No Question...

Balance is important, and as a mom it can feel tricky to know what the right course of (non?)action is for any given moment.

Whether it's a time to hold firm and and let the consequences flow, or give in a little for some greater good or teachable instant.

Whether it's a time to intervene and advocate, or to step back and let external forces work themselves out and shape the results and learning.

Whether to prevent two brothers from pummeling each other into silence (as the screaming and tears began before the hits) and practice using their words instead, or to keep track of time and see if it is quicker to let them duke it out and be done.

Whether it's a time to eat the junk food meal, or eat the growing food and save the junk for dessert.

Whether it's a time for structure or spontaneity.

Whether it's a time for work or for play.

Whether to speak explanation and clarification and pontification, or to hold back the words, save for the listening responses of "Wow," and "That sounds hard/good/funny," and let them find the lesson themselves.

Daily, I wrestle with any number of these questions. Sometimes I feel like I'm getting it right, and occasionally I even feel like I hit the home run, but more often it feels like I'm throwing a fistful of grass into the breeze and seeing where it goes...not to mention those times the grass comes right back into my face, and I know I really biffed it.

Of one thing I am certain, however. When dinner and baths are done early, and there's still plenty to do around the house with unpacking and organizing...ditching the chores and playing a Super Mario game on the Wii with His Highness is the best possible choice there is. Saving each other's lives, giving high fives, and yelling "Dang it!" at the screen when we die.

"I LOVED playing the Wii with you, kiddo. Now go to sleep."

Home Run...

Summer Activities...

Well, a lot has happened since my Brussels sprouts post, and I find myself, as usual, with so much to tell but somehow either too many or too few words to tell it with. I read an article that the online "brain-candy" type articles (BuzzFeed, etc) are decreasing our ability to stick with longer plot lines and more complex stories, and I wonder if they are somehow decreasing my personal ability to stick with telling my stories, because all I can seem to muster are bullet lists of half-thoughts in multiple categories. That, or it's the reality that my children steal my mental bandwidth, and that I've always had a short attention span. So whatevs. Here, for your short-term reading pleasure are some bullet points of my last month and a half (or so)--

--Movers came and packed us up one week in mid-June. I was nervous and angry because our last experience, while not horrendous, messed with my organizational sensibilities, and I wondered if all movers just did things...very differently...than we had done when moving ourselves.  BUT this time around I am pleased to say we had a great crew. They arrived a couple hours later than expected the first day, but it turned out that's because they were located a couple hours away, so after adjusting timing expectations we were very pleased all around. Part of my challenge is the social awkwardness of having other people in my space, handling my stuff. And indeed, it was a little awkward, but their leader was funny, and a talker (but not an over-talker), so that made it a little better since we could make silly comments and move on.

--I've never had professional cleaners, partly because of said social awkwardness, but we spent the money for a move-out clean, and holy smokes I can see what the big deal is because the ladies did a spectacular job shining up the place. Seriously, if you are in the Northern VA area, I wholeheartedly recommend R&A Professional House Cleaners. The Cat Daddy said "How did the sink get so shiny??" Well, it turns out I've read a little of the FlyLady and know there's a way to shine a sink, but have never pursued it. Now that he knows what's possible, I kind of feel like I should give it a try, even if it's just for special occasions. On second thought, maybe you shouldn't hire them, because they will raise your standards, and you will become aware of what is possible in home cleanliness. Thanks for nothing, R & A House Cleaners.

--After getting everything ship-shape we spent the better part of a week getting from Ashburn to Montgomery. The original plan was to take 4 days (2 more than necessary) so we could spend some time with friends along the way. Well, a little car trouble added a day on the front end, but it was an otherwise smooth trip. And thankfully the Pilot is fine now.

--Asheville NC is the East Coast's equivalent of Portland OR. If you find yourself there around lunchtime, do yourself a favor and eat at the Jamaican place called Nine Mile. I had never had Jamaican food before, and I am wary of a lot of spices and stuff, but I'm 98% certain there is something on the menu for everyone. It was so fresh and healthy...and yet flavorful and delicious too. They totally would've won Chopped. Our friend Pastor T convinced me I might be Anglican, but not the high-church-type Anglican. More like the grace-based, "When in Rome..." sort of Anglican. Or something.  It was late at night, but it sounded very reasonable.

--Lookout Mountain is in both Tennessee and Georgia, and it is beautiful. On the GA side lives a family we've known since their three kids were a few years older than our three kids are now, and we immensely enjoyed catching up with all of them (now expanded to include a marriage and grandchild) and finding we have been (mostly) unintentionally imitating them all along. Same dishes and everything, folks. We didn't think we were creepy stalkers, but then again maybe we are.

--The (almost) final stretch brought us into Montgomery and the local Drury Inn for 6 days.  We found the Drury on our last move and really enjoy them for a lot of reasons. They are all the same (no 'character' to speak of, which is normally a bad thing in my mind, but with hotels I think maybe it's preferable), they provide breakfast and a light dinner, they have an indoor/outdoor pool (where no germs will survive because there is PLENTY of chlorine), they are pet-friendly, and in our experience they have always been great to deal with. On this particular trip our check-in lady noticed we had a lot of family members and a lot of spirit, and she upgraded us to a suite free of charge. It had been unavailable when I booked, but had opened up. I said "Yes please, that would be awesome!" and cried tiny tears of joy.

