Fenced

So, after the drama of the last week, the past few days have been relatively quiet. Dr. SmartyPants had been out of town early in the week, so when he got home Wednesday night, he got an earful from me about the ridiculousness of his son, and a request from me to lay down the law. He got the boys up early the next morning and sat them down and handed down the consequences he and I had decided on the night before.

So, basically, one of my children has been stripped of all his privileges until he shows consistent improvement in his attitude, work ethic, and ability to stay on task. He took it very well, and actually seemed to relax for the first time a few weeks. Kids are so strange. He's been pushing his boundaries as hard as he could for the past month, railing against the fence that surrounds him - testing...testing...testing... and as soon as the gate was shut and the barbed wire slapped on the top, he stopped being so stressed out and hornery. Everything I asked of him during school on Thursday was done promptly, with a smile and a great deal of pride.

He had to watch his brother play tennis on Thursday - their first day outside since they began lessons in January.

"I so want to be out there," he said.

"I want you to be. You know what you have to do to get it back."

"I know."

He and I sat on the back deck while his brother played with friends in the fort.

"Can I just go see what they are doing?"

"No."

"Can I go say hi to them?"

"No."

He balled up his fist and put it against the center of his chest.

"It hurts! It hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts!"

Tears started rolling down his cheeks, and his shoulders began to shake, and I fought the urge to gather him into my arms and comfort him in that moment.

"Which is harder, bud? Doing the thing you don't want to do, or watching your friends and your brother play without you?"

"Watching them. It's so much easier just to get my work done."

He walked into the house and sat down on the floor and cried a little while longer, and I let him. Later, when I came in, he was quiet and his eyes were red-rimmed and watery, but the fiery anger that had burned in them over the past month was gone. He watched out the window a while, then picked up a book about crazy science experiments and started reading them out loud to me.

The rest of the weekend passed quietly. He watched and waited, quietly. There were no more tears, although he was sad at missing out on playing with his buds. He's been marking off the calendar until his privileges start to be returned...four solid school days until tennis...six solid school days until everything else comes back.

The impasse has been bridged. His fences are restored, his responsibilities defined, his boss firmly set back into her rightful place - right up until the next emotional growth spurt happens and we do this all over again.

The Impasse I Like to Call Wednesday

This is all I've got, people.

This, and an overabundance of vitriol. Wrapped in fluffy layers of snark.

Duck (and cover)

I'm SO not in the mood for this battle today. I am not. I am not. I am not. It doesn't matter what it is - it's a battle I've fought for six years, every year at about this time, and if it were just a battle within myself it would be one thing, but it's a battle with someone whose will is as strong as pig iron.

I have no idea what pig iron is. It just brought to mind pig-headedness multiplied by iron. Please forgive me if pig iron is actually soft and malleable.

I've tried every resource I know - I've enlisted specialists and people educated to help break the bricks in this particular wall. I've prayed. I've cried. I've begged. I've threatened. I've bargained. I've cajoled.

I'm pretty sure I've yelled and thrown things.

And yet. Here we are. Stuck in the same pattern. Unable to reach a resolution.

There is nothing important enough to this particular person (who happens to be one of my sweet, darling children) to make him change the way he does things. There is nothing I can threaten to take away that causes any response whatsoever. There are no chores that I can add to his plate to make him want to complete the task set before him.

He doesn't want to do it. And when he doesn't want to do it, there's very little that I can do about it.

But it isn't optional. It's something that I require of him - that his father requires of him - that life requires of him.

And so. We sit here at the impasse I like to call Tuesday, faced with this gargantuan (to him) task on one side and the tennis lessons on the other. It's like a soap opera with a cliffhanger ending - waiting to see what will happen - which will win out.

And I'm tired of the suspense and the drama. I'd like a nice romcom, with a predictable ending, thank you very much.

Boy meets task, boy loves task, boy finishes task, boy plays tennis.

Instead, I'll set my clock and watch the minutes tick away, holding my breath and praying he gets it done so I can watch him play and laugh instead of scowl and sigh.

And tomorrow, we'll try all over again.

