When we moved to this house, on this plot of land, I knew I would enjoy the fresh air.  I knew I would enjoy being out by ourselves where only noises of nature (and an occasional train) can be heard.  I knew I would enjoy the big, beautiful trees and the wide open areas for the kids to play.

I never could have predicted the freedom it would give me to be my true self.  Because apparently I am a closet redneck.

If my yard has more weeds than grass, and those weeds are over a foot tall,

does that make me a redneck?

If I "hide" a van that doesn't run in the corner of our property and leave it there for over a year,

am I considered a redneck?

If I back my van up to the front porch to unload groceries in a hail storm and accidentally run into the step, then leave it like that for two years,

would the term "redneck" fit me?

If my washing machine stops spinning and leaves my clothes sopping wet, so it takes my dryer over an hour to dry the clothes, but I keep washing them, thus creating a back-up, which I solve by stringing rope across the front porch on which I hang the wet clothes to dry,

how redneck am I?

And lastly, if we get a new leak in the same bathroom that has a toilet that hasn't been able to be used for six months, and our solution is to put a bowl in the middle of the floor which isn't actually big enough to catch all of the drips, and keeps getting kicked over by kids anyway,

am I a redneck?

Of course, I may just be a lazy procrastinator.

One of the two.

But, have no fear, Dad, I am on it.  I have finally gotten to the point that, to quote one of my favorite movies growing up, "I can't stands no more!"

The van goes to the shop tomorrow night.

The plumber comes Thursday morning.

A new washer comes from our friend's house whenever we get the chance to pick it up.

The lawn mower should be back from the shop today or tomorrow.

The step will stay.

I don't have a Guy to call for that one.

Have a lovely, productive day!

Reasons #65 and #112 for not wasting my time and money on landscaping:

Roy's favorite spot is always the one with the freshest mulch and newest plants.

The little boys just love to pick flowers for Mommy.

Thanks (?) boys.

It's much better to use my limited time on fruitful endeavors.

like strawberries

and blueberries

Have a lovely day!

Merry Christmas!

That's how exhausted I am.

Imagine leaving the Easter Vigil Mass, where scripture was read, hymns were sung, and 14 people came into the Catholic Church through baptism.  Your pastor comes to you with open arms, to give you a hug and wish you a happy Easter.  And in your exhausted state, you wish him a very Merry Christmas.

Oh, yes I did.

And I have wished at least 4 other people a Merry Christmas since then. 

It's been a head-spinning weekend to say the least.

First and foremost, all of the Holy Week traditions had me crying at every turn.

Good Friday always means the living stations of the cross put on by the eighth graders at my children's school.  Even though I only made it through 7 of the 14 stations this year (as I had my two little ones and my niece and nephew who came for a long weekend visit), it was a vivid reminder of what Jesus actually did for us.

Saturday means the Easter Vigil.  I help Hubby get the little kids in bed then head to church on my own.  It is my time to pray, reflect, celebrate, and cry without the distraction of little hands tugging at my necklace, lifting up my skirt, and stepping on my open-toed shoes.

And Sunday, I attend Mass with my family. To share the celebration of Jesus' rising with my children, niece and nephew.  I am thrilled to say that we made it to church at 8:40 with eight children dressed and happy, and we made it through the entire service without a single incident involving cries, falls, loud noises, or walks of shame out the door.  Woo-hoo!

And in between the rituals, we had a crazy fun time enjoying the company of the cousins.

Cuckoo wasn't about to let Niece steal all of Buttercup's attention.  If Niece got hair bows, he was going to get them, too.

A rite of passage at the farm.  In order to be a big kid, you must be able to climb onto and jump off of the barn.

Is there anything funnier that a balloon under the shirt.  Or in Giant's case, the shirt and the shorts.

Oh the potty training.  He came running saying he needed to pee outside.  Too bad he had already gone in his pants.

Using up those eggs!

Traditional Easter morning photo on the steps.  Happy to have two extra faces in the crowd!

Turken found all of his eggs right quick.

There were lots of tattoos in the Easter baskets.  Cuckoo used them all.