The thing about the (almost) final stretch is that even though we gained stability in a consistent interim home base, we still had to watch our volume and occupy the loud children, and the feeling of being displaced--and not just on vacation--was definitely kicking in. And by that time we'd all been together for so long we were getting a little punchy, so we made up challenges along the way, like doing separate errands with different combinations of children, and eating way too many treats each day, and such. But six days is a huge improvement over the last move, where we spent 2 1/2 weeks in the receiving-end hotel, AND had to secure housing in that time. This time we had the house; we just had to wait for it to empty out.

--And finally we moved in. Overall the process was fairly smooth, although it would be a lie to say there have been no hiccups or deep breaths along the way. Two days later three guys arrived with two big trucks carrying 10 cartons of our stuff, resulting in a maze of boxes and whatnot.

My friend Elizabeth advises folks to provide their movers with food and drinks every day they are there, and I have to say I wish I'd taken this advice sooner. Nothing cuts down on social awkwardness more than saying "Help yourself to the cold water and Gatorade in the fridge," and "Hey we're ordering food, what kind of pizza do you like?" Even if one of the movers is, say, lactose intolerant and you have to ask what alternative would be suitable. And let's be honest--the cost to feed us and three extra big guys pizza (and a sandwich sans cheese) was not much more than our family of 5 eating at a sit-down restaurant, so really the expense is minimal. And even if it weren't, I'd say it's still well worth the cost. And then somehow instead of weird strangers asking where to plop the boxes, you begin to see the real people who happen to be schlepping your stuff throughout the house. I'm now a firm believer in feeding your crews.

--We have set a personal best for speed in unpacking and situating the house. Our last two houses have gone down in size, rather than up. Part of this is the reality of living in different regions with different economies and housing allowances, and part of this is my own leaning toward a bit more simplicity in life, and a personal challenge to the Cat Daddy to see if a smaller place might help me us feel a bit less overwhelmed by all the things. It's just for a year, after all, so there's not much to lose if we end up hating it. I call it a grand experiment and love it so far, but I'm not sure the Cat Daddy would use any of those words in that order.

This is our first move where I have been both not-pregnant AND properly medicated, so I had high hopes going in. And I have to say I've been pleased. Moving is hard work, and stressful, and wearying, and sometimes overwhelming, but I don't feel destroyed (probably too strong a word here, but not by much) by it, like I have in the past.

--So now we are evening out. We are down to a minimum of boxes remaining, and we actually have many of the pictures on the walls. We've visited one church and liked it so much we went back twice so far. We are working on thinning the crap, weeding out, eBaying, and donating where appropriate. The new silverware basket for the dishwasher arrived, so I don't have to hand-wash my spoons anymore (#fwp). I have become some kind of person who socializes at events where I don't know anyone (hello, spouses' orientation) without freaking out. Afterward I want to go home and sleep, but again I don't feel as though simply attending is sucking my will to live. Also, as I determined 10 years ago, having people you know in your new place makes a huge difference. Bonus points if they tell funny stories.

--HELLO, Command Products. His Highness has been bugging me to try them out since he saw them in a Halloween-themed commercial at age 2. I've hemmed and hawed, and procrastinated, but in this house the rules are pretty strict about amount and type of wall hanging materials, so after a short trial run I went for it full-force. His Highness was greatly pleased to see me come home with a bag full of them, and we are crazy Command people, hanging nearly everything with those glorious sticky tabs that don't damage flat paint (a rant for another time), and which stick to stuff you can't put a nail in (thank you, ceramic tile backsplash). I rue my stubbornness at waiting so long. Who would've thought wall adhesive would be such a life changer??



In conclusion, the thing about moving is, while lots (and lots...and lots...) of things change, eventually you find yourself right back where you started. For us that means my children still want to eat every time I turn around ("You're bored; have a glass of water and go play"), and my to-do list really has 123 items, but I can only reasonably accomplish 2 or so per day, I'm a calmer nervous-type, but I'm still a nervous-type, and I still freak out on Thursdays. And while it's frustrating to experience frustrations, it is calming to realize you are reaching the new normal, thinking "THIS I can deal with; it's (I'm) gonna be OK."

Which is good, because we get to do the whole thing again next summer. Goody, goody gumdrops...

Cooking Healthy With Skerrib...

Today I would like to talk about rice and brussels sprouts, because in the past several months I have had life changing breakthroughs with both.

I do not come from a line of chefs. My people are respectable down-home cooks, but professional-type chefs we are not. I think possibly that buried deep somewhere in the human genome is the culinary gene, and that there are those on God’s green earth fortunate enough to get it, and those of us who either have to pick up strategies and tactics, or be content with lots of take-out and/or Ramen.

My history with cooking is varied and at times painful. There are nasty persistent rumors out there involving opened pasta sauce being stored in a college apartment pantry for two weeks, instead of the fridge. While I can neither confirm nor deny the veracity of, or my involvement in said events, I will say that the Cat Daddy sometimes needs to let things GO already and admit where drastic improvements have been made.

I like to think I've been fairly effective at picking up strategies and tactics over the years, by way of friends, family, the Internet, the Food Network (Alton Brown in particular), and these days Pinterest. But two of my biggest weaknesses have been making vegetables in a way that people actually want to eat, and getting my rice just right.  My Puerto Rican friend makes some of the best sticky rice I've ever had--in the microwave no less--but try as I might I could never duplicate it.

This changed somewhat when I made the switch from long grain white to short/medium grain brown rice. We were at Pei Wei with my folks, and my mom ordered the brown rice, and I was all "The woman is mad," but then I tasted it and thought, "Sweet sassafras, that's really good!" Sort of like the rice version of steel cut oats. It wasn't long before I got up the courage to buy a small bag of brown rice at the store and give it a whirl. And pretty much instantly, we switched over to brown as our household rice of choice. Even the Cat Daddy was convinced, and that's saying something.

But it still didn't change the fact that rice is tricky. Much like pasta, it has that narrow window of delicious doneness. Too short and you're crunching your way through the meal, and not in a good way; too long and it's like bad oatmeal where you're left ruing that 3 minutes you spent wiping up spilled Gatorade or some such nonsense instead of watching the rice.  And much like oatmeal, there's the issue of water quantity. Bottom line, if you get that wrong there is no way to achieve optimum sticky texture, Mister.

Well. A little Yahoo article changed all that for me. Basically, the secret is to treat the rice like pasta. Badda boom, badda bing, and done. You can click over there to read the whole thing but I will share the steps here:

--Boil a big pot of water, as if you were getting ready to make spaghetti.

--**The article says to rinse your rice in a strainer until the water runs clear, but I am quite lazy want maximum nutrient retention so I don't do that. My water ends up with foamy bits in it, but whatevs.**

--Put your rice in the boiling water. It doesn't matter anymore how much rice you use, so go nuts with as much or as little as you like.  Add salt, oil, seasonings, etc., stir once, and cook uncovered for 30 min.

--Kill the heat, strain the rice (use common sense on which strainer, please), and put it back in the pot. Cover and let it steam in its own residual water for 10 minutes.

--They say, as always, to fluff with a fork, but does anyone really do that? I give it a good stir and plop it on the plate. Fork-fluffing sounds pretentious to me.

--Eat the best, most foolproof brown rice ever. Top it with things if you must...

...And secondly, let's talk about Brussels sprouts. I don't recall ever eating them growing up, so they must have been mutually hated by my parents. Frankly, I didn't even care to try them at all until this vegetable roasting craze popped up some years ago, and even then my entire immediate family declared "NEVER AGAIN!" on the way to deal with their, um, digestive issues.

I actually did throw in the towel on Brussels sprouts, until a few weeks ago when Jen Hatmaker posted a blurb on her Facebook page about doing the sprouts with bacon and a balsamic reduction. That was enough to pique my curiosity at least, and THEN my hippie friend Sarita made them for Tiny E and me when we were visiting and I just about died to discover how delicious they could be.

There's one caveat that we must get out of the way, and that is that one way or the other, the kitchen will smell like farts at some point during the cooking process. I don't think there's any way around this with cruciferous veggies, but in this case we get most of the fart smell over with early on, and move onto the much preferred bacon and balsamic smell, so that seems to work OK. Or at least better than average.

So combining many tips I've collected over the past several years, here's how I accomplished Brussels Nirvana--

--For inspiration, go look at Ina Garten's Balsamic-Roasted Brussels Sprouts recipe. Don't be intimidated by her pancetta and fancy ways, as you will only pay attention to about half of the recipe.

--Heat the oven to 400 degrees F.

--Rinse, trim and halve your sprouts. Keep the loose leaves that come off during the trimming.

--Steam the sprouts. My hippie friend Sarita does hers in a microwave steamer for a minute or two; I don't have a microwave steamer, so I did mine on the stovetop until they started turning bright green. This is, in my opinion, the biggest key step I was missing in my past experiences.  Just as you are about ready to give up because your whole kitchen smells like a stink bomb, remember that it only gets better from here.

--Dice up a bunch of bacon. I used about half of the sprouts Ina called for, and twice the bacon. I felt it was a little too much bacon, but most of the world will disagree with me on that.
**My bacon came out a little chewy, so I plan to see if precooking it is worth the effort. Probably not.

--Dice some onion and/or bell pepper to add color & flavor.

--Toss the veggies with the bacon, salt & pepper, and a good dose of oil and spread on a sheet pan.  Roast for 20-30 minutes, tossing once during the roasting.

--Ina says to use a really nice, syrupy balsamic vinegar. I used my fancy Wegman's store-brand balsamic vinegar and reduced it a little to make it nice & syrupy. When the sprouts are done roasting (brown & tender, and bacon is cooked thru), toss everything in the balsamic and serve.
**The little loose leaves also came out a little chewy. I plan to see if leaving them out of the steaming process helps them crisp up during the roasting. 

These are so good that when your family makes mock-gagging sounds, you won't even care.  You'll just think "Ah well, more for me."

Now I understand that there are those who have thrown in the towel on Brussels sprouts and are thinking "Skerrib you are absolutely nuts. There's no way I'm using my good bacon on fart-smelling tiny green cabbages." I understand that. Sometimes, there's no redeeming certain foods.

But it's like when I make them for my family. That just means there's more for me...

"Happy" Memorial Day??

