URL, I hadn't changed my feed source, I hadn't even gone to the Feedburner site. I did go there about 2 months ago and switched Feedburner over to the Google Feed, and my numbers went down for like a day or two but then they recovered right away. And they never took a plunge like this.

And, here's what simply doesn't add up: If I have over 80 followers, shouldn't I have at LEAST that many in my subscription number? Those are just people who subscribe through google... who knows how many subscribe through yahoo or bloglines or even directly through email. (I know, hundreds. Maybe thousands. But they're too shy to admit it. It's okay to admit it. hee hee)

But seriously, has anyone else been having trouble with their subscription numbers like this?

Swirl

Today I am having a swirl of emotions: anxiety, pessimism, cautious optimism, excitement, disappointment, glee, and regret.

I have found myself pregnant again.

Again, we were not trying for this. But, I am not altogether convinced that I am actually pregnant. Yes, I am over a month late. Yes, all 3 pregnancy tests show 2 lines. But after my miscarriage in November, I am not going to put ANY eggs in ANY basket until I am actually showing a bump and hear the heartbeat.

I have looked at the statistics and they are all just too confusing: Had all healthy pregnancies? Well, chance of miscarriage is still about 15%. Had a miscarriage once before? That percentage jumps higher. Over age 35 (I'm 37)? The percentage jumps up again.

When we got pregnant last fall, I was so disappointed at first, hoping to just raise Baby Sally and enjoy her all alone, just the two of us. But, eventually, I came around to the idea of having a 5th child and started to get excited. Just about the time I was all ready to buy a double stroller, I began to spot, and a doctor's appointment confirmed that I had a blighted ovum. Basically, the egg had been fertilized and implanted but had never grown past that stage. My body had grown a placenta, a home for a baby that would never be (thereby showing me the false positive for the pregnancy test). I felt like I had been betrayed by my own body. Yet, I had no one to be mad at.

Now, this. Is it a him? Or a her? Or is it nothing?

I have made an appointment with the Obstetrician, but I can not get excited about it. I don't want to face the idea that I may lose another child. And, if I do have a second miscarriage, I think it will just be one more reminder that I am getting older and my body is not fit to do the things it once did so easily. Even though I had not planned on having any more children, the idea of not having the choice suddenly makes the "what if?" turn into a "why can't I?"

At this point I am (supposedly) about 10 weeks along. However, I don't feel pregnant. I have no morning sickness, my boobs aren't sore, I'm not peeing a lot, and I'm not getting any bigger. That's part of the reason I didn't even guess I could be pregnant until about 2 weeks ago. February just flew by, then in March I had a lot of stuff going on (getting ready for that big consignment sale, Girl Scout meetings, Spring Break). Finally, I asked myself, "Shouldn't I have gotten a period by now?"

Please, Please, Please don't tell me congratulations. Don't try to convince me everything will be okay. No one knows that. I felt like I had just started to get over my miscarriage from the fall and now I have to face the possibility of another.

I want to be happy, but I am too afraid to be happy. And, I want to desire another child but I don't know if I have the energy to properly mother another one. Heck, most days I feel like I don't have the energy to properly mother the ones I already have.

Most days, the only thing that keeps me going is the promise of the future. Or, maybe I should say, the uncertainty of the future. I believe there is a promise that we will be cared for by our heavenly Father, but our life here on Earth will be filled with pain and sorrow. He wants us to experience joy, but there can not be joy without there also being sadness. The sadness makes the joy all that much sweeter. I know what ever challenges I am given will not be too much to bear with the help of God and my family. I only pray that I am strong enough to accept the help. For when I am weak, then I am strong. (2 Cor 12:10)

Stress Test?

Who knows if this is true. Who cares. It's pretty cool anyway. I got this in an email yesterday.


Are any of these items moving? Or are they perfectly still?




The pictures above are used to test the level of stress a person can handle.

The slower the pictures move, the better your ability of handling stress.

Criminals that were tested see them spinning around madly; however senior citizens and kids see them standing still.

None of these images are animated - they are perfectly still.

P.S. If you do happen to see the images spinning around madly, please remove me from your blogroll. Thank You. :~)