Weekly Bum Update

Well, you know I have to show you a couple more pictures of Daisy and Festus.

They seem to have come through the storms just fine, in their little shelter.

I'd go out to check on them and there would be two little fuzzy black faces, peering around the corner of the little shed. If they heard my voice, they'd start bawling and demanding milk.

The milk replacer smells like strawberry milkshakes. It DOES! And it's sticky, so it must be quite sweet.

Angus tried to fill my workboots with the powder, when I was out feeding bums and Wayland was "watching" him. So now the powder has a little dirt in it. But it still smells divine. This is actually one of my favorite times of the day.

For about 15 minutes, I get to feed these little guys, and even though it's the same menu everyday, they never complain.

Tonight, I watched a couple of geese fly off the dam, and there were larks trilling in the field.

Two nights ago, I heard an antelope give its warning huff, and about 100 yards away were 5 antelope does, watching me and trying to figure out if they should be worried or come closer.

I was thinking about all the bums I've fed, and I don't ever remember feeling like it was a huge chore or took time away from more important things.

It was always fun to see them come running, making the little anxious moo sounds, and watching their tails go from side to side as they got the milk.


I'm telling you, it must taste GOOD!
This is Festus, who wears almost as much as he drinks.
I love the foam.

Cordelia, the momma kitty, wants to be a barn cat in the worst way.
The first night we had the calves here, she came out and inspected everything. When she decided it met with her approval, she proceeded to try to rub against Daisy's leg while she was eating. Daisy doesn't like to be trifled with, when she's eating. (Much like the author of this blog...) Delia nearly got stomped, and after scooting away rapidly from those little black hooves, decided calves were rather primitive and she didn't need to consort with them. (Much flicking of the tail accompanied this decision.)

But she can't help wanting to see the action, like a nosy neighbor lady, and shows up for every feeding, morning and night.
I think she's trying to figure out if I would be interested in taking over her kittens with a bottle, but she hasn't approached me, yet.

Will Trade Kitten...

...for ice cream!

(This is one of Maggie's more edgy looks. She was playing fairy dress-up when the Schwan man pulled into the yard, and the most convenient footwear was cowboy boots. So, she's either a Western fairy OR a rodeo queen who didn't have enough money for the rest of her outfit.)

I don't know if anyone else has the Schwan man in their neighborhood, but here in the sticks, it's so exciting when he pulls into the yard with his truck of frozen wonders! In the summer, we don't have to worry about getting ice cream home from town without melting; it's delivered to our door. And on Schwan day, Mama usually gets some sort of frozen entree for the evening meal.

Maggie was positive he needed a kitten, but he declined. Every year we have kittens. Every year we try to give them to the Schwan man, the UPS man, the MidRivers Telephone man. Every year they make it out of the yard kitten-less.




And these are the pansies, awaiting planting this week. Angus has been systematically plucking the blossoms off, and it's causing great distress to his big sister.
(Around here, we don't mess around with dead-heading the flowers.
We just go ahead and live-head them.
Saves time.)

Okay, so the new blog background is harder to read the posts on. And it's sorta busy. I get bored with my blog quickly, so I have to change it up a little every couple weeks. And this blog header is NOT a self-portrait....there's no way I'd get away with leaving a teacup like that on a hassock, or wearing slippers without the kids tearing them off my feet to use as footballs. And I don't wear that much makeup. Honestly! Hope that squelches all those vicious rumors that will be flying around if I don't state that here.

...and they lived happily ever after!

Or so the story goes. You notice, the storyteller kinda drops the plot there and leaves the readers to imagine "happily ever after" on their own.

No mention of potty training or corn in the fish tank or Barbie dolls with less-than-professional haircuts. The storyteller leaves out the part where Prince Charming farms until 10 pm, and returns home to find the refrigerator devoid of beer. There's no indication that Mommy-rella (for lack of a better name) ever glams up in her cleanest Texas Tech t-shirt to drive the chariot 25 miles to Royal Preschool, or bangs her head on the counter, trying once again to settle the toy dispute between the Heir Apparent and Her Royal Highness. She can't find the glass slipper under her bed, either. Quite a few dustbunnies, but no slipper. It's been 3 years since they've seen the inside of a ballroom....

(If you are laughing, then you are probably living out the same ending I am. If you are crying, honey, I'll do what I can to find the fairy godmother and send her your way. If you don't get this post at all, you probably are still looking for Prince Charming. Print it out, so you'll have a reference when you do snare him.)

And here's another little detail that the storyteller omitted: The palace doesn't come with a maid or a cook. That's right; you'll be polishing your own throne. Can you believe that nonsense?! Now, how does THAT fit in with "happily ever after"?

I'm thinking there should be a disclaimer on fairytales, for the precious, gullible girls who read them...

"Sweetheart, when I say 'happily ever after', I don't mean you will live without problems, challenges or toads. 'Happily ever after' is determined by how you face those sorts of things. Sitting on your royal duff and feeling sorry for yourself, looking askance at your dusty castle, won't get you to that. Deciding that you are a child of the King, and facing these obstacles with humor, determination, courage and faith, will. Get off the white horse, honey, and into 'ever after'! You make the 'happily' part."

Kids and Calves

Very industriously coloring...naked, as usual. Cheeeeese! (I love how his ears stick out under the crown. The weight of ruling the house is getting heavy...)

The Princess, however, wears her crown with no apparent effort at all.

A big ole kiss-er-ello!

(Note that they are NOT fighting. That started immediately after the kisserello, because Angus didn't like the way she kissed. )

"Go outside, Mommy? I wear YOUR boots!"

We got the baby bums moved home, on Saturday. The bulls are in the pasture right next to the house, and these two came over, hastily, to corrupt the calves. This picture makes me laugh, because you can see the one bull telling lies to the calves, and the other one has noticed me.

Last night, Wayland said he saw two bulls pushing each other around, then stopping to look over, checking to see if the calves were watching and suitably impressed.

This is Festus. He truly is so homely that he's sort of cute.

He's not really thriving, and I'm a little worried about him... seems to have some sort of congestion, and he has a hard time nursing. He's incredibly gentle, and yesterday afternoon, Maggie got him to come up and smell her hand. It was a big coup for her, because the calves are jumpy around the kids. Kids move SO fast, and it startles them.

And here is Miss Daisy. See her tongue sticking out? She came over, certain of a bottle. When they hear my voice, they trot over, licking their little noses in anticipation of a bottle.

Daisy is quite the character. She's a very competitive calf, and while they are eating, she will swing her rear end over so Festus can't get close to her bottle. And she's always watching him, while she eats, to make sure she finishes first! Last night, they were done at nearly the same time, and it sort of irked her.

Games Preschoolers Play

Disappearing Act- This little gem of a game is one my preschoolers have perfected. It can be played either indoors or outdoors. When played outdoors, however, the stakes are higher, creating a more exciting game! To begin with, the preschoolers act as though they are contentedly playing in the sandbox or with blocks. Mommy checks every 5 or 6 minutes, eventually becoming lulled into a false sense of security. This is when the game actually begins. Mommy will begin a project, say, boiling macaroni noodles, that requires her attention for about 10 minutes. No problem, because, as previously stated, they are playing contentedly, right?
Wrong. They have just disappeared. Quietly, furtively, like little skunks. When Mommy looks again...no children. Not even tracks. She aborts the 10 minute project, muttering under her breath. After approximately 15 minutes of frantic searching, she gets the Mule, to check the far-reaching places. This is when the little darlings re-appear out of the doghouse, whining about how there is no macaroni.
The object of this game is to drive Mommy crazy.

Dumb and Dumber- This game is just like it sounds. Mommy is generally looking for a child's favorite pair of shoes that he must wear or dissolve on the floor in a puddle of tears. The older sibling is following Mommy around, offering pointless information about horses or bugs or dolls. Finally, Mommy, in desperation, asks the sibling if she has seen the shoes. Blank stare. Has the littlest child seen the shoes? Blank stare. Are they outside? More blank stares. As Mommy is trying to wrestle unwanted shoes onto the screaming child, the sibling stands up to reveal the missing footwear.
The object of this game is to drive Mommy crazy.

Phone Tag- This is a game that is particularly popular at our house. The children play in their rooms with their dolls and cars or trains, again lulling Mommy into thinking she has time to call her friend and drink her tepid, bitter coffee from breakfast. About 7 minutes into the call, the children start requesting all forms of nonsense they know they can't have, from Halloween candy to fishing poles. Mommy shakes her head no, and continues to talk. The volume rises, and the urgency in the little voices increases....PPLLLEEEEAAASSSEEE!
Mommy pauses the conversation and in the most polite tone she can muster, redirects the children to appropriate toys. Children then start clinging to her, like starving monkeys, not backing off on the petitioning. Finally, Mommy grabs a wooden spoon, still trying to talk, and the race is on. At some point in the pursuit, she will have to hang up, in order to spank the highly mobile monkeys. The moment she pushes the end button, the game is over and the children have won.
The object of this game is to drive Mommy crazy.

I Spy- (Let me preface this game by reminding you that these are the children who couldn't locate their shoes that they were seated upon. ) You can't play this game without something hidden deep, deep in the dark recesses of the cupboard. Generally it is candy from Halloween, two years past, but it can also be the free go-cup from the Stop-N-Slurp, if there is only one left in existance in the world. The preschoolers will tune their sonars to the object, long abandoned by the parents, and start pointing and haranguing. No way. The Mommy is not falling for this trap. More pointing, rolling around on the floor, carrying on. No way. The Mommy knows better. She's played this game before. Daddy comes home and Mommy dashes to the lavatory for the first time in 3 hours. The Daddy usually hasn't been given all the information, so while Mommy attends to the urgent matter at hand, Daddy obligingly climbs on a chair, digs through the cupboard and retrieves the object which can now be pulled back and forth between children, fighting and snarling like badgers.
The object of this game is to drive Mommy crazy.
(No, see, Daddy doesn't go crazy...he goes back to work.)

I won't describe the other favorite game, Quit Breathing My Air, because I referred to it in the post with all Angus' pictures.

Alright, alright, alright! Enough snow, already! Once again, we have a thick blanket of snow outside. No one is happy about it. The farmers don't have their crops all in. The ranchers still have calves dropping. The gardeners want to be out planting. The stay-at-home moms have exhausted all their possible entertainments. The teachers are banging their heads against their cluttered desks, because the lesson plans were written when it was 70 degrees out, and none of the outside projects will work, now. The dogs are crabbily pulling snowballs from between their toes, the blackbirds are yelling, the black cat is glaring from her perch on the deck....

So my plan is to do laundry and bake a Key Lime Pie, in defiance of the snow. Any Key Lime pie fans out there? It's the most spring-y, southern pie I can think of, and even now, typing this post about it, causes me to almost drool. I know. That's dreadful, but it's true!

I don't have the real Key Limes, obviously, but I have the juice in the fridge....pretty close for a Montana girl. My friend, Karen, the cattlewoman that I idolize ALSO happens to make the best Key Lime pie I've had. Can you believe that? There's a reason we're friends... She's also quite good with brisket. And no, you CAN'T get her phone number! Find your own super-heroine!

There are a myriad of Key Lime pie recipes, and I'm not sure what the true, original version was, but my favorite is with the pastry crust and meringue. And don't be putting green food coloring in that pie!

So, if you happen to be in the neighborhood, on your snowmobile, stop by this afternoon to help fold socks and have a slice of pie!

Out the front door

Actually, this first picture is of the reservoir South of my house. I took the picture standing on our deck.

It turned out to be more of the clouds than the reservoir, now that I look a little closer! The kids and I take the Mule down there, sometimes, to look at the ducks and geese.

This is the view from the top of our driveway, looking North. I love how country roads look; like they just go on forever! My little gardeners (or, actually, theyare sort of UN-gardeners...) and I went to get the mail a couple of days ago, and look at the yearling heifers across the road.
On the way, we saw some antelope, and they were totally unconcerned about us.

Some of the yearlings; these are the heifers that remind me of junior high girls.

They don't go anywhere alone, always in a tight bunch.

They have two speeds: stopped and suspicious, or a complete run away from anything.

They aren't grown up cows, yet, and they aren't still calves, so they are having sort of an identity crisis.

Their hair is usually frizzled and if cows got pimples, they'd have them.

(Note the chins in the air...they are trying to figure out if it's time to break into the shoulder-to-shoulder run!)

These girls are the popular ones. You can tell by how they are at the head of the bunch and they're whispering about those other geeky "calves".

Aren't they funny?

So that's what's out my door. There are fields all around me, too, and the Pres. and VP of Lang's Fork Inc. are scurrying to get them planted before the big rain that's coming. Pictures of those later.

So, you had a bad day...

At the risk of revealing my redneckedness (yeah, it may be a Jeff Foxworthy word),

this series of photos reminds me of the HeeHaw song my brother and I used to sing, to make my sister do this.

It went like this:

Gloom, dispair, and agony on me...

...deep dark depression, excessive misery!

If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all....

...gloom, despair, and agony on me.

In actuality, his sister was singing, to make him this upset! They have been going through this sibling thing, where one of them will find an annoying look or sound to make, and the other one screams for the song or glance to stop, which encourages the first child to enhance the annoyance another level, which causes the second child to scream louder....you get the idea. Usually, they both end up taking an express trip to their individual bedrooms, by their ears, for some quiet time.

Usually, this would be where I would tell you that that sort of behavior comes from my husband's family tree, but in this situation, it's totally from the Duttons; the teasing, the temper, the drama for mama.

Drats.

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up...

...to be school clerks! (Sing along, if you know the tune.)

Don't let 'em add numbers and write them reports;

Get 'em involved in music or sports.

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be school clerks.

They're always at home and they're never alone,

Especially with those that they love....

(Or something like that.) (Apologies to Waylon Jennings)

Every Tuesday, the day after a board meeting, I'm just all wrung out. And we have a good school board; that's not it. I just feel like I'm carrying the whole school on my back: teacher, students, board, parents, employees. (Good think I got the Elastigirl haircut, huh?) And really, there's no reason for it. All I do is pay the bills, type the correspondence, and file reports. As Ty Yost used to put it, "Even a trained monkey could handle that, Mary Jane!" Some days, I think the monkey would be better at it!

Our meeting went off without incident! Thank you to those who were praying about it. There were a couple of tense moments, but they passed, thankfully, without anyone really losing their temper or saying anything hurtful. AND, this is really big for my household, they established a bus route right past our turnoff, so instead of driving Maggie 12 miles to school, I only have to take her 3/4 of a mile! What a blessing. AND I only have to send one transportation contract out, instead of 4. Nice!

School clerks, in Garfield County, are appointed every year. During the re-organizational meeting, in May, the board either re-appoints the clerk, or has the option of canning them. And the clerk has the option of declining the appointment. (Hee, hee!) Every year, I ponder the decision, then, because of the big bucks, I accept the appointment.

It has been really challenging, to do this job, from home. I had to get off a business call, once, because *Maggie squeezed her frog too tightly in the bathtub. She hollered for me, and when I got there, I saw the deceased amphibian floating with his tongue out, and dead flies in the water. Explain THAT to the Office of Public Instruction! And when I was preparing for my audit, I was crunching numbers and cutting out pirate hats, because it was Wayland's birthday, and what's a birthday without pirate hats? Explain that to the guy on the other end of the line, who's trying to assist you! (**Oddly enough, it was the same guy. He had changed jobs, but was still taking my frantic calls....for free.)

But I have met some really great friends doing this, gotten a real inside look at where our tax dollars go, and a faster internet connection. And once a month, I get the stress of the corporate world, complete with laptop and agenda. And I get to wear professional clothes to all the trainings, in lieu of my usual office attire, calf-slobbered jeans, peanut butter smeared t-shirt, bare feet, baseball cap. Really, there's not much more you could ask for in a part-time, work-at-home job, is there?

*For those who wonder about me letting Maggie play with the frog in the bathtub: it made sense at the time, okay? At least it wasn't in her room, where she could put the dead frog in the heat vent. You laugh, but she honestly thought the heat vent was a good place for garbage!

**And this gentleman is now a good friend, The Lord Master of the Universe. (His title, I perpetuate it...) He still takes calls, I think, for the entertainment value. He really does have a rubber-candy-butt-chicken at his desk and he really does know more about school finance than anyone else I can find. Oddly enough, all the other clerks I befriended "retired" shortly after I got their phone numbers....Coincidence? I think not!

Be honest, now....

Do I now have Helen Parr/Elastigirl hair?

Sunday Sundries

This is one of those scattered, random posts, with a lot of little things that are completely disconnected. You know; like my train of thought, jumped off the track....

Did you know you can get your blog printed and bound into a soft-cover book? And I know that sounds completely silly, but Aunt Bert was the one who has been pushing me about it, because she wants my kids to have a copy. And truthfully, it's a lot easier to do it that way than to try to scrapbook it all over again! Also, this is the lazy woman's journal. Sort of. Anyway, if you are interested, you can go to http://blog2print.sharedbook.com/ and it walks you through it. It's incredibly simple, and surprisingly cheap. I think all of my 2008, with pictures AND comments, turned out to be about $24.95. That's it. The shipping was included in that price. And if, for some misguided reason you want a copy of Cohagen Chronicles, I can get you one too. (And yes, all your comments are in there....which I'm tickled about!)

Daisy has a sidekick! Wayland came home and announced a steer calf has been added to my herd. I'm going to meet him tonight, and feed him. As of right now, he's been named Festus, because that's the perfect western sidekick. Either that or Tonto, but I like the name Festus for a calf. Daisy is going to be SO thrilled, because she was getting very lonesome. And the kids are going to be SO thrilled, because now there's a girl calf for the girl, and a boy calf for the boy. I think, once again, we are the only thrilled ones on the place. Ah, well...

Today, I attended a planning meeting for Vacation Bible School, that is to be held the first week of June, in Jordan. The theme is Crocodile Dock...a swamp theme! All I could think of was my friend Patricia, in Florida! We are going to attempt to do Montana version of the swamp. THAT ought to be entertaining...

I have the daunting job of doing the Bible stories and lessons that the kids experience, rather than just listen to. I need to come up with Pharaoh's throne, the Red Sea that can part, a burning bush that doesn't burn. Now, don't get me wrong, but if only God could part the Red Sea and do a burning only not engulfing bush, how am I, a mere ranchwife, to reproduce those miracles? They have suggestions in the packet, but STILL!

If you have ANY swamp ideas, that can be cheaply made, OR ideas for the above mentioned miracles, I'd certainly welcome them. Also, if you live in the area, and are interested in sending your kids to VBS, or if you are interested in helping, contact me, and I will welcome you with open arms, and brownies. Yes. I am willing to make brownie bribes. No scruples whatsoever.

Okay, I think that's it. And would you please hold our little school in your prayers? We have a meeting tomorrow night, and really, I don't think it's going to be a peaceful little get-together. But perhaps it will, with divine intervention. So, thank you for that.

Hope your Sunday is beautiful. And blessed.