While I’m no stranger to opinions, there’s a difference between opinions and OPINIONS. And OPINIONS are a little scary and shaming sometimes, and I’m not a big fan of shaming. It’s become kind of a bummer to me as I have noticed the seasons and cycles of shaming as they correlate to the seasons and cycles of life. For every holiday, event, or opinion, someone will find a way to throw some shame around, and I think that’s a bummer because holidays are to be felt by each one individually, and if it brings pain, well, we certainly don’t need it amplified by OPINIONS on the internet.

Therefore I particularly enjoyed my friend Mark’s take on Memorial day. You should go read his stuff here; it’s really good. And a big debt of gratitude to those who have died so that we can enjoy our time together with love and freedom.

Tomorrow, Memorial Day, is never about sales of T-shirts, ball games, a day off work, or coupons. Yet, it’s about all those things.

It is a day of deep deep love. A day when a group of people, most by their own choosing, stood up and said, "Send me." Then, in that choice, they wrote their epitaph. Today, if asked, they would not have it any other way, because they know. They know what they bought for the rest of us.

So, enjoy what you have. Enjoy the weather, the barbecue, the laughter, the sleeping in. It was purchased by a few, a happy few, a band of brothers and sisters, who now simply smile at their check writing skills.

Gummy Bear?

There's a saying that goes around in the moms-of-young-kids crowd. Something to the effect of "the days are long but the weeks are short," or "the days are long but the years are short," or something like that.  Obviously this is a nice way of imploring parents to look up for a moment and be aware of where they are, and take it in, even the gross/difficult/painful/maddening/eyeball-poking parts, because way too soon it will be memories. I talk with moms of grown kids often and without exception they say it flies by.

I just want to go on record and say that my days are not long, and it is all flying by. Every single day.  Now I assume this doesn't feel true for everyone, but I also know I'm not the only one. Perhaps it is some sort of supernatural mercy from God because he knows there is only a certain amount of poo I can handle in a single day, and if my days were any longer there would be a serious breach of the poo quota, and the household would dissolve into poo anarchy or something; I dunno.  He also sees how we handle the witching hour, and I think maybe he knows that once the children start screaming the only answer is to bathe them and send them to bed, so I would be gratefully unsurprised if he were shaving a few minutes off somewhere in there, because from 3 pm on it is a break-neck pace around the Skerrib house.

Every week I sit with my calendar for a few minutes and write down the major activities of each day. This is to avoid missing appointments and such, and is about 80% effective (but not foolproof, as I've found a few times). Sunday evenings I will look toward Friday and think it is Sooooo far away, but like 10 minutes later here I am late Thursday evening wondering where the week went.

I mean, I know where it went--I can break each day into 1-2 hour blocks and tell you pretty much what I was doing during each one, and which ones I used to preserve mental health instead of tackling another task.  Which ones I did what I planned or at least "should have done," and which ones went a little wonky due to outside forces (poo or otherwise).

This is all to say, I know. I see it. My crazies are shooting up out of the ground like little dandelions, way too fast. His Highness is getting all leggy and moving toward bigger boy-ness, and the Littler One scales shelves like Spiderman. As for Tiny E, somehow she picked up complete sentences from her brothers and enjoys informing me how things are going to be: "No mom, I wanna sit here," and so on.

I find myself thinking about Ferris Bueller's advice--"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it," and I think he was definitely onto something, even (or maybe especially) for those of us in the young kids season.

Heck, who am I kidding. Just because I deal with poo more than average doesn't give me some sort of special life standing or unique insight (except for the poo itself--I really do have a lot of knowledge and experience with it).  Ferris's advice is good for everyone, at any stage.

It's Friday, kids. Take a look around and see where you are. Make note of it. Then go forth and do something (or maybe nothing? On purpose?) to mark it somehow...

So Many Things, So Little Time...

In the past, oh, 6 months or so I’ve been loosely following Shauna Niequist. Daughter of Bill & Lynne Hybels, and a contributor to Donald Miller’s Storyline blog, she’s talked a lot of late about passion, and squeezing in passion amid even the busy young childhood years.  This really speaks to me as I continue to sort out life, and kids, and family, and such.

Well, today she posted here about how one goes about finding passion. While I have baggage about the word 'passion,' I think the process she wrote about is a really good idea, because while there are lots of things I enjoy dabbling in, I am acutely aware that each day has a limited time, and if I go chase rabbit trails it’s much harder than in the pre-kid years to go back and make up the missed things later. So some of what I’ve been mulling over lately is what are the things that I really love and really don’t want to do without, and what are the rabbit trails that can be put away, even if only for a while. And right away, I crossed off Jesus, which sounds horrible and anti-Christian, but it’s like asking people what books they would take on a desert island, and having everyone answer “Bible.” Yes, it’s probably the truth, but it doesn’t necessarily speak into the finer points of one’s personality.

So, to be clear: I love Jesus the most, and count on him for all things identity, salvation, and overall guidance in life and beyond. And thankfully he (or at least the Holy Spirit; I’m not fully clear on the mechanics of the Trinity) is with me no matter what I’m doing, so we’ll leave him as a very important assumed priority. Good? Good. 

Beyond that? Elizabeth Gilbert gave a really cool little TED talk, which made me think back to a conversation I had with my friend Weezer a few years ago, when she asked me what was the one thing in life that made me feel most alive and like myself (everyone should have a friend like Weezer who asks questions like that). And like I said, there are lots of things I enjoy dabbling in. I have a bit of a fear of missing out, so I’ll try most anything at least once, and I usually find something skillful or enjoyable about most things (among notable exceptions for me are knitting and sales; trust me on this, the entire world is better off when Skerrib is doing most anything other than those things). 

But as I said before, my list of “musts” has been whittled away over the years. I don’t read much grown-up fiction these days; not necessarily because I don’t enjoy it, but because when forced to choose I prefer non-fiction for myself, and I adore exploring kid-lit of all types with my crazies. Check. Music is really important to me, but outside of practicing for drumming, I don’t do much new cultivation of my listening repertoire (which makes me a little sad, but thankfully I can live somewhat vicariously through the Cat Daddy’s musical wanderings). Check.

Drumming itself has stayed on the list, as has writing, even though the frequency is greatly diminished. And back in the conversation with Weezer, I very nearly said “drumming” as my number one thing. But I didn’t, because there is one thing that edges out drumming (and writing), and that is running.

In the talk above, Gilbert talks about the one thing you would do, no matter what. No matter if anyone was watching, or even knew that you did it. And just to clarify, I love drumming and writing almost as much as running. Depending on the day it really can be a tough call. But when I think about bad days, where I am getting a lot of guff from my minions and am maybe even in a little pain from my back stuff, and probably overall just feeling like poo, nothing makes it better like pounding out a few miles. And on good days, nothing makes me a ball of cheesy grinning goo more than a good run. Writing is awesome for getting my thoughts out, but running helps me form the thoughts into something comprehensible; otherwise I'd sit down to write and come up with one word sentences and a lot of unfocused whining. So I guess running helps me whine with purpose. Or something.

Anyway, you likely already knew that about me and the running. So as it turns out, without meaning to, I've kind of followed Shauna's process for fitting it in, so perhaps I get a gold star or something. It seems like many of my thoughts these days are simply the sifting through things I know are already true, and deepening them somehow. Or rather maybe seeing my same old life expressed in new ways, or even just realizing that professionals like Donald Miller and Shauna Niequist are regular people too, trying to find their way and live a good story (TOTALLY swiped that from Donald Miller).

I suppose my encouragement to you today is to look at what is already in your life, and see what you are fitting in without necessarily realizing it.  There is SO MUCH I want to do and try, but when I look around and take stock a little, I see those things I've managed to squeeze in, and it both reassures me and helps me be deliberate about the things and people I love. 

And when in doubt, the pace isn't important. Just put one foot in front of the other and go...

Confessional Snippets on Thursday (but really Friday) (#CST)...

I've been seeing a lot of something called Throwback Thursday (#TBT) on Facebook. This is of course where people post old photographs with a short description, and friends reply with comments like "OMG, that was the best time I can't remember!" and "Dude, you had hair!" and other nostalgia-stirring sentiments.  From what I've seen the timeframe is deliberately arbitrary; that is, "old" can mean last week, last year, last decade, last century, etc.

As much as I enjoy it, I haven't jumped on the #TBT bandwagon yet. This is mostly due to pure laziness on my part. I keep thinking "I should do that." Someday this will lead to my digging out an old photo and posting it. In this case, "someday" is about as precise as "old."

Instead I have been mulling over some areas in life where I've come to some realizations. Some are more serious than others, but regardless I felt it would be good to share in the spirit of full disclosure, shared humanity, and all such things.

--After nearly 3 years since this post, I came to the conclusion that it was time to go back on the meds. It was a good run with the help of St John's Wort and healthy habits, but I finally got to the point where I was triple-duple Exhausted and wanting to cry at the injustices of things like being responsible for small children and needing to bathe/groom each day, so that was my signal to ask for help.  I started out thinking I would find a counselor but when even that proved overwhelming, I went to the doc, reasoning I could pick her brain and go from there. Well, long story short, I walked out with the meds, resigned and mildly sad because I hate needing help, but also relieved because I knew I'd be feeling better soon. These days I'm more closely resembling Awesome Skerrib and while I have a little lingering reservation and baggage about it, boy do I feel better.

I mulled over whether I would share this part because of the stigma still associated with meds and depression/anxiety in some circles, but I've found over time that as I share my own experiences, it seems to encourage others who might have dealt with similar things. Addie also shared a great post, and said it better than I can, so I encourage you to pop over there if you are so inclined...

--I think I may be at a point in life where I have ceased (or at least significantly decreased) my struggle with fashion sense. That is not so much to say I have become more stylish, but rather that I am making peace with where I stand with regard to the world of fashion. Mostly that I like wearing classic cotton fashions (i.e., jeans and funny tees) and staying vaguely up to date, but I don't have the inclination to put the energy into a lot of accessorizing, or synthetic fabrics, or fashion feng shui, or anything like that.

Not that there's anything wrong with those things. I know some lovely and well-groomed people, and they are fantastic. It just goes with the whole idea that there are so many things in life, and everyone chooses the things which are important to them, and it may be easier and more honest to admit that my fashion and style effort quota is somewhere around a 4 out of 10, where 10 is "makes a magazine photo-quality ensemble--including heels--out of fish bones, a ripped grocery bag, and twine," and 1 is "wears only a ripped grocery bag and faded fuchsia Polo out of intense disdain for all things visual."

