My Closet Is Not My Own

Hey!

Do you remember what your closet looked like back in high school?  I do.  

It was filled with clothes, of course, but it also had some mementos from my childhood, stuff my mother told me to clean up and I threw it in there, shoes, papers I didn't want to throw away, and the odd accessory.   

Essentially, if you looked in my closet back then, it would've been an extension of me, and you could've gleaned some information about who I was.  Probably pretty egocentric.  I mean, it was a place for all things Bonnie.

nice wooden hangers.  my clothes wish I bought those.

Nowadays, I look at my closet and think, "Who put that there?"  But I also think that my closet is still a pretty good representative of who I am today.

As I take a gander at my built-in shoe shelves, I don't see just shoes.  One shelf contains a varied assortment of washcloths. (the "master bath" doesn't have a linen closet to itself, and the cabinet under the sinks can't hold all the accouterments necessary for the bathroom.  My husband's closet is in charge of the towels.)

Mine are actually various shades of white.  Bleach would help.

Another holds miscellaneous hair bobs, smallish mementos and papers that I haven't found a place for, my one bottle of perfume, and the face cream and makeup bag I always forget to use.

The bottom 2 shelves actually hold shoes, and they don't seem any worse for the wear being piled up on top of each other like that.  I mean, most of them were bought over 3 years ago, so who'd know anyway?

not really.

The big shelves on top that span the perimeter of the space hold too many things to name, but it consists of everything from Christmas and birthday gifts and books all bought in preparation for the next gifting season, to unopened essential oil bottles, to medical tubing and supplies from when our youngest was ill in the hospital.  (might can use those at home again sometime!  Maybe they should go in the craft supply area and out of my closet....hmmm.)

There is another lower shelf that holds items that are in "time out".

What?  You didn't know inanimate objects could be put in "time out"?  I'm sure you did, but you just forgot.  It's the items that have been given too much attention, (particularly loved books, video games, and movies) or have been used as diversions for certain children when chores or schoolwork were waiting to be completed.  
Along with those items, an accidental home has been made for children's artwork, pictures, funeral bulletins, and various electronic odds and ends from the above mentioned punished devices.

You'll also find stickers applied to my walls by loving children, gift wrapping, and sample sized toiletries for children's use on trips, camps, and overnight stays.  I also have a garment or two of my teen aged daughter's hanging in there, along with my own jackets and a few items that I didn't want junking up my bedroom and irritating my neater husband.  Essentially, my closet also serves as a version of sweeping a few things "under the rug".

So, clearly, my closet is truly not just my own, but it does accurately speak of who I am - A mother who is more messy under the surface that at first she appears, who cares little for updated footwear but values a child's feelings, and who is a little sentimental, but not about medical tubing. 
   
I wonder what your closet says about you?  

"Get that Corn Outta My Face!"

It does not, I’m convinced, occur to little children that putting something 2 inches in front of your nose is rude.  Nor do they find it problematic to continue talking to you while holding said item in front of your face.

                                        

Are you on the phone? Not an issue for a child. This does nothing to prevent them from their task, and they will often speak a little louder, in case the phone conversation is keeping you from hearing the request. 

 On the potty? We’ve discussed this in an earlier post, but suffice it to say that this is actually a preferred position for the prospective listener to be in, for they are cornered and easier to approach while “at their duty”. 

 Correcting another child? Speaking to another human present? Thinking? Cooking? Reading? Sleeping? These are all no problem for children, and in fact your immobility in those moments make you a prime target.

                     

This situation happens more than occasionally to me, though I have continued the anti paper-in-the-face training with this kind of conversation:

Me - “Hey, honeybun, can you move that beautiful picture for a minute?  I just need to finish grading this.  And remember it’s rude to put.....

A child - “ Look at the ladybug I drew and I made a number two all by myself and I like blue and the cloud is big because it’s about to rain. “

Me - “That’s great but I’ll be able to look at it better when you move the paper and I can finish this.  Be patient.”

Sometimes the child will then turn on their heel and begin to walk away, as if the moment is lost and any value on the page expired with my lack of attention.  I quickly call the child back to me and say something like:

“Come back.  (with my hand gently on child’s arm) Now, be patient and as soon as I’m at a good stopping point, I’ll give you my full attention.  Wait here.  It’ll just be a moment.”

No doubt a child who is old enough to notice is thinking: “A good stopping point?  Seemed like a good stopping point when you just stopped to tell me to wait!”

True.

Nevertheless, I believe in the value of delayed gratification.  You know, waiting to get what you want because the outcome is better.  Like, your mother is actually looking at your picture and paying it attention instead of mindlessly mumbling, “Uh huh. So nice.”