Oh, and the new hair-do took the wind, dirt and cap treatment, yesterday, and held up pretty well! Hoorah! (Because I just knew you were all dying to know that little bit of information....)

Hair today, gone tomorrow...

Before... ...After

....more after....

...in the back....

Lilly squeezed me in to her salon between other appointments, and enthusiastically did a great cut. I didn't take pictures; just told her to do something easy, that didn't take hours to fix, didn't make me look like my mother, fit under a cap and grew out nicely. This is what she came up with.

AND, I have to tell this story, because it's just too funny not too...

I stopped at Scott and Traci Glasscocks to pick up some lentil innoculant for my father-in-law. Picked Scott up from the road grader, drove him to the shop, visiting, for a few minutes. He got out to get the innoculant and Traci came up to say hi, quickly.

She said, "Oh! I LIKE it! That's just what I hoped she'd do."

Scott : "OH! You got your hair cut!"

Is it THAT subtle?

I'm still laughing!

Poor Scott....

Insomnia Insanity

This question kept me pretty busy last night, while I was tossing and turning, and wishing I could sleep like my dog can...

If you could have lunch with any three people alive today, who would you lunch with AND (more importantly, in my book) what would you lunch on?

There are no rules, here, so dream big! The lunch could take 4 or 5 hours, if you need it to. And you don't have to cook it, unless that's part of the coolness for you. (I can just see Traci, with Paula Deen, Bobby Flay and Emeril Lagasse, whipping up something in a big ole kitchen...)

Really. Other people think of this stuff, too, right? Please?

What's a pirate's favorite letter of the alphabet?

R!






I know. That's so bad it made ME cringe....welcome to preschool humor. We are really into pirates around here. And last week, at CUPS, Traci wanted a pirate hat template for Ben's birthday. As luck would have it, I can whip those puppies out with my eyes closed, almost. Here we are, buccaneer bouffants and all. Anne took the pictures, and to her credit, they aren't blurry from her laughter...




Also, from last week, the Cupcakes having fun, building towers and impressing each other. Angus is really rather in love with Allison, and she plays him like a trout on the end of a 3 lb. test line....



And Baby Gwennie, with her big eyes and busy hands. We just love that little thing! And she's so good about sharing her toys.




I missed CUPS yesterday, because of the rain, and Anne had the flu bug at her house, again. I did bake and eat some peach turnovers, in commemoration of the group, and drank a great cup of espresso with half and half. We only have two more preschool days, and so are going to have to come up with a plan for Summer CUPS. Ice cream CUPS? Flower CUPS?

Hair we go, again...

#1 #2
#3

#4

#5

I have my biennial haircut, tomorrow, at 2:30 pm, and you, my dear blog readers, are being enlisted for advice. I may totally ignore your comments, but you did such a good job with Madame Serenghetti that I'm starting to trust you with some of my bigger fashion questions.

I need a cut that doesn't take extensive fussing...make that, ANY fussing, but can look like I tried when I actually do. It will go under ball caps, during branding time, have children's hands run through it about 60 times a day, attend professional trainings for SHMASBO, and a family reunion, in July.

Here are some of my options. What do you think?

*And I realize that when it's all said and done, I won't look like Faith, Meg, Jennifer or that cute little brunette. Right?

She DID it!

I can't believe she did it. The Fontologist planted yarrow seeds, despite (and maybe because of) the dire warnings! And then posted a comment on the Friends Don't Let Friends Plant Yarrow post. Can you BELIEVE that?!!! Go read it for yourself. I'm so horrified!

I've been out in the beds, cleaning out dead foliage and seeking signs of greenage. I have plants for give-away. If you want iris, ribbon grass, sidelcea, tarragon, chives, blue fescue, salvia....bring a box and you can have a bunch. And I'll throw in some yarrow, too, if you dare! Every year I give away plants, my friends suspiciously poke in the piles and ask, " Is this one yarrow? No? How about this one?" They are getting smarter about free plants.

And I've been reading Lauren Springer Ogden, once again. She's my gardening guru, horticultural heroine, revered plantswoman. Her Undaunted Garden book is the one with the pages stuck together by drool, and little sticky note markers and underlined passages. Barbara Damrosch was the garden writer I cut my teeth on, and she also commands a lot of respect in my house. Rob Proctor, who co-authored a book with Lauren, is just plain fun, and I'm not sure he's still with Denver Botanical Gardens, but if he is, and I get there, I'm getting his autograph.

Well, I'd better go dump the Kawasaki Mule and shed her, and get some pea and lettuce seeds in the ground before the moisture hits.

She planted yarrow. And I thought we were going to be such good friends....

Pictures from Bookclub

The girls, eating pickle/cream cheese/ham appetizers, drinking homemade raspberry lemonade (lemons squeezed by hand by Mr. Gus Glasscock, thank you very much!), and wine and discussing life since the last meeting.

Clara, with Skylar and Gwennie, the youngest attendees. They were pretty quiet, until we started eating. THEN they decided they were hungry, too!

And it turns out, Skylar really, really loves dirt cake.

And so do I.

Anne, mixing up fruit salad and goofing off for the camera. Beth is industriously slicing onions, tomatos and lettuce.
Traci and Celestia, with Gnarly Head Cab and a great joke!

Discussion (HA!) and dinner.

We had grilled burgers, potato salad, fruit salad, chips, dirt cake and the previously mentioned beverages. Yum!

We really needed about 3 more hours to actually discuss the book in depth. Get a bunch of mothers in a room and start discussing everyday tasks and worship....it could take a while.

I appreciated the input from the bookclub members that had kids that had flown the coop, and they lived to tell about it. And it was good to hear that EVERYONE has a household chore they hate. Turns out, Beth doesn't like to cook, but she'll clean bathrooms, no problem. I love to cook, and hate to clean bathrooms. If we lived 50 miles closer to each other, she'd come have lunch at my house, with the kids, and clean my bathrooms. Everyone wins! (In our dreams...)

Wayland said, before leaving with the kids, that he was going to call every 15 minutes throughout the evening, so we had a plan. We were going to turn up the music, laugh loudly, clink glasses, holler for someone...

It was the perfect plan.

He didn't call once.

Drats.

Thelma missed bookclub this time, and we missed her. It's funny; it's like a little family, but without all the hangups! So, when one member is missing, it's very noticable. Particularly Thelma, who brings a lot of generosity to the discussions, and laughter, AND good food...

Next meeting is at Traci's, and we're reading "Riding the Bus With My Sister".

And eating.

And laughing.

And relaxing.

Quotidian

Once again, I find myself dovetailing a post of the Fontologist. We live hundreds of miles apart, have no communication, save the computer and notecards loaded with seeds, (not yarrow) and yet seem to have VERY similar, eerily similar thought processes. And once again, she beat me to the punch on a topic that I've been struggling with. (I HATE to be the follower-upper! It's so...secondary. Kind of like the drum after a joke. Badda-BUM!)

This month, for bookclub, we read The Quotidian Mysteries: Laundry, Liturgy and Woman's Work. The word "quotidian" according to Webster's means "occurring every day; belonging to every day; commonplace, ordinary" . Well, THAT sounds applicable to my life! Here's a quote from the book that sums it up pretty well:

Our daily tasks, whether we perceive them as drudgery or essential, life-supporting work, do not define who we are as women or as human beings. But they have a considerable spiritual import, and their significance for Christian theology, the way they come together in the fabric of faith, is not often appreciated. But it is the daily tasks, daily acts of love and worship that serve to remind us that the religion is not strictly an intellectual pursuit, and these days it is easy to lose sight of that as, like our society itself, churches are becoming more politicized and polarized. Christian faith is a way of life, not an impregnable fortress made up of ideas; not a philosophy; not a grocery list of beliefs.