All that said, it could be that this is merely a season, and things will change, or at least evolve over the years. Like when all the kids are in school full time and I go back into a working-outside-of-the-house setting (or not), or some such cause for putting on makeup on days other than Easter or date nights.

Just kidding. I don't wear makeup on most date nights either...

--I know parents are important and all that, but in recent years I've come to ponder nature (as opposed to nurture) for a variety of reasons. One of these reasons is those occasions where, despite our mostly-civilized familial standards, I find my kids acting like complete and total ruffians.  I like to think we have a pretty balanced approach to most things. For example we eat fairly healthy for the most part, but still keep around a little bit of junk food, and of course the kids are inundated with opportunities for treats anytime we set foot outside the house. Sort of along the line of "don't give it to them every meal, but don't completely deprive them either, and it won't be a big deal."

While I like to think I'm pretty laid back about this approach, somehow it has resulted in three children who act like starving, obsessed creatures anytime they sense they are within a 15 foot radius of junk food. I buy dessert treats for His Highness's lunchbox, but he hardly ever gets to eat them because the Littler One will sneak downstairs, sometimes in the middle of the night, climb the pantry shelves, and gorge himself on the hidden desserts. And this is after he has already had his portion of the package. So we talk a lot about not hogging stuff, sharing with the family, community property, and such (e.g. "Were you raised by wolves??"), but I am still bewildered by their ragamuffin ways sometimes.

Of course, then we have moments like tonight. Tiny E was munching on a graham cracker and set it aside in favor of something much more interesting. I assumed (and we all know what happens when one assumes things) she was finished, and helped myself rather than let it go to waste. Well, I'd gotten it down to one and a half of the little rectangle segments when she came back in looking for her graham cracker, and she was entirely disappointed with her remaining portion. I was very honest with her, as I am with the boys when I tell them "Hey when Mom gives you food, you'd better eat it, because if I find it lying around I'll take it for myself." Like a starving, obsessed creature...

--I was introduced to TED talks a while back, and though I would love to take approximately 9 continuous months and watch them ALL, I have to do things like feed my family and myself, so it's more like a few talks per week in spurts.  I've been struck lately by how much there is to know in the world, and how rich any given topic can be once one starts to dig in and learn a little about it. I mean, I watched a talk the other day about a man who designed typeface fonts for a living, and it was amazing to learn some of the bits & pieces he had to consider in his work. In our internet age we like to think we know a lot, but most of the time we know teeny snippets of things; nowhere near the whole story. I like TED talks because folks have dug in deeper to something, and then share some of what they know with the rest of us. They keep it short so it's still snippets...but somehow I come away with a greater awareness that there is only time for snippets (because otherwise our brains would explode), which therefore makes me all the more aware of the deeper story, which I know little to nothing about of course, but it makes me thankful for the snippets...

--My nerd-/dork-status has been firmly cemented for years, and I feel like overall I have embraced it well for some time now, but every so often I'll catch myself realizing just how eclectic/nerdy/different/dorky something is that I'm doing or reading or whatever, and I'll have to have the same talk with myself about owning it, and that after high school nerd-dom seems to increase as we grow into our roles and passions and realize that really, the vast majority of us have something that we love that is different or otherwise out of the mainstream.

I think it's kind of funny that I keep having to remind myself of that, as if somewhere along the line I have managed to (intentionally or not) fool folks into believing that I am something other than a nerd/dork (see fashion comments above) and now have to go break the news that I really like some oddball stuff, and don't like some of the more popular pleasures in life (e.g. wine. Very popular with the men and ladies in NoVA and other places. Not so much with me). As if I'm going to say, "I have something to confess. I know I seem all hip and cool, but really I am secretly a big dork." And as if they would reply, "Oh, we had no idea. We can't be friends anymore."

Which is ludicrous. Not because my friends would instead say, "Oh how wonderful, we love you just the same!" because they wouldn't say that. They would actually say something along the lines of, "Um, did you think that was a secret? Because it's pretty obvious. This is why we're friends to begin with."

That's right folks, I would like to confess that I run in circles of dorks. But you probably already knew that...

Telemarketer Filter...

The Littler One (TLO) got a gold star today, and here is why:

The phone rings. I suspect it is a telemarketer, but I pick it up anyway for two reasons. First, we are waiting to hear back from some folks regarding housing in Alabama and I have no idea what kind of numbers they will be calling from. Second, if it is a telemarketer I plan to tell them that no, Austin isn't here, and they have the wrong number.

(Apparently, Austin was pre-approved for something or other and was so thrilled he left our number on his application. This one guy who called a week ago said "Well, you'll be getting a lot of calls like this one in the next few weeks, so you may just want to say you bought it already." Whatever "it" is.)

Me: "Hello?"

I hear a random noise that is something like when a computer is calling and connects the rep.

Voice on the other end: "Hell-"

TLO: "Hello Mom."

He has picked up another handset downstairs.

Me: "TLO, I've got it, hang up the phone. Go ahead, I'm sorry."

Voice on the other end: "H-"

TLO: "Who is it Mom?"