Brush Those Cobwebs Outta Yer Heart

It's Valentine's Day, and you know what that means! It means that thousands, nay tens of thousands, of people are placing unreasonable expectations on their significant others to fulfill some requirement of romantic love driven by an unnamed corporation's need to sell candy, flowers and cards.

Aaahhh...love...

We don't go out of our way to celebrate Valentine's Day - but we don't completely neglect it either. The boys got some candy and action figures along with their usual allotment of annoying hugs and kisses from their mother. Dr. SmartyPants and I exchanged cards, and I gave him the box of turtles he bought for himself the other night. Surprise!

Now, I'm not bragging, but to us? Valentine's Day is just another day to show each other how much we love each other. We do it every way - in little ways - in little acts of kindness and service and mercy...

• in the way the doctor makes my coffee every morning and brings it to me while we watch the morning news.
• in the way I wash and iron his shirts for work.
• in the way he stops by and picks up Japanese food for me on a day when my oldest child has exploded in anger and left a trail for me to clean up after him.
• in the way I proofread his papers, even when I'm not entirely sure what they mean.
• in the way he brings me my retainer at night when I'm already in bed and have forgotten it (ew.)
• in the way I cook fettucine alfredo for him, just the way he likes it...with extra parmesan.

There aren't cards for that, but those are the things that make relationships work...a give and take...an ebb and flow.

I think Valentine's Day has good intentions, but it seems to me to be a cruel holiday - one that exploits the lovers and alienates the singles. I feel that way about all the commercial, card-company holidays - Mother's Day, Father's Day, Grandparent's Day - for those who have or are mothers, fathers and grandparents, it's fine, but for those who don't or who aren't, it can be a painful reminder of that fact.

So here's my recommendation...don't wait for a holiday to love your people, whoever they are. Love notes, flowers and candy are readily available any time of year. Just listen to James...he knows what he's talkin' about...



Love and Kisses to all of you fine people...
xoxoxoxo

Rusted. And a Little Wrinkly.

Winter annually sends me into fits of creative despair and inaction...a hibernation, really, of creative energy. Every year, I lament it, as if I had no idea that it was coming. When will I learn? I find myself stuck in the same cycle of anti-creativity year after year after year, like if I ignore the signs, the ground won't freeze.

And every year, I sit at my kitchen table, in the patch of sunlight that rests there for a couple of hours a day, reading of other people's inspiration and creation and wonder why I'm not inspired and creating. Then I beat myself up for sitting in the sun patch looking at other people's work and not doing my own and I find myself in an endless cycle of inactivity and self-flagellation and I eat some chocolate because its a mood lifter! Like an anti-depressant!

Bring on the endorphins! Aaah!

I know what I should do. I should make like a polar bear and dig a deep cave and stay there, sleepily waiting for spring to call. I should be living off the fat of last autumn's harvest and conserving my energy for the awakening that is simmering beneath the frozen landscape. I should be hibernating and dreaming of the warm sun that will begin to defrost the tundra of my creativity in another month or so.

I should rest and be patient and gentle with myself.

The tender green shoots will start peeking out of the hard earth soon. I need to be ready.

The Agony and the Ecstasy

Have you ever watched your child get angry with you? I mean really, really angry...where the fire starts to blaze behind their eyes and their mouth gets small and mean? The kind of anger that, to them, feels righteous and deserved - but that you know is selfish and petty and a little ridiculous?

Yeah. So that was my yesterday.

What do you do in that situation? How do you handle it? For my part, I goaded it on a little - eager to let him get it out and express it. It's like lancing a boil - all that ire has to come out or it festers and gets ugly. I have one child that expresses himself very well - he cries and is able to tell me what is bothering him.

The other one?

Not so much. He gets hung up in his anger - it sits, maliciously stirring up his tender heart and telling him lies and making him believe them. I understand that kind of anger. I'm prone to it, myself - the kind of anger that simmers under the surface and turns inward, doing the most damage on the one who harbors it.

People like that need permission to be angry - permission to let it out in a way that does little harm to themselves and others. I guess I've taught him that, because when I finally gave him permission to "collect himself," and closed the door to the room he was in, I heard him give a primal yell and stomp his feet a time or two, much as I do when I finally give myself permission to release it. It releases that knot of anger, for me, better than crying or throwing things - and much safer than using the words that have grown out of that simmering mess.