Niece was quite tattoo-happy, too.

All of the big kids got mini kites in their baskets. 

Our second annual Peep roast.  Nothing like a good carmelized Peep.

And when we weren't at church or having crazy fun, we worked our tails off.

We planted 2 apple trees, ten asparagus plants, 25 strawberry plants, and garlic, lettuce, and spinachseeds.  The little ones were digging through the compost dirt, finding lots of wiggly worms to play with.

We also fixed the pig barn, preparing for their delivery later this week.  I basically had Hubby's life in my hands as I clung to the ridiculously high ladder he was using to brace himself on the roof as he installed new metal.  Happy to say, we avoided serious injury.  Unhappy to say, I was holding the ladder and couldn't get a picture of it.

Phoenix and Star painted themselves the white barn almost completely on their own.  (I took pictures, but apparently I have hit my photo per post limit.)  I guess there are bonuses to having children grow up!

The kids are all in bed.  Most are sleeping.  For the first time in three days, I've had more than five minutes to sit down in almost silence.  (Hubby is singing a little ditty on the couch next to me.) 

I can digest all that has happened in the last three days.

I can stop my head from spinning and appreciate all that has been given to my family and me.  To say thank you to a God who has taken very good care of us. 

And to wish all that are reading this blog (a surprising 30 or so people I think)

a very Merry Christmas.

Have a lovely day!

I was not prepared.

Why didn't anyone tell me?

It wasn't on my calendar.

But somehow, Cuckoo knew that it was National Change Your Mind and Scream Your Head Off All Day Day.

With all of the screaming that's been going on this morning, I can't put two thoughts together.  So I'm embracing the day and changing my mind on the post for today.

Instead of the beautifully worded, amazingly funny yet heartwarmingly touching post I was going to write, here are some updates of posts I've written in the past.

1.  The photo from above is the Plan B craft after Plan A was a bust.  It's still drying, so the verdict is out on whether it worked or not.

2.  The wood scraping has been going well.  I usually do a little bit each morning.  Two doors are ready for sanding, and we've moved on to the first window.

3.  Potty training is back on track.  We were good until Spring Break.  With all of the activities we did, with no idea where bathrooms would be, the diaper went back on.  Once again, he is in underwear, and in underwear he will stay.  He's not happy about it, but I don't really care about that.
Of course, because potty training isn't enough on it's own, the day after underwear goes on, the kid stopped napping.  Has now gone 5 days without sleeping at nap time.  And I KNOW it's because I said something to someone last week about how much of a sleeper he was, having to wake him up every day to get to pick-up at school.  Might have something to do with the whole Change My Mind And Scream All Day Day.

4.  The garden has been started, and we have grass clippings down.  Since we only have three rows of cold weather plantings, there was no complaining from Giant or Star about having to get the clippings raked up. 

5.  Since my computer got the memo and has changed it's mind (Apparently it no longer wants to be a computer.  It won't let me download any more photos.) and is making me want to scream, I am going to stop here for today.  Besides, Cuckoo has just been jabbering away this whole naptime, and is now moving on to the "Mommy, I want out of bed, even though I sound like I should still be here" wail.

Good times.

Happy Change Your Mind and Scream All Day Day! 

The Incredible, Edible Egg

About six months ago, my mom and I had a conversation about moving parents into a nursing home.  (Don't ask why.  We just have odd, depressing conversations sometimes.)  She is adamant that her children will not be the ones taking care of her in her old age.  She wants us to put her in a home.

The conversation then went down the road of when someone should move into a nursing home.  We agreed that there has to be a right time.  If a child waits too long, her parent will put up a fight, unable to see that living on her own is just a bad idea.

I jokingly suggested that she and I will evaluate the situation every year on her birthday.  We can discuss if "this is the year!"  It has now become a huge joke.  She will call me and say, "We may need to move that talk up.  I finally found my glove I lost three days ago.  It was in the freezer."

It was all fun and games until these last two weeks.

I'm starting to wonder if we should have this conversation about me.

I have turned into Crazy Egg Lady.

We are getting between 15 and 19 eggs each and every day.  I'm thrilled to bits.  We love eggs.  Only problem is, we cannot eat 15 eggs each and every day.  

Why do we have so many, you ask?

Two reasons.  First, when you order chickens from the catalog, you have to order 25 in order for the chicks to stay warm enough during the shipping.  (Yes, day old chicks come in a box.  The post office will call us when they arrive.)

Secondly, we know that we won't have this many chickens for long.  I don't know if we've ever had a chicken last its full two years of prime laying.  The reasons for this are long and gruesome.  Another post, maybe.  Let's just say we have a dog that loves the taste of chicken and a plethora of wild animals that also find them delectable.  Plus, we are ridiculously bad farmers.

Why don't we sell them, you ask?

We do.  For the bargain basement price of $2/dozen.  I am often seen walking around the pick-up lot at school, toting a cooler full of eggs, trying to find the people who said they wanted some.

What's the problem then, you ask?

Two words.  Spring Break.

For a week before everyone leaves for vacation, trying to clean out their refrigerators, sales plummet.  The week all of Indianapolis heads out of town, the eggs multiply worse than a family of mice.  At one point, we had 18 dozen eggs in my fridge.  "Sorry kids, no milk for the cereal today.  There's no room to keep it in the fridge."

And I become the Crazy Egg Lady.

Making deviled eggs for every function we attend.  Insisting that I make the four dozen hard boilded eggs for the Seder Meal at school.  Forcing my children and husband to eat eggs for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks.

I didn't realize I had gone completely off my rocker until I was at the grocery store a couple of days ago.  We were in the dairy aisle when I ran into a fellow soccer mom.  Did I ask how she was?  No.  Did I ask how her son, who just broke his toe and is out of soccer for the next month, is?  Nope.  Did I even say hello?  Didn't even cross my mind.  I skipped every polite nicety.  My eyes went straight to her basket, where I saw that she was carrying nothing but two dozen eggs. 

I very forcefully screeched in her face, "Why are you buying eggs when I have a refrigerator full of them???"

Everyone in the aisle stopped.  Even my kids got quiet.  All eyes were on my soccer mom friend and me.

When she very quietly and calmly said, "Because we've never discussed the fact that you have extra eggs."

Oh.  Right you are.

I didn't stop there, though.  I totally made her put those eggs right back on the shelf.  Didn't tell her how much we charge.  Didn't ask her if she would like to try some free-range, oganic eggs. 

Just gave her the evil eye until those pale, caged-up chicken eggs were back in the grocery store cooler.  

Then I asked how her son was doing.  Like I had not just proved myself to be completely out of my mind.

Things are better now.  Between the two dozen for soccer mom, and the three I sold to the folks in the office at school, and the four dozen that went to school for the Seder Meal, and the three I'm selling to a friend today, we're down to eight dozen still in my fridge. 

Until 4:00.  When Phoenix collects eggs.

Then we'll be up to nine and a half.

Hope I don't run into my mom while I'm stalking people in the dairy aisle.

'Cause I Am Nothing But Helpful

In the age where Pintrest is all the rage, I give you the anti-Pintrest.  Here is a craft you should NOT do with your children.  Don't think that you're going to get a cute, egg-shaped, Easter decoration to hang from the ceiling.  You won't.

Don't start with these supplies.

Especially the eager children.  You really don't want eager children thinking they are going to have fun making cute, egg-shaped, Easter decorations to hang from the ceiling.

Do not blow up a balloon and put it in a big coffee mug to hold it steady.

Do not water down some glue, give it to your child, and tell him to dunk some pre-cut yarn in it.

Don't have him hold the string up while he smooths out the excess glue.

Having him put the string on the balloon is just a waste of time.

It's an even bigger waste of time when you repeat steps 3, 4, and 5 many, many times.

You'd think letting it dry would be a good idea. 

It's not.

You'd think the rest would be self-explanatory.

It's not.

Most certainly do not let your four year old pop the balloon with an extremely sharp knife.

Things will not go well.  Guaranteed.

Nope, not a cute, Egg-shaped, Easter decoration to hang from the ceiling.