Me: "I don't know, you have to stop talking so I can hear them."

TLO: "But I want to be with you."

Me: "Then come up and be with me while I talk to this person."

TLO: "No, I want to be on the phone with you."

Me: "Then be quiet so I can hear what they want to say. How can I help you?"

TLO: "Who is it Mom?"

Me: "I don't know, they can't speak because you keep talking. Be quiet, or hang up the phone."

TLO: "But Moooo-oooommmm, I want you!"

(we talk in a few more circles)

Me: "Then come and get me! But either be quiet or hang up the phone."

TLO: "No! I want to talk too."

Me: "TLO! I said--"

Dead line beeping. The caller has hung up, apparently quite a while ago.

Me: "See, TLO, they hung up. Hang up the phone now."

I hang up, go downstairs, and kiss his naughty little head...

Battle Chosen...

"I am strong, Mom!"

The thing about all the parenting books is, no matter which of the diametrically opposed approaches (or any combination thereof) you take, it doesn't erase the fact that we're all human, especially kids. And the thing about being human is that you mess stuff up a lot of the time--for some reason I keep forgetting this and need constant reminding--so you have to be humble enough to change your mind sometimes, and sometimes even say "sorry" to your kids, which is good because that's how they learn to apologize to others.

I've read a lot of books on parenting over the years, and honestly much of the advice has fallen by the wayside as we've become more confident in our style. But one story in particular has stuck with me along the way. There was a dad of grown children who was asked something he would've done differently when his kids were younger. He replied that he would've sweated less of the small stuff, explaining that when his son was young he had this desk chair that he loved so much, he wanted to fall asleep with it on his bed every night.  The dad would always resist because, seriously that's kind of ridiculous, having a desk chair on your bed.  And many nights the son would be sad and upset as he cried for his chair because he loved it so much and really wanted it on his bed with him.

The dad said if he had it to do again, he'd have let his son have the desk chair on his bed, reasoning that in their case it wasn't a safety issue--the worst that could happen is it would fall off the bed and make a noise--and regardless he could just go in after his son fell asleep and put it back at the desk. And on the occasions where he gave in, his son went to sleep much more quickly & peacefully, and eventually he stopped asking to have his desk chair on his bed anyway. It was just a funny little quirk that, in hindsight, was really no big deal. Perhaps a battle not to choose.

I think about that story often because we have a lot of funny little quirks in our family.  I wonder if I think about it often enough though, because honestly there are lots of things that in retrospect seem like much smaller deals than I originally thought when I said NO to them.  Still, there are plenty of times when NO is the right answer, and for plenty of reasons--safety, time, larger lessons, personal boundaries, and sometimes even convenience for Mom. 

Today at the store we needed paper towels, and at first I teased the kiddos by placing the giant, 12-roll package on the front/top of the cart so that they were holding them for me. This was hilarious to all of us for several seconds, until Tiny E felt overwhelmed and I moved it to the handy-dandy rack right below their feet. Tiny E was cool with that, but the Littler One was MAD, and let me know it. We spent the remainder of the trip reasoning and explaining why he could not be in charge of the paper towels, why it was a safety issue for his sister, and how Mom was getting frustrated at all this arguing and would put his chosen cereal back on the shelf if he didn't cool it. Because we don't reward tantrums ("Asked and Answered" is an awesome idea. I use it for my own sanity and courage even when, in practice, my children's goal is to keep arguing no matter what).  

Well, in the checkout line I had somewhat of a change of heart. My reasons for saying no were that it was a safety issue for Tiny E, and also because it was pretty likely the Littler One would drop the whole bundle. I assumed that if I let him try again, he would either drop the package repeatedly--to my great annoyance--or smush his little sister, which is clearly unacceptable (most of the time). I wondered if, instead of relying on explanation, it would be more effective to let him experience this, so we made a deal. He would take a moment to calm down, and if he did so by the time we got to the exit, I would let him hold the paper towels until we got out to the car.  But if they got in his sister's way he had to relinquish them immediately. 

So true to his word he took some time to calm down while I finished checking out and making my way to the front of the store, stopping along the way to say hi to one of our favorite workers in the kid room (which the Littler One almost never attends, but that's a story for another post). So as we neared the exit I pulled the package of paper towels up, turned them on end, and handed them over. He dropped them once, which I figured would happen, and I handed them back and said if he dropped them again they had to go down on the rack. 

But he didn't drop them again. He carried them the entire way out to the car, and even tossed them in the back of the car when I opened up the rear hatch. Another lady was walking by and, clearly impressed, called him strong, which was very kind but completely unnecessary since he kept telling me "I'm really strong, Mom" (good with affirmation, that one). I called him a big helper and told him to buckle up, or else, and that I might write a story about him carrying the paper towels. 

I don't think there was really a right or wrong answer here. I could just as easily have held firm as a lesson in keeping our temper and listening when Mom says "no." It is a good and worthy lesson, and one that gets a lot of reinforcement in our house. But today the paper towels seemed more like a desk-chair-on-the-bed issue, so that's the direction I took. 

Do you have any "desk chair" moments/memories to tell?


**UPDATE: I went back and found the desk chair story in Grace Based Parenting, by Dr. Tim Kimmel. It's written with a Christian perspective in mind, and probably my favorite parenting book thus far.