After he'd stomped and yelled, he came out and flung himself on the couch and cried for 15 minutes straight, and I let him - I didn't comfort him, hard as it was. It wasn't comfort that he needed - it was permission and time. When he came to the table and sat down to talk to me, the fire of anger had grown small and dim behind his eyes - it was replaced by remorse and and inkling of understanding - that the righteousness of his anger was not so righteous after all. The rest of the afternoon passed in laughter and kind looks - a touch of his hand on my shoulder occasionally - and sweet kisses at bedtime.

My boy. Restored.

Memphis. An Ode.

Memphis was rainy. Memphis was cold.

Memphis was dreary. Memphis was, uh, cold.



Memphis had streetcars, theaters and blues.

Memphis had guitars, hawkers and booze.



Memphis had Elvis, King of Rock and of Roll.

Memphis had records, artists, rhythm and soul.



Memphis had Melinda, the friend I hold dear.

Best of all, Memphis had Beale Big Ass Beer.

On the Mountaintop

I have much to say about Memphis, but I'm still processing it. I have to share this with you all, though - Melinda and I saw these guys and were completely blown away by them. This doesn't even get close to capturing what we saw, but it's a good indicator...it was a lot like being in church.

Except in a bar.

By the Numbers

46: The number of days until spring, regardless of what the groundhog says.

51: The number of days until I have to change the number on the left, up there.

7: The number of shirts I need to iron for Dr. SmartyPants

42: The number of hours it will take me to stop procrastinating and iron them already.

7: The number of hours I've been up already THANK YOU VERY MUCH PUPPY.

8: The number of paws I have to wipe every time the dogs come back inside.

9,426,785: The number of times I've had to wipe each of those paws. Today.

1: The number of people I text at 8 AM to complain about muddy puppy paws.

1: The number of people who then text back to laugh at me for complaining about muddy puppy paws.

2: The number of days until I see that person and we go to Memphis and I don't have to wipe any muddy puppy paws.

3: The number of people who live with me and who are going to be very glad when I have my little vacation so I will quit grumbling about muddy puppy paws.

6: The number of shoes I will attempt to stuff into my carry-on bag. 

6: The number of shoes I will get into my carry-on bag.

4: The number of times I predict I will pack and unpack my carry-on bag.

 6,332: The number of times I will stop, squeal and do a little happy dance, thinking about the weekend.

Happy Humpday, all you beautiful people! 

Testing, 1..2...3...

As usual, this photo has nothing to do with this post...I just can't stand to have a photo-less post here on the old bloggity-blog...
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Ahem. The ranting will now begin...

As a homeschooler, there are certain things I can do to buck the system. We don't school in the traditional school-year calendar, for example. This just so happens to be an off-week.

We'll call it, uhm, Mid-Winter Blues Break, okay? As long as we get our 180 days in a year, no one can tell me which days I have to use.

We don't have a traditional school-length day, either. Most days we start "formal" schooling around 9 AM and go until lunchtime, then read, have music lessons, sports, cooking class, home-economics (which sounds so much more schoolish than chores, people), and the like after lunch. We'll even have some more of that after supper if we feel like it.

As long as we have 4 hours on each of those 180 days, I'm golden.

My kids don't take a lot of tests, either. I can tell if they are comprehending what they are reading by asking them question about it informally. If they can tell me what happened in the story and are excited about it, I'm all...

A+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + !

We don't do any formal schooling on Fridays. That's a science experiment, art experiment, cooking experiment kind of day. It's a field-trip kind of day. It's a...a FRIDAY kind of a day.

There are, however, certain homeschooling laws I just can't get around, because they involve the state receiving money for educating all those children, whether they actually do or not.  Those laws require 5th, 8th and 11th graders to take achievement tests, and if they don't pass them, the school board has the right to insist a child be enrolled in public school, rather than be educated at home.

Now, each state is different in their requirements, and this state is actually an easy state in which to homeschool, but I still have to state that I object.

I object to standardized testing. I don't like it. I don't like it. I don't like it. It is NOT a test of knowledge. It is NOT a test of intelligