A Day in Our Life

It was not a bad day. It was just a day. And I'm not posting this to complain in any way. I just want to remember what life was like when our kids were 8 months, 2, and 3. The first problem was that the whole day centered around white chili, really. I've been waiting for it to be fall so I could make it. Since I'm now an Aldi's shopper, I couldn't get the beans in a can or a jar. I had to buy them very bean-like. So I followed the directions and soaked them all night. This morning I turned them on to let them simmer for an hour and a half like the directions said. After an hour an a half they still had teeth-breaking qualities. Another hour. Still pretty hard. Another half hour. Good enough. For those of you not used to buying beans the old fashioned way, there's a LOT more of them after you put them in water apparently. I think they sneak in there and have little beany babies. So now I have enough slightly crunchy beans for at least 2 pots of chili. I'm good with that.

Meanwhile...I had to run downstairs for something (probably check my email) so I put a pillow behind Little Buddy. He sits up really well, but occasionally he gets really excited and flaps his arms so hard it makes him fall over. Don't make fun. He's a baby. So I put a pillow behind him just in case. Literally minutes later I heard a thud and then a loud cry. I run upstairs while Big Sissy is giving me the running commentary..."Mommy, the baby fell down and now he's crying." Ummm...I know. I go in there to find Little Buddy flat on his back, screaming his head off while Little Sissy has all her Little People lined up on the pillow for a nap. I tell her no no, that we need to always leave the pillow behind the baby so he doesn't fall down.

I go back to my bean checking, and the next thing I know Big Sissy is yelling, "Stop writing on me!" I go to the "art station" (I'll post a picture of this sometime. It's a beautifully hand-crafted wooden table my parents got for the girls. It is now COVERED with marker, crayon, and random other stain marks. ) Big Sissy, who is already wearing her sister's clothes because I packed away her summer clothes already, has marker from her neck to her waist. I hurry and tear her shirt off to try to get the marker out before it stains, get her a paint shirt (I'm running out of clothes), and go back to the beans.

The beans are good enough. I only have one soup pot, so I find containers for the beans and all of their offspring, wash the pot, and put the chicken in to start cooking. Now I have to find something for us to eat for lunch. Little Sissy wants macaroni and hot dog, Big Sissy wants grilled cheese and soup, and Little Buddy wants Mommy. Thankfully we have leftover macaroni, and hot dogs are easy enough. Done. I convince Big Sissy to wait on the soup since we're having yummy white chili for supper and just eat sliced apples with her grilled cheese. We compromise with applesauce. I give Little Buddy some..umm...me. By now I'm starving but I need to check on the chicken. I grab a fork, poke it in the chicken, and find that it is not done. This becomes important later in the story. I start clearing away some of the dishes while I microwave leftover taco salad for me. By the time the bell dings, I grab it, quickly pour myself some sweet tea, and take the fork that I've already gotten out and put on the "clean side" of the counter.

Finally! Lunch! I'm all done eating before I realize that I just ate my whole lunch with the fork I used to check the chicken (which, as you remember, was NOT done). OK. Add botulism to the things I need to talk to the doctor about if I ever make an appointment. I give the kids some playtime while I wash the chicken-ey food processor out so I can use it again for the onion (Remember, I'm working on white chili today). While I'm doing this, Little Sissy apparently feels crowded by the baby and pushes him down. Repeat earlier scenario. Big thud. Baby screaming. Running commentary in case I can't hear him. But this time add a spanking and a LONG and somewhat loud discourse on being careful with the baby.

Thank God it's naptime. I read Little Sissy a story while the girls argue about which one gets my "whole lap." This is a big thing lately. They're no longer happy with one on the left, one on the right. When the baby gets bigger I don't know how I'll do it. So I finally get Little Sissy in bed, do "schoolwork" with Big Sissy and a game of Candyland, get her in bed, feed the baby again, get him in bed. Whew!!!!

Can't wait for my white chili!