Off the Grid...

(Bonus Points for catching a couple of extremely obscure 80's TV and movie references)

Sometimes I think about living off the grid. Every so often I get nervous about the state of society...or I watch an episode of "Revolution" with the Cat Daddy...or someone in the family experiences a first-world problem...and I think about what it would look like if we somehow had to revert to a pre-infrastructure way of life. What sort of work and planning would we have to do (a lot of both, apparently), how would we get food, shelter, and supplies, that sort of thing.

And actually, I vacillate between eras--sometimes I put myself in the shoes of Frontier/Pioneer Mom (not Pioneer Woman--she's in a category all her own), and other times it's Cavemommy, or Abigail Adams (yes, that one), or even a 19th-to-early-20th-Century homemaker from that one Modern Marvels episode. Most recently we've been watching "The Legend of Mick Dodge," so I've tried to work out the logistics of the five of us becoming mountain people. Obviously.

Regardless, we're not doomsday preppers, or homesteaders, or anything (I'm not even quite sure what a homesteader is, so don't yell at me, Homesteaders), so there are no shelters or bunkers brimming with canned goods, army blankets, and a transistor radio (which, let's be honest, will not help you if it all hits the fan and communications are knocked out).  But still, I have made it a practice over the years to be mindful of skills which would come in handy if I were suddenly (a) left in the wooded wilderness, searching for my father who had gone off to find work as a logger, or (b) standing amid smoking piles of rubble in a t-shirt and ripped jeans, my smeary-faced children resignedly at my side as we turn toward the sunrise knowing we must find aid for the Cat Daddy, who has been gravely injured but will regain health in time. If we can just penetrate the army encampment and get the typhus antidote, dangit, or (c) Mick Dodge.

Admittedly, there are some serious holes in my plan (LOVE showers, and not much for camping, to begin with), but I like to think it's one of those things where, if I pay attention, then when the time comes I'll be able to draw on experiences along the way to cobble together an existence that will put me a step ahead of the nature-phobes and those who think meat originates in the grocery store. Will I be able to slaughter and butcher the cow? Who knows, but if not I'll know to call the mobile butcher for help, and then maybe barter some cheese or woolen mittens for his efforts.

This is all to say that a friend recently hosted an afternoon get-together where we gathered to eat and talk, and she taught some basic crochet skills to those of us who had few to none.  I'm not really a crafty person, but I have the spiritual gift of hanging out, and the company & conversation did not disappoint. We pretty well covered the gamut in woman/mommy topics--husbands, kids, scumbag renters skipping town, living off the grid, organic vs conventional produce, and even gun control because, who doesn't want to talk controversial topics among friends and acquaintances??

I brought along my trusty H needle--back in junior high a friend taught me to do a chain stitch and my attention waned after about 5 minutes, but since then I've used the needle numerous times for re-stringing drawstrings so I find it a useful item to keep around--and got reacquainted with the chain stitch. I even managed to pay attention when she explained how to produce subsequent rows, and as we worked we talked about our various states of craftiness and overall skills. Generally we were charmingly self-deprecating; our hostess encouraged us, explaining that she was actually not a "real" crocheter but had sort of picked it up along the way (she knew fancy words like "gauge" and "skein" though, so I'm pretty sure she was sandbagging). 

She showed us her first project--with lots of purported "mistakes," which of course I call "character," but I played along and muttered insulting remarks about her subpar first crocheting effort. By the way, it was an entire blanket which, even with all the pieces of character, is beautiful and, presumably, warms at least adequately.  

She referred to our chains of knotted string as our "work," which I thought was cool. It reminded me of that same Modern Marvels episode where they talked about the pre-sewing-machine housewives and how they were always working on clothing their families, either by sewing new garments or mending old ones. Much like we bring stuff along with us to occupy our brains in waiting rooms and such, they would put their materials and supplies and whatever in a bag and "bring their work with them" wherever they went. 

Before I knew it I had crocheted a piece the size of a Band-Aid, and it made me feel important and useful to be producing a piece of work with these fancy knots in my borrowed yarn. After a short flirtation with knitting several years ago I came to a quick realization that I should never knit, but I decided that crocheting is something that could be feasible for me and I could add it to my bucket of useful skills should a time and/or need for it arise.  Since I can only do straight rows of single crochet, this will produce scarves and blankets, and I can use my rudimentary sewing skills to fashion tunics for basic clothing needs (I later amended this to include basic PJ pants; I think I can pull that off, especially since I have the crochet hook to put in the drawstrings).

The ladies, ever vigilant, said "But if there's no electricity how would you run your sewing machine?" to which I replied, "Geez, this will be tedious!" But if a kerosene generator is an option, you'd better believe I will plug in my late 70's era machine and be the quickest sewer on the block. This is also quite possibly the only situation EVER where I would be in a position to sell something I had made myself, because we are not talking lovely color-coordinated patterns and fancy chevron designs, or even nicely-edged seams. Strictly utilitarian here, all the way. But let's face it: in a post-apocalyptic world everything will probably be strictly utilitarian for quite some time. 

Now even with these textile skills and fishing, I'll still need quite a bit of help, so I'm thinking some kind of commune may be in order. I'm now taking applications, just in case.

What are some of your sweet survival skills??