Being a stay at home mom, just getting out of bed to face another peas-in-the-fish-bowl moment or mop-the-floor-for-the-4th-time-today thing can be daunting and less than inspiring. A book that challenges me to think of these things as worship, sort of irritated me, at first. Like my cousin Beth said at bookclub, "It's something you need to hear at least once a year, even though you don't want to hear it at all." Drats.

AND I recalled a felt banner that hung in the sanctuary of the little church I grew up in, that gently reminded us to "Bloom where you are planted." Those cheery little homespun platitudes, that are almost ALWAYS right, nag at me, and as I look around, I think to myself, "Well, I'm planted in some dirt, that's for sure. And water from the toilet. A little sunshine and voila! I have all the ingredients to bloom." But sometimes even the humor of the situation doesn't help.

Nearly all of my friends are in the same boat. Do I matter, anymore, except to get the food on and the underwear washed? (Yes, it's that time, AGAIN in my home...) Am I just a mommy-blob? Will I ever know the words to songs NOT recorded by Bob the Tomato and Larry the Cucumber? Am I making a difference? Am I still interesting/funny/pretty/smart? Will I ever be, again?

The truth is, (and this is hard to admit) it's not about me.
Dang.

And IF I'd just get over myself, I'd be a lot happier and probably bloom.
Really.

I've been reading The Message version of the Bible, just for a shake-up, and this morning, I got a pretty good shaking.

Psalm 143:7-10 says:

Hurry with your answer, God!
I'm nearly at the end of my rope.
Don't turn away; don't ignore me!
That would be certain death.
If you wake me each morning with the sound of your loving voice,
I'll go to sleep each night trusting in you.
Point out the road I must travel;
I'm all ears, all eyes before you.
Save me from my enemies, God-
you're my only hope!
Teach me how to please you,
because you're my God.
Lead me by your blessed Spirit
into cleared and level pastureland.

Dang.

Conundrum

Here's my problem....this week. And if you are drinking a beverage, right now, you'd probably better swallow and put it down before reading on. (Anne)

I have pimples on my wrinkles. SOB!

Now, this is a beauty dilemma thus far unaddressed by any women's magazine, product manufacturer, or radio talk show, from what I can tell. I've done extensive research since this hit, and came up empty handed.

All I can figure out is that when I was spending so much time outside, sweating in my scotch cap and silk scarf, it caused the breakout. That, and the stress of the sick kids and life, and that infamous dental excursion with Country Wife...

I poured through the Mary Kay catalog, that incidentally is sold by my step-sister Cari Mae. (Isn't that a great name for a Mary Kay lady? And it's her REAL name! And she's a walking ad for the company, let me tell you. I have the misguided idea that if I buy the products, somehow they will somehow transform me into HER! It never works. I'm still me, with lots of cool lipgloss.)

The only thing I've come up with is the "Age-fighting creme". It doesn't say what age it's fighting, so that may work for skin that can't make up it's mind. You think? It sounds a bit militant, for a skin care product, but at this point I'm starting to get a bit desperate. We are running out of turtleneck weather, you see. And I can't wear a turtleneck up to my hairline! Well, I could, but that's beyond daisy-ness. It's just kinda creepy.

Do you have any tips? (Maybe I phrased that wrong. This is a disaster. Do you have immediate assistance to share with me?) I'm willing to try home-remedies, like honey wheat-germ masks, or egg white concoctions. I'm willing to order Elizabeth Arden or Mary Kay, if you have a guaranteed, honest-to-goodness-it-worked-for-my-pimply-wrinkled-skin story. I'm willing to drink water, green tea, or pomegranate juice. (I'm NOT, however, going to do a toe-of-newt, hair-of-dog, thing. I'm pretty sure I've already been exposed to toe-of-newt, hair-of-dog and so far, in my house, it hasn't done a thing for any of us. Except the dog and the newt.)