This is the good part. Rest for me. I read a book. I check my email. I think I even doze off a little. After about an hour of rest the baby wakes up, then Little Sissy wakes up. I go in to get Big Sissy up and realize she has had an accident. We now have about 30 minutes to get dinner finished, give her a bath, and get out the door for her choir. We don't have time to eat dinner. That's OK. I'll get some white chili when I get home...yummm...

We finally get home around 8. My sweet hubby puts the pot back on the stove while I'm feeding the baby (again) and getting him ready for bed. The next thing I know the house is full of smoke and he is asking me if I turned the burner up. Ummm...nope. I've been attached to a baby. The whole pot is ruined. The slightly-crunchy-already beans are black. The chili tastes like asphalt. I eat peanut butter and graham crackers for supper and get the girls to bed. The day is over. I'm surprisingly still in a good mood. Good thing I still have all the beany babies. We'll try again tomorrow.

Can We Still Be Friends?

It seemed perfect at first. He was consistent and stable. I always knew what to expect. He knew what I wanted before I even asked. Sure, I gave more than I thought I would have to, but that's to be expected in this kind of relationship, right? I didn't even really notice how wafer-thin and dull he really was. He knew I would always be there.

But then I met someone new. He was a little spicy. He was sweet. He offered variety and loved kids. He didn't ask of me more than I could give. My heart was torn. I wasn't actually committed, right? There was no written agreement. No, it was all unspoken.

I need a change. It's true. I think I'm leaving Cecil Whitakers for Pizza Street. I feel a little guilty. I don't think he even knows I'm out the door. But Pizza Street is much cheaper and I don't have to eat cheese pizza every time OR pay extra for my salad. They have fresh, hot cinnamon rolls on the buffet. They ask if we have any special requests for the buffet when we walk in. The kids even get free ice cream. Sorry, Cecil. You deserve someone who wants exactly what you have to offer. Do you think we could still be friends? Maybe I could visit on an occasional Tuesday? It's not you. It's me...really.

Little Sissy Speaks

I'm always writing about funny thing Big Sissy says. Little Sissy, who just turned 2 last month, is also getting very verbal. Her personality is so different from Big Sissy's. Big Sissy is very intense. She thinks deeply. She fights hard. She has an idea of how things should go and works very hard to get it that way. Borderline OCD possibly, or maybe just a perfectionist. She can memorize things like crazy and wanted to learn her letters and numbers before she was 2. Little Sissy is also very feisty but in a much more playful way. She really wants to make people laugh and usually does so through her expressions. She could care less about letters and numbers, I'm afraid, but at least she's starting to take an interest in books. I'm excited that I get to start posting funny things she says and does now.

Tonight she wanted a snack. This is not unusual; in fact, the girls think it's punishment to go to bed without one. I offered her bananas, grapes, or strawberries. Since strawberries give her a diaper rash (yes, both of my girls have dietary issues), I suggested maybe grapes with one strawberry. She said, "No, I don't want one. I want too many." I'm not sure if she means two??? Anyway, once we got started she ended up with a whole fruit salad--too many of everything. After that she came to me with her bowl.

"I still hungee."

"You're still hungry? OK. I guess you could have....hmmm..."I'm mentally thinking through the food groups and trying to come up with a snack that would make up for any nutritional deficiencies through the day.

Little Sissy, impatient and very "hungee" finally said, "OK. I'll take some hummmm right here in this bowl."

Oh my goodness. She cracks me up.

On a side note, I'm still really tired. I'm thinking it's mostly this cough that keeps me up all night. But I'm feeling less guilty about needing a break. I read a book recently called "Passionate Housewives Desperate for God," which was highly recommended by many sources. I have to be honest. I didn't really like it. I felt beaten down that I am not sure I want to homeschool and I'm totally OK serving my family frozen pizza sometimes. The book gave me the impression that it's selfish to need "me time." I started believing that, but I was reminded by some wise people on Sunday that even Jesus needed time alone. Since he is without sin, apparently that's not selfish. Even in his ministry, there were times that he healed some but did not heal all. Everyone needs a break sometimes. OK. That's all. I feel justified. Now I just need a babysitter.

