Old Yeller

A friend of mine is moving at the end of the month. What an adventure. I recently found out that she will be moving into an 8,000 square foot home. 8 thousand square feet! Wow! That is like four of my houses...

Don't get me wrong. I am happy for her. They are good people and deserve all the success that they get!

The more I obsessed thought about that, the more I realized that house just wouldn't be for me. Not because I wouldn't love to have a house with 8,000 sq/ft...because who doesn't want to be able to go to a part of the house and hear absolutely nothing? (I guess my husband lives that dream everyday.)

And it isn't because cleaning that size of a house would force me into a mental hospital. As sad and as true as that is, that isn't the reason I couldn't have that house.

You see, I am a yeller. When it is time to eat, I yell up the stairs to my kids. When it is time to pray, I yell out the door for my kids. When it is bedtime, I yell out randomly for "PJ's and teethbrushed time!"

Right now, the size of my home matches the volume of my voice. I know that if I am downstairs and my kids are upstairs I can hollor up and they will hear me. The only exception being if their door is closed. But in general, a little yelling goes a long way.

Sadly, though, I have let this yelling carry into my disciplining more than I would like. I am not longer yelling TO my children, I am yelling AT them. Not all the time, but there are times when I have given my kids one chance after another, one warning too many, and counted up to 3 more times than I should.  It is then that the yelling starts.

I don't know why I let myself reach that point. Yelling doesn't do anything except get their attention for a few minutes and mostly hurts their feelings. Oh, yeah, and it does induce mommy guilt. I hate guilt.

If there was one thing I would change about my life, yelling AT my children would be it. I have a friend who never seems to yell at her kids. (I am sure she does...surely everyone has the same faults that I do behind closed doors.) She always talks in a calm voice, and her kids, amazingly,

Maybe I should try this.

Or maybe I should buy an 8000sqare foot home.

(Inspired by Mama Kat)

Soggy

Wet.

There are some things that you can expect will be wet: a Popsicle, a swimming pool, rain. And then there are those things that we don't necessarily want to be wet: toast, laundry, a picnic.

This is a story about one of those times.

I was 16 years old when I met this guy at a Youth Conference for my church. He was from a town about 2 hours away. There was a dance and he asked me if he could buy me a drink. (A little cheesy considering we were both Mormons and the only thing to drink was free red punch or drinking fountain water.) But I was only 16 and so I was twitterpaded.

To make a short story shorter, we were holding hands by the next day and had exchanged numbers and addresses. For the next few weeks he would call and write...(this was before email...yes, I am that old.) It was fun, it was exciting. I really thought he as something else.

Well, he came into town with his parents to shop and he called me. I drove in and met him at Wal-Mart. The only place we could go was in my car...in the parking lot...at Wal-Mart. Romantic, isn't it. So we were sitting in the back seat...I am not sure why...but there we were... talking. It was time for me to go pick up my sister and his family was getting ready to leave so he leaned over and licked my face kissed me.

In my mind, my first kiss would be soft, and sweet and not too long but not too short. This was not that at all. I am not sure what he was thinking, but I went in with a closed mouth and high hopes. He went in with an open mouth full of wetness and in full suction mode. It was not pretty. Not. At. All.

I was mortified. Was this what kissing was supposed to be? This guy's slobber was dripping off my chin. Ugh!! I really didn't know what to do after it was all over. Luckily he had to take off right away.

I was so disappointed and quite frankly disgusted.


And Wet!

So I Married A Deaf Man: Car Shopping...ugh!

I've bought my share of cars in my married life. In tthe almost 11 years of marriage, we have bought 6 cars. And let me just say right off I hate buying cars.

Hate it! HATE IT!!!

Let me tell you a little something about myself. I am a pleaser. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Many times I will do things that I don't want to do just so I won't have to hurt someone's feelings. It is good quality to have at times but can also be a problem in certain situations. Like buying a car. In case you forgot, I hate buying cars!

Let me tell you a little bit about my husband. Hubs is competitive by nature.  He is a natural athlete. So it is in him to want to win...or at least give someone a run for their money. And so haggling is right up his alley. He likes it. Correction. He loves it. My husabnd loves buying cars!

So, in the past when we have bought a car, Hubs and I would go into the place and start talking to the sales guy. (Ugh! My palms are starting to sweat!) I begin interpreting the conversation. The sales man says the price. Hubs asks for a lower price. Sales guy acts like what he is offering is a great deal, but needs to go talk to the manager. I am wiggling in my seat. Man comes back with "THE BEST DEAL EVER". Hubs wants lower. And so it goes. Through me.