Also, there is value in simply being patient when someone is already engaged.  Especially if it involved interacting with someone else before you got there.  Waiting your turn, as it were.  Manners.

Now, let me be clear:  I am not referring to a child with an emergency.  Bleeding, yelling, crying, and rushed information all get my immediate attention!

                                                 

(child slides into room talking so fast and breathlessly they are almost unintelligible):

"Mama there's a dog from next door you know the one that is big and it isn't Princess and not the dog from 2 houses down but that other one and it's in the field and the chickens are out and the little kids are out there trying to get the dog not to see the chickens and you better come stop them before that dog sees the chickens!"

But yes.  Delayed gratification, patience, and waiting your turn is good.  And I will continue to teach this to my children and anyone else in my sphere of influence that need reminding of these good things.  (I also can hear what I am saying and I can learn a lot from my own correction!)

In the meantime, I guess I will patiently continue to move beautiful things from in front of my face and wait for the gratification of seeing my children exercise these same qualities when it comes to getting my attention for anything else that deserves my undue attention.  Especially beautiful crayon pictures of ladybugs.  

A Touching Metaphorical Tale

I was minding my own business one day when I felt what I believed to be someone tapping my shoulder from behind.  I turned around and saw no one.  “Hmm,” I said to no one in particular, as I shrugged and went back to my work.

A bit later, I again felt a tap on my shoulder, but this time it was more pronounced.  Maybe even forceful.  When I turned around, I saw, to my surprise, someone who looked exceptionally like me, except for a few differences I had never noticed in my own self.

She was my height and had my same hair coloring but with a bit more grey around the temples and sprinkled throughout her long brown locks.  “Definitely an older gal” I thought.  She also had reading glasses on her head, as if she had just used them and slid them up there ready for their next assignment.  “Poor thing.  She can’t even see when she wants to read an article on what the current dress trend is.  She clearly needs to brush up on that info.”

However, because I was feeling automatically friendly toward her, (she looked almost exactly like me after all!) I inquired, “Hello.  Who are you?”

“I’m you,” she replied, “only older.”

“Come again?” I queried.

“Oh yes, silly woman.  You haven’t noticed me, but I’ve been here for some time.  I’m the “Over 40” you,” she said with a slight mocking laugh.

I was perplexed.  At 44 years old and nearing 45, I had noticed a few minor changes, but though this woman seemed the same as me in many ways, she was also too unlike me to BE me.  Wasn’t she?

I wasn’t sure I liked this.  Or her.   Yet.

“Haven’t you noticed that sometime in the last two years or so, you couldn’t refocus far away after spending any time reading?  Don’t you remember you went for your first eye exam EVER and the doc prescribed reading glasses?”

Of course I remembered!  The audacity!  The look-alike went on to imply that just because the glasses currently lived in the bottom of my purse didn’t mean that I didn’t need them.

“And how about those “infections” you had last year?  Remember those?”

Oh!  You mean the UTIs I elegantly received right during two different holiday seasons?  You bet I remembered!  The first time I EVER had one had been last year at Easter and it was followed at Christmas by another excruciating one.

“That was you?” I implored with a rising sense of strong dislike.

“Oh yes, honeybun!”  But there was more.

“You didn’t think that was a coincidence did you?  And what about 3 miscarriages in as many years?  After 7 healthy, no-problem pregnancies and births, you didn’t think “Over 40” had nothing to do with it, did you?”

“Ummm…”

As she continued candidly, my indignation grew, and I told her so.  “What is wrong with you lady?  Do you have some horrid self-hate?  I mean, I am YOU after all, and this seems a little self-defeating!  (What other big words did I learn in freshman psyc to screw this woman down?)  You are self-sabotaging you know?  Why bring this down on me?  I mean You?  I mean Us?”  This conversation was confusing.

“Oh Bonnie, don’t act so put out.  You saw these things happening.  You just ignored them!” she remonstrated.  “You noticed that for the first time in your entire life you had a horrible itching “down there”.  You knew you’d never had a yeast infection before turning 40!  Don’t act so naïve!  Your friends are experiencing all this too, and you’ve all talked about high blood pressure, pre-menopause, hot flashes, thyroid issues, pre-diabetic issues.  C’mon!” she admonished.

I was still skeptical.  “But those are unrelated issues.  And some of my friends are quite a bit older than me, (6 years counts, right?) and some of them have had these issues for a while.  Certainly before turning 40.”  I felt justified and more confident the more I thought about it.

“Sure,” she condescended.  “And none of those issues have escalated after 40, right?  And new issues haven’t surfaced, sometimes with alarming speed, right?”

She had me there.  With growing concern I inquired, “Well what am I, uhhh, are we, going to do about it?”