Just a colorful, upside-down, shrunken head.

I guess the only thing I can tell you TO do is take your cues from a two year old.

He watched me put the first string on his balloon, evaluated the situation, saw we were delusional to think it was going to work, and bailed.  He played with his cars while Turken and I carried on to shrunken-headedness.

So we're on to plan B. 

Same yarn.  Same glue.  But instead of a balloon, we'll lay it down on wax paper and sprinkle it with glitter.

I don't need no stinkin' Pintrest.

I Thought We Were Friends

I finally got to breathe a sigh of relief and stop worrying yesterday.

For ten whole nights, Buttercup was away from home.  Travelling with a friend all the way to Florida.

It's not that I don't trust the parents.  We've known them for years and have no doubts of their judgement. 

As all mom's know, when your child is far out of reach, worry is going to creep in.

Worry about her safety, of course.  Accidents happen to children of the most vigilant parents.

Worry that she will be uncomfortable, as spending one night at a friend's house is very different than travelling with the whole family for ten nights.

Concern that she would get the cold her brothers were passing around before she left.

Just the usual mom stuff.

Little did I know that I was completely worrying about wrong things.

I had no idea that this was going to be the BEST VACATION EVER.  Putting all trips that our family has ever taken to complete shame.

She came home with stories of the coolest bracelets that they wore all week.  The bracelet was the key to the resort, a charge card, and a room key all in one.  Freedom was theirs.

We heard about the pier that the girls were free to go to on their own.

About the parasailing, and how the mom paid an extra $10 so the boat driver would dunk the girls twice.

We heard about the shopping, which they did because the friend had a sunburn and had to stay out of the sun.  The girls were free to go into any store they wanted, spend as much time as they wanted, and buy some of what they wanted, while the dad and dad's friend waited for them outside.

On and on and on.

And then I heard of the ultimate betrayal by our "friends".

On the way home, they made a detour through Huntsville, Alabama, to visit some relatives.

Exactly where my mom and I took the kids for spring break last year, partly to visit friends she hadn't seen in years.

Despite the fact that it was in the 50's and rainy most of the time we were there, we found lots of things to do, like horseback riding and lunch in a cave (which required us all to pile into the back of a pick-up truck taxi to go down an enormous incline to the bottom of a ravine where the restaurant in the cave was located).

One stop we made was to the NASA center.  We walked around outside and saw the shuttles and rockets that were on display.

I didn't tell the kids that there was all kinds of cool stuff to do inside.  It was way expensive, and we had two little boys (ages 1 and barely 3 at the time) who wouldn't have had much fun.  Hubby and I have been doing that sort of thing forever.  We'll drive a little bit out of our way to see something that looks funny or interesting, then go on to the next thing without doing anything but take a picture.  (I know it is juvenile, but one time we went 20 minutes out of our way to see a park called "Balls Falls".  We didn't have time to go in the park, though it looked very nice.  We just needed the picture.)

So we took some photos, got in the van, and went across the street to a hands-on science center.

Bet you can guess the one place that our "friends" took the kids while they were in Huntsville.

Yeah.  They blew my cover and took them inside NASA.  Where Buttercup had the most "awesome" time doing all sorts of "awesome" things.  And came home to tell her brothers all about it.

My naive little darlings have seen the light. 

I'm half afraid they are going to start pulling out the photo albums and start asking questions.

Things like, "Why is there a line of people waiting at the bottome of the St. Louis arch?"

Or "Who are the people inside of that house we are posed in front of?"

That one little act of our friends has now changed our vacations forever.

Never again will we be able to stop somewhere with no intention of going in. Eight skeptical eyes will aways be looking for clues as to better things awaiting them inside. Discussions will have to be had about why we are/are not going in one place or another. Crabbiness in at least one person will follow.  Really sucks the fun right out of impromptu funny stops.

But hey, our friends had a great vacation.  Even told us it was the best vacation for them, too.  Since Buttercup was there, everyone was on their best behavior.  Their daughter (the only in the family) had a ball, since she had a girl to hang out with for the first time ever. 

So happy for them.

Really.