You can just see me squirming in my seat. I want a good deal, I do. But I don't like the pressure...and it is pressure. I hate interpreting haggling...because it is my voice they are hearing. It is me who has to say the words. It is me they are looking at and talking to. It is me that they are haggling with. It. Is. ME!!! But it so isn't me!!

Several years ago we were shopping for a car. I was 2 days away from giving birth to our second child and for some reason we thought it was a good idea to bring our 2 year old with us. We went into this place at about 2pm and didn't come out until 10pm. I was interpreting the whole time. The WHOLE time. We started with one car, haggled it down til we drove it and it made weird noises (that apparently only I could hear.) Then moved on to another car. And the haggling resumed.

Finally, a price was agreed upon, but the haggling didn't stop there. Oh, no. There was Gap insurance, extended warranties, blah blah blah. I'm interpreting, sweating, haggling for Hubs, comforting my exhausted little boy, comforting my exhausted self. We drove away from that place and I cried the whole way home.

It was horrible. I will not do that again. NEVER AGAIN. We either don't haggle and take the price they give us, OR we go, look at the cars, find the one we like, and then leave. Hubs will either come back on his own to haggle all he wants on paper or bring a friend who shares his joy of confrontation to finish the deal. 

Because...

I. Don't. Haggle.

To fetch a pale of water...

The other day my kids were out playing in the yard while I was cleaning up and catching up with the unfolded, mound of clean clothes. I kept hollering to my kids to come get a drink of water.

About an hour later they all file in, along with Rufus, our lab. Only Rufus kept nudging me like he wanted out. So I let him out only to turn around and have him coming back in to nudge me. What's going on?

I knew that he wasn't hungry. (My husband does NOT give our dog table food. And I, being the good wife that I am, only give in once in a while.) He had been playing with the kids so his attention meter was at least above half. So I tried to pet him a bit but the nudging was non-stop.

Maybe he is thirsty. He has this huge trough-like thing that we fill with water. I knew there it had been filled with water that morning, ...but maybe my kids had been playing in it.

Maybe....

Poor Rufus.

Freedom!

Happy 4th of July all!

This is my favorite verse of The Star Spangeld Banner.

God Bless America!

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand

Between their loved home and the war's desolation!

Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land

Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.

Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,

And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."

And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Word up

Again, still reading the book "Eat, Pray, Love" (yes, I am a slow reader). There is one part when she, the author, is talking to a friend who tells her "...that every city has a single word that defines it, that identifies most people who live there."

I thought about that for my own life. If I had to choose one word to define or describe me what would it be?

I wish it was charismatic. Sadly, people aren't drawn to me...unless you are shorter than 4 feet and came from my womb.

Organized...sure. Until I actually have to find those birth certificates, and immunization records and....Nope, not my word.


It could be driven. But more likely driving would be a better fit. It seems like I am always doing that.

Wouldn't it be fun if it was energetic! Boy, that would be nice.

In all honesty, at this point in my life, the word that best describes me is the word that I am called, day in and day out.

Mom

This word is all encompassing. It is the word the drives me everyday. It is the reason I get up in the morning, it is the reason I run myself ragged all day and the reason I can't sleep at night. Besides wife, it is the word that best describes my life work. It is what I was born to be.

And though I am lighthearted in this forum about it sometimes, there is no other word I would strive for to be my word.

Welcome to my home.

I am Mom!

Do or do not. There is no try

Try and try again.

Why? Why do we have to try. And then try again. If it doesn't work the first time, why must we keep trying?

We rent. We rent a house with white carpet. In case you have forgotten, I have five children. And a husband. And a dog. That means 8 living things residing in our home. With white carpet. Can you imagine what my carpets look like?

So today, I decided I was going to clean the carpets. My oldest sister kidnapped my two older children who were dying of boredom...I know this because my daughter reminded me every five minutes... and took them to her house where there is a party every night. Apparently the fun never ends there..or so my daughter says. Hubs took the two younger boys to watch a movie and my baby went down for a nap. I rolled up my sleeves, got out the Bissell and started my days work.

Hot water: check. Soap: check. Loud music check. Power button and go!

It was looking nice. I got where the couches has been and all around the perimeter. Then it was time to take it on. You know what I am talking about:  High traffic zone.

I am not a professional carpet cleaner. I only know how to squirt and then suck. and squirt and suck and then do it again. I am not sure that our steam cleaner was up for the challenge. I tried...and tried again...and again...and again. I spent three hours in one room.

It looks better than it did before...a lot better. But it is not quite white. It is white-ish.

My brother.. whose house is apparently more fun than our house, or so my daughter says...has a better shampooer. One that may be up for the high-traffic-zone challenge. But the question is...am I? I am perfectly content to wait until August when there are less people trafficing my carpet. And then I will try.

But for now I have tried.

And I will try again....later.

What have you tried...and then tried again?