With a sense of calm and soothing encouragement she replied, “Almost nothing.”

I realized at that moment how I had grown to trust this woman’s judgement.  She seemed so … grown up.  So wise.  I think I even admired her.  So I continued my questions.

“Why aren’t YOU worried?  And doing ‘almost nothing’ sounds really dumb by the way.”

 “Well, you get your symptoms checked out, like when you got treatment for the UTIs, and then you live with the ones that are here to stay, like your saggy arm skin.”  She seemed a little snippy.  “You put up with the occasional lack of bladder control and do less jumping around, coughing, and sneezing without proper “protection” in your undergarments.  And you don’t think there is any need to change your evolved, "matured" opinion about music, movies, and tv programs of our current age do you?

“Heck no!" I replied emphatically.  "There was a day I was into all of those things.  But I was young and stupid then.”  I continued to consider.  “Of course in MY youth,” I reminded her, “those things weren’t so pointless, violent, and lacking in morals.  I mean, entertainment wasn’t perfect, but it was a lot more obvious what was being touted as right and wrong.  The immoral stuff was less graphic and insidious.  We didn’t like that kind of stuff.  But kids today…” I trailed off, as I caught a glimpse of her countenance.  She had a sly smile, and a know-it-all look on her face.

“You do realize you sound like an old person, right?”

“Well aren’t you high and mighty?” I rebuffed.  “YOU are me, too, so I guess you’re putting yourself down!  Ha!”   This was getting tricky.

“Yes, but I’m okay with it,” she replied with a hint of irony.

Slowly, I began to see her point, and I realized that all the things I didn’t like that “Mrs. Over 40” had brought with her, were just part of getting all her glorious confidence and wisdom of experience.  Yes, I dressed for comfort more than style!  (far more practical and accommodating than heels, tight jeans and short skirts) Yes, I hate most of what our culture dishes out, but I’m more discerning and understand WHY it sucks.  Yes, I don’t remember words I want to use in conversation, but my vocabulary has grown to...enable me to…pick out….other words to use in their place!  HA HA!  And Yes, I may sound arrogant to the young (or maybe everyone else!), but I feel very certain that anyone who wants to pick my brain will be rewarded for their efforts because I too have screwed up royally and been stupid, but the difference between me and the ignorant 20-somethings is I have learned from it and already had multiple opportunities to try again and get it right!

(stupid.  sorry, it is.  no wait.  I'm not sorry.)

 So, I made my peace with that amusing, slightly cynical, self-assured middle-aged lady, gave her a grateful hug, and invited her to stay.  She can be completely lacking in sympathy (“Stop your whining about how the kitchen looked before you went to bed!  What do you think, everything will get done everyday?” I heard her tell me yesterday), but she is almost always sincere and she knows a lot of …. (Um, what’s the word?)… stuff.     

Not Worth It.

People, I’m sitting here wincing every time my tongue touches the roof of my mouth, because I burned it.  Yes, the skin is gone.  All from an inferno hot corn-on-the-cob.  I know you sympathize, because we’ve all done it.  But as I sit here nursing the shredded remains of my mouth roof, I wonder why?

I mean, it’s not like we don’t know the item is hot.  We, as people, are generally observant.  We notice signs of hotness.  So much so that we must use fun little, yellow, corn-shaped corn holders.  We regard the steam rolling off the juicy kernels, the warm buttery fragrance wafting up, the heat warming our face as we bring it to our lips; all these things suggest that this food is more than lukewarm. 

And yet, we continue putting the fork/spoon/knife/spade/cob all the way into our mouths.  Why?

Maybe we’re really hungry.  I mean REALLY hungry.  Hmmm…..let’s think of an analogy of a perceived need that would make us willing to chance skin being burned off a sensitive part of our body that we use every waking moment….

I got it!  Remember what it feels like to be tired?  No, I mean REALLY tired?  So tired you are aching for your bed and are actually falling asleep with your eyes open?  Okay.  Are you, in that moment, tired enough to burn the skin off your eyelids in order to lay your weary head upon your pillow?  Of course not!!!  So I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me!*

Maybe we are just so excited?  It’s one of our favorite foods!  We haven’t had it in forever! And the good people at Kroger advertised that it was the First of the Season “Olathe sweet sweet corn” to quote.  And it was 10 for $2!  So I get to eat two!  Let’s see.  I am absolutely positive my personal excitement has never led to inattention of the temperature of the food placed before me.  I’m betting your excitement hasn’t either.  So I can clearly not choose the wine in front you.*

Where does that leave us…let us sum up*.

We don’t burn our mouths because:

1)  We don’t know it’s hot

2)  We are really hungry

3)  We are too interested/excited to notice the temperature

So I guess we’re just impatient.  Is that it?  Is it that simple?  We are such gluttonous impatient hogs that we won’t wait for the food to cool to a reasonable temperature?  Not even to avoid a 3-day literal pain-in-the-mouth?  That’s embarrassing.  Seriously.  I can’t even talk about it anymore.  Mostly because I need to go suck on some ice to relieve the swelling.

* movie references.  Don't know which one?  For shame. "Princess Bride".  See it and be forgiven.

What You Said To Me

(in my kitchen; me, resting my elbows on the counter, you, sitting in the armchair enjoying the coffee I made for you)

Me – What does ‘tarpaulin’ mean?

You – I don’t know.  (pause) Want me to Google it?

Me – (with furrowed brow) No. I don’t want you to “Google” it. I want a person I know to tell me because they know the answer.

You – What difference does it make as long as you find out what “tarpaulin” means?

Me – Well, I don’t like what this implies!  People in general just don’t know regular stuff anymore!  They have to “Google” it. (the word “Google” said in a taunting voice)

You – (with mock patience) I don’t think the definition of “tarpaulin” is “regular stuff”.  (off topic – you really need to work on your sarcastic attitude.  It’s kinda rude.)

Me – Well, I think day was that a “regular” person would’ve known that!

You – Well, You don’t!

(silence and a stare from me – you cheeky bugger.)

Me – (with a smug smirk) Well, that just proves my point now doesn’t it!  I’m concerned for us all!

You – Listen.  I get it, and sorta sympathize, but there is so much more we do know now!  And it’s right at our fingertips on the web.  I’m guessing you’re busting on technology in general, right?

Me – (with a skeptical look on my face, eyes narrowed, said slowly) Maybe.  Not really.  More on our ignorant reliance on it for everyday stuff.

You – Like what?

Me – (arms flung into the air as I purposely move toward my dusty array of cookbooks) Recipes for one!  Grandma’s biscuits aren’t cherished anymore…gotta look up “biscuits” online!!  But let’s be real! People just buy (disgust oozing from my voice) CANNED!

You – (interrupting my rant – also rude.) Oh brother.

Me – (kindly ignoring your rudeness and continuing) And how to do stuff!!  Like … (fumbling slightly for words)…crafts and stuff!  We can’t just … make a door decoration with a grapevine wreath, a glue gun, and silk flowers from Michael’s anymore?  NOOoooo!!  That’s not good enough!  (warming to my subject, hands on hips) We gotta look on “Pin-trest” (said with even more disgust than “Google” and a slight shake of the hips).

You – (condescending silence and slowly moving your chin to rest on your hand)

Me – (with increased confidence and volume) And that, my friend, brings us back to “tarpaulin”!  WORDS!  People don’t use great vocabulary anymore!  Because the majority of what they read is 3 word sentence texts (with an eye roll) from their vocabulary stunted friends!!!

You – (hurriedly hiding your phone under your leg after checking it for texts during my important soliloquy)

Me – (continuing) Whatever happened to using a dictionary?  Dear Daniel Webster is probably rolling over in his grave!

You – But people do use Webster’s – they just do it online.

Me – (sighing, calming down, and moving to my well-worn copy of Webster’s)  Well, I don’t like it.  What’s so wrong with keeping a real, live, thick, heavy book on the bookshelf and pulling it out as needed?

 

You – (lost in thought and beginning to gaze out of the window) Ya’ know, lots of people don’t keep many books anymore.  There are virtual copies of almost everything online… (the end of the sentence getting softer as you slowly turn your head to regard me and realize your massive blunder)

Me – Oh.     Don’t. Get. Me. Started.

Get Thyself to Kroger

If you think about it, you hire the grocery store where you shop. I mean, you get a service from them, and you pay them for it. There are many service providers to choose from, and though price is important, it is by far, NOT the only thing to take into consideration before you choose. Let me take a moment to extol the virtues of my favorite grocery shopping establishment – Kroger. You may not have one near you, and for that I am truly sorry. But maybe you will recognize your favorite grocery store in this post. And if there is a Kroger near you, get yourself to it, and hire those people! Here’s some reasons to consider them for your next grocery store needs:

1) Clean – floors, aisles, bathrooms, faces

2) Pretty – displays, dishes, cheese assortments, produce

3) Friendly – baggers, checkers, managers, patrons…

4) Normal patrons – nobody’s slubbing around in pajama pants and house shoes.

5) Quiet – I can think about if the Kroger brand is a better deal than the name brand WITH a coupon!

6) The DEALS! – weekly specials, manager’s specials, Hank in the produce department marking down the only-slightly wilted celery

7) The Gas Points – I paid $1.67 per gallon of gas instead of $2.17 just for buying my beautiful groceries there!

8) Normal patrons – nobody is yelling obscenities at nearby children

9) The variety – everything from organic flour, to frozen bar-b-que, to the awesome, in-store, freshly squeezed orange juice that the nice lady was letting people sample!

10) The “preferred customer” status for frequent shoppers = personalized coupons that arrive in my mailbox

11) The Parking – huge lot (also clean and pretty) that is never more than halfway full

12) Normal patrons – nobody is braless and standing this far from my ear on my aisle yelling the name of her child on the next aisle. Not kidding.

13) Discount flowers – Yes! They have a little tub of flowers literally beginning to “lose their bloom” that are steeply discounted! I can usually get a week and a half of loveliness out of them!

14) Clean shopping baskets – they all look new, but I know they aren’t, and somehow there isn’t any trash or stickiness in any of them! How do they do that?

15) Did I mention normal patrons? – I mean, when I smile, or say excuse me to reach the can of biscuits, they…get this…SMILE BACK. Some of them have even struck up a friendly conversation.

I am not sorry if I come off as being a shopping snob (as one of my children in particular likes to assert). Here’s why. I’ve been doing the shopping in my household for almost 25 years, and I’ve been to my share of stores in different states, on differing budgets, and in different moods. I’ve done the quick pop-in, the BIG TRIP, the essentials run, and been to the big warehouse stores to buy in bulk. I’ve shopped organic, seconds and dented, knock offs, and premium. I’ve paid full price, used coupons, overbought and missed the deals. I’ve used lists, forgot lists, never made the list, and went off my memory of the list I left on the counter in the kitchen. I’ve made my lists based on my menu for the week, and I’ve made up the menu for the week as I threw stuff in the basket.

But here’s the deal. Like everyone else who’s putting in some effort to do what’s right, I put up with junk every day, because I should. And there may come a day where I have to do that when I buy groceries. But today is not that day. And until I’m forced to, I will not voluntarily put up with junk while I complete the task of grocery shopping. A store ought to assist in making the feeding of those I love begin as pleasantly, in every way within their power, as possible. I’m paying them for it.

Thank you Kroger.

Why are you here?

My oldest child suggested I write a blog again.

Oh yes.  This isn’t my first rodeo.  Back in the mid 2000’s, my sistah friend Stephanie made me get an email address (I resisted, she insisted), and we both started clever blogs.  Back then, it was how you saw what your friends were thinking about and any creative goo that was falling out of their heads.  Think Facebook, only without the nasty, voyeuristic narcissism.  Anywho, we did some pretty fun stuff there, and even wrote a few posts that prompted serious contemplation.  We bookmarked our favorite blogs (no feeds back then sister), which consisted solely of people we personally knew, and as time and life ran on, it outpaced our interest in typing out our personal musings.

Which brings me to this morning.

Katie, the aforementioned oldest child, whipped up this blog in the span of a few hours last night.  She even went back to my old blog (it’s still there!!) and started moving old posts over here!  I don’t remember agreeing to ANYTHING.  Our conversation went something like this:

Katie (use a higher pitched, pushy teenage girl voice) - “Mom, you really should write a blog. I’m sure you’d have fun with it.”

She begins pulling up some blog template site on her computer, (did you know they had those?  I didn’t.) creating the very blog you’re looking at.

Me (use a sophisticated, kind womanly voice) – “Gee honey, I don’t know, I already have a lot to do.  Sounds like another commitment to me.

K – “Oh no! It’ll be just for fun! You can write once a week – it’ll take like 30 minutes tops.  You don’t have 30 minutes to do something you enjoy?”

Me – “Well, I do like writing, but I’m already doing stuff I enjoy.  I wasn’t really shopping around for a new hobby.”

She then begins asking me questions about myself…”What’s your favorite food?  What’s your favorite color?  How many children do you have?”

Trying to be an accommodating mother, I good-naturedly began my answers:

“Well I do love steak and pasta and seafood, but you know a good salad with croutons and cheese is a wonderful meal.  Actually, steak or pasta or seafood ON a salad is even better.  Of course I don’t guess you meant what I like for dessert right?   I could give you some answers that go that direction too…are you getting all this?”

She typed stuff out, picked out colors, forced me to give ideas for a blog name/subtitle, made me decide which sidebars and menus and barrettes and jewelry to put on the thing.  I patiently tried to please her every wish.   And before I knew it, she was trying to announce at supper that I was an authoress.   Of course, I smiled ingratiatingly at her and said, “Please pass the croutons”.

She continued to tell me how she could help me get more viewers or trackers or readers or whatever. I say again, I don’t remember agreeing to ANY of this.   But that’s okay, I thought.   I’ll just let her have fun setting this up and humor her tonight.  I reminded myself that this was a way I could help my daughter stir up her creative juices.  I hoped she had thoroughly enjoyed this little design session.

And then I woke up this morning an hour before my alarm, (our youngest, Polly, consistently screeches cheerfully at 6:30 every am) and guess why I couldn’t roll over and enjoy that last blissful snoozy hour?  I was thinking about my first new blog post.

Pushy girl.

The Thinkin' Chair!

I do some of my best thinkin' in the bathroom. I don't just mean upon the john. I mean generally, as in the room named after the luxury of sitting in a luke-warm mini-pond of your own filth.

I've heard others say the same thing - that they do their best thinkin' and prayin' in that particular room. Now why do you think that is?

Some may say, "Well you are often in various stages of undress there, and this lends itself to self-examination and transparency with God."

Too symbolic.

Others agree that, "We spend time in this room eliminating waste and relieving ourselves of "encumbrances" so we are freer to think there."

Gross.

Ya' know what I think?

I think it's the only room where you get left alone. Most of the time.

My father-in-law, Paw-Paw, as he is called by most, claims he never spent an alone moment in the "restroom", as it is also called, (but why?) during his child rearing years, and my husband confirms this claim. Paw-Paw said the kids would sit and visit with their Dear Ole Dad, he upon the pot, and the children on the side of the tub. He would often have a newspaper with him, but I suspect that was only a ploy to make the younguns think he was otherwise occupied (since just being in there didn't do the trick). I hear it never worked. The way he tells it, I think he sorta misses the company.

I too have experienced the interrupted time in the bathroom. In fact, with an 18mo old in tow, I find no "business" is too serious that she will not intrude with talking, (read: jabbering), digging in off-limit drawers/cabinets containing toxic cleaners/toilet paper, and continually coming in and out of the saloon-style swinging half-doors that a bartender must have installed to lend "privacy" to those on the potty.

With 2 bathrooms and 8 people, I also must share these quarters with others during bath time/shower time in the evening, so really, nothing seems to be sacred to these short people.

However, I truly don't prefer being alone, so children really have solved that small problem. It's good to have these little friends around me, all the time, even when I'm "thinking".

Sweat is good!

Yes friends, it is I, your friendly friend who is living out in the aforementioned country. (the closest reasonably large town is 15 minutes away).

We have had baby #6, who isn't called that anymore. We call her Emmy Belle.

Currently....

We tend 17 chickens, who make breakfast for us - can your pet do that?
We tend 9 guinea fowl who eat ticks and 'squitos for us.
We tend 3 ducks, who look purty on our pond.
We tend 7 cats (anyone need a good mouser?) including 4 kittens who clean up rodents on the place.
We tend a nice size garden that is givin' out squash, zucchinis, and purple-hull peas...we'll see if the other veggies and fruits come in. Some say "don't count your chickens before they hatch", I say "don't count your cantaloupe 'til they're ripe".

Then there's the swimmin' pool to play in and clean, the flower beds to water, and children (my personal favorite thing to maintain around here) to raise.

So my comment to the Tim man last night was, "anything that needs maintenance will require work". This was my pithy reply to his observation that "You sure are sweaty". He seemed to be concerned that I was having to expend alot of energy on the baby guineas in the evenings. I explained that the keets continue to try to roost on the roof of the chicken house at night, and I am afeared that they will unwittingly become a tasty treat for our sneakiest cat, Bilbo. So nightly, I chase the ungrateful little birds around to put them back in their pen for the night.

He questioned if they were worth it. With a shocked expression, (the impertinence!) I said the same could be asked of his riding lawnmower - since we got it a year ago, Tim has replaced the blades 3-4 times and about 2 or 3 other smaller parts. True, he runs over unseen stumps and fallen tree limbs on his joyrides, (don't drive the thing in the dark, I don't care if it has headlights!) so it's not the mowers fault. Still. Lots of maintenance.

Anyways, my point is, don't be afraid of a little sweat. Anything worth having will need maintenance, and that will mean work, and for most of us, at least those of us in Texas in July, that will equal sweat. The fruits of your labor will be worth it (grown guineas that keep the insects at bay, or a beautifully maintained piece of land...) and you can take a shower when you're done.

Chores aren't a bore!!

It's been my observation that chores come with their own rewards. Not just the "a job well done is it's own reward" deal, though that can be true, but actual perks, I'm sayin'.

Examine, if you will, vacuuming.

It is, by far, my favorite traditional household-cleaning chore. Such satisfaction in seeing the vacuum tracks as you go, and a completed room all fluffed up with parallel rows covering the carpet! Oh yeah, and it's clean too. Gives me a little lift.

There too, is the laundry. There is reward in each step:

Sorting? Easy money in forgotten pockets!
Putting into the washing machine with soap and softener? Smells delightful!
Moving clothes to the dryer? It's fun to clean the lint filter!
Folding warm clothes? Not so fun.
But stacks of folded clothes sitting on the couch, ready to be put away? A success!!

I really don't despise any chore, though some are less savory than others.

Take cleaning up the floor after the baby has "eaten". Wiping up steamed (read: smashed) broccoli florets with a wet paper towel is a little unappetizing. Especially if I'm about to eat my lunch. However, kissing said baby after having rinsed off his little hands and face (read: sponge bath) is a favorite reward of mine!

I may be easily amused, but I'm endeavoring to always be lookin' for the bright side (often, it is the right side!) of things, and honestly, perspective is a big part of how content you are.

So, dear reader, when it comes time again to mop and scrub those floors, and it's all clean and still shiny with wetness, do what I do: put each foot on a paper towel, and slide around like you're ice skating, til it's all dry! It'll cause your kids to question your saneness, and put a smile on your face!!

Let the river flow!

Let me begin by saying that water conservation "runs" in my family. (unintentional pun!) Literally. My mother's father owned the water system in his small Texas town of Iola. At his passing, my Uncle Kenneth inherited it, and still runs it today. Uncle Ken also owns a jet system company that replaces outdated "tank" septic systems for the efficient and water/money saving "jet system". Also, my other uncle from my mother's side owns the water system in his small Texas town of Bedias, which is 11 miles away from Iola.

My brother and I were taught all the practical water conservation techniques early on, and were especially expected to use them when visiting the aunts and uncles!

That being said.....

Low-flow toilets? Hate 'em.

Now, there are some of you out there who know of the escapades of the "Manuel bowels", and just to be fair, I admit that any toilet is at risk when we are around...

HOWEVER....

When even my little 5-year old girl consistently has trouble getting the toytee to flush everything down, and yes I know she is my daughter and therefore may have inherited the Manuel bowels, then I know the pot is, excuse the pun, a piece of CRAP! Everyone who lives in this house has to flush the worthless lo-flows at least 2-3 times anytime we do anything besides "make water".

I find myself cheering the toilet on, hoping that all my cajoling will help things to "go down smoothly". It doesn't help. And it doesn't have to do with girth or volume, people! This is about lack of velocity.

So, as happy as I am to help the environment, and save valuable water and all, I still want my toilet to perform it's main function - get the crap and other toilet bound waste outta my house. No matter how much water it takes.

I'm listening....

Alright Steph.

"Ask and you shall receive."

So Stephanie and I were talking today, and I mentioned that whenever I have struggled with something the Lord was doing, I was temped to "pull a ___ "(blank left to signify a person who shall remain nameless. On second thought, let's call him "Tom".) What I meant was that "Tom" has, in the past, on occasion, decided to,.... shall we say,.... thumb his nose at God.

To be fair, the situations that "Tom" had to deal with were fairly difficult, and under the same pressure, I'm sure I would've faired much worse. However, "Tom" found some solace in washing his hands of the whole circumstance by mumbling "Screw it", or some-such-other, and effectively throwing in the towel. If only for a few hours. (Long enough to eat a burger, fries, some donuts, and wash it all down with a coke.)

Really, it was only a bluff. Just a mindgame "Tom" played on himself to relieve a little pressure. (Still, I don't have the liberty to tell God to "step off", and apparently, he did. )

So, anyhow, I have considered this option, on rare occasion, and I dubbed it "pullin' a Tom".

That got me and Steph to thinkin'.

What would be "pullin' a Bonnie"?

It would have to be something unflattering, because I think that's what the term insinuates. Also, it doesn't have to be done very often at all, but must have been done consistently in the same situation.

So, maybe... arguing a point until I'm very indignant, emotional, and loud, and then breaking into tears because I can't stand the strain that anger puts on me and the relationship.

Maybe "pullin' a Bonnie" would be having conversations with guests while simultaneously sweeping, clearing the table, and answering questions from children. (Rude! very Rude.)

Anywho, perhaps you will share a bit about the dark underbelly of your soul with all of us here at "Bonnie Life". I will not laugh at you, but I may "pull a Bonnie" and dust the keyboard while I read.

Let them eat CANDY!!

When's the last time you heard this sentence spoken:
"Please,... don't buy any more candy!"?

My mother informed me that she has, again, asked this of my father. This made me laugh out loud.

I mean c'mon. "No More Candy!"? No one says that!
People love candy! Especially my dad. Actually, he loves all things edible, but still.

I will allow that he buys it at every opportunity:

- When he "runs to Walmart".

- At the gas station.

- Goin' to see the grandkids? Let's pick up some "treats".

- On a roadtrip.

- During ANY holiday (and it's half-off the day after the holiday you know).

- Anytime you happen to be in the car going somewhere that might have candy.

Shoot. He even buys the candy at the Mexican restaurants by the cash register. Mmmmmm.

Okay. So he buys too much candy. But I'm not askin' him to stop. (I NEVER get to eat that Mexican candy, unless I'm with him, and I really like it.)

Used to, when I was in highschool/college, Kat and I would always get gas station candy for any road trip. Typical fare was gummy bears, bit-o-honey (still a fav of mine), sugar daddys, sugary bubble gum, and, for some reason, pistacios. (though I hated the pink stain on my fingers, I loved the sugar/salt combo)

I miss that. When I see Kat now, which isn't often enough, we still pick up the candy to enjoy with the kiddos.

But it's bad for us, so I don't buy it any other time. And I want it to be "a treat" for every now and then.

Like when we visit my mom and dad.

Broken and rejected

As I stepped into the wet shower last night, I discovered something that was all too familiar since having children. Broken soap.

What is it with the kids and the soap bars? They LOVE to destroy them! I mean DESTROY! Once, my now-9 year old boy, who was 7 at the time, smeared tiny, broken pieces of soap all over the shower walls. (Oddly, cleaning off the soap 2 days later, when it was all dry, proved difficult.)

My 4-year old girl often leaves her own trail of soap pieces in my bathtub, most a little too large to make it down the drain. So they congregate at the stopper, and wait for the next customer to release them and their film into the next bathfull of water.

Sometimes, when the bar develops a waistline, the children simply break it.

I've also found soap that was just dug out in the middle, or scraped with a fingernail across the length, with the cast-offs left to go to gush on the soapdish.

I remember playing with the soap as a child, and doing similar injustices to the bar. So, I guess I should ignore it. Not charge them the quarter it'll cost to replace the now useless bar. Not scrape it all back together at the next bathtime and mumble, "Try to bathe with this little fella'!" After all, they're really just having good, clean fun. (pun intended)

Ya' don't say?

On the recommendation of my dear friend Kathleen (hereafter referred to as "Kat"), I will post on "words and phrases that would be fun to say all day". I'll begin with her suggestions, and maybe you will add a few too......

"I'll tell you one thing..."
"Like I always say...."
"I wouldn't eat/say/do that if I were you..."

and now my additions...

"whodunit?" (at every opportunity - sometimes just as an exclamation)

"pea-sized brain" (this is always funny, especially when speaking of animals)

"Well, frankly...." (to begin a sentence that answers ANY question)

"I'm an ordinary woman, with feelings!" (can be sung like Carol Burnett in "Annie")

"Have you no SANITY?"

"Surely you jest."

"It hurts me to say this...." (always appropriate when answering a question with "no")

"Ya' don't say!"

"Morbidly obese" (I'm not sure how, but work it into conversation - it's fun to say)

"There comes a time in every man/woman/boy/girl 's life...."

"Speaking of ____ , ..." (insert any word and begin speaking on a topic of your choice.)

"Hang on. I think better lying down" (use anytime someone else begins speaking)



It hurts me to say this, but, repeating anything all day would be fun simply because it would annoy everyone else.

You know you look.

I know it's been said before, and maybe it's trite, but I'll say it again.

People act like monkeys.

Remember that episode of Seinfeld where some guys at the office are watching George through a glass door? He's ranting and flinging his arms around while holding a banana. The guys give him the nickname "Coco".

Well, besides flinging our arms for emphasis, we share another quality with the monkeys. I'm not the first to notice this, but it bears repeating. We gotta look at what comes out of our bodies.

I watched as one of my children, while working on some schoolwork, scratched their nose. (name, and gender sensitive pronoun omitted to protect the innocent) You know what this child did, right? Looked at what was brought away from said nose.

This child is no different from any of the rest of us. (so get that "poor, gross little kid" look off your face!) We ALL look at what gets scratched off the skin, what comes out of the nose, off the hiney, and out of the hiney. When people blow their noses or cough, they look. When they scratch the inside of their ear with a finger, they look.

What is this about? I know, and I'll tell you.

I'll begin by admitting that I've shamelessly taken part in this activity. First of all, it's entertaining. Also, I think I have gleaned some important knowledge about my bodily-goings-on by looking at what comes out of it. I'm sure LOTS of medical facts have been acquired this way - however, I'm not as interested in what comes out of other people's bodies. That's the difference between normal people and doctors.

Anyway, I won't stop looking, though I will always try to be discreet in front of you.