Bring the Rain

I've already emailed many of you about this. When I find something I love, I'm passionate about it. My thing this week is a blog my sister found somehow. I LOVE it. It has taken me since Thursday to get through the whole thing (it started in January). That's partly because I don't have a lot of reading time, but mostly because I have to stop and cry sometimes. The writer is named Angie Smith, and she's the wife of one of the singers in the Christian group Selah. She is an amazing writer who didn't really know she was a good writer until she experienced a tragedy in her family. If you have experienced loss or disappointment with God or just need a good cry, check out her site. I'm not the only one who loves it. A recent post had over 2200 comments! Happy reading!

A sucker, a snorer, and a hacker

Our kids are really good about sleeping in their own beds and sleeping through the night...until recently. Lately it's as though darkness doesn't matter and internal clocks are broken. Big Sissy gets up randomly because it's too dark in her room. Little Buddy is suddenly missing mommy at 3 a.m. Last night was Little Sissy's turn. She just wanted to be held at 1 a.m. I let her climb into our bed because, frankly, I didn't have the energy to get up and take her back to her own. As I lie there listening to the cacophony of sounds we were making (Little Sissy sucking her fingers, Hubby snoring, and me hacking away with this annoying little cough that won't go away), I first thought of our brokenness and need for God. We need comfort (thus the sucking), we need healing (thus the coughing), and we need breath (thus the snoring). We were a chorus of need, a symphony of brokenness. Then all poetry and depth came to a screeching halt, ending the concert like a series of broken violin strings, and I just felt irritated. I am tired. I have hyper-sensitive night hearing, designed by God to hear a baby's cry--not to be kept up by a grown man's snoring or a toddler's early bird performance of "Happy Birthday to Me." I suddenly found the energy to scoop up sweet baby girl and take her to her own room and the initiative to move Hubby's head around until either he was in a better position or he was just too angry for a moment to keep snoring. Suddenly I realize that my spiritual moments are so fleeting and the carnal woman inside of me is in need of redemption. I AM TIRED, PEOPLE!

Can I call you Joe?

The Killa from Wasilla rocked tonight. I keep hearing comments about how she really connected to the people with her small town charm. The beauty of that is that she didn't conjure it up. She probably says "heckuva" and "doggonit" every day. I also think Senator Joe Biden didn't conjure up his emotion about losing his own family members and his concern that his child wouldn't make it. He seems to be changing his story, though. Hopefully that's not the change the Obama/Biden ticket is calling for??? I want to hear the report from the fact checkers when they're done ripping everyone apart. I also can't wait to see the SNL rendition of the debate. Tina Fey is amazing as Sarah Palin. Sarah is the new kid on the block, but I thought she performed well, held her own, and continues to be charming. But someone please clear this up for me...who is going to fix our economy? I'm still confused on this point.



Tune in Tuesday for the next debate. I'll miss Sarah, though. "Say it aint so, Joe."

Lose 3 Pounds A Day Before Christmas

It all started when I noticed that I could lose 2 pounds just by feeding the baby. First I thought if I could just have 15 more kids to feed, my extra 30 pounds would be gone. Then I remembered that the extra 30 pounds is baby weight from my last one. Let's see...multiply 30 pounds by 15 babies, and now I'm 450 pounds overweight. OK, so that won't work. So here's my fail-proof, step-by-step plan to losing 3 pounds every day before Christmas. This must all be done first thing in the morning, before getting dressed or eating anything.

1. Feed the baby.

2. Go to the bathroom.*

3. Clip my toenails.

4. Blow my nose.

5. Get undressed.

6. Shave my legs.

Wala! I'm now 3 pounds lighter than I was when I started. Foolproof. No exercise or dieting required. I'm going to do this every day before Christmas.

*This weight loss will vary depending on the success of the bathroom visit.

Fine print: The 3 pounds comes back by the end of the day every time. If you follow my plan, you will still be the same weight at Christmas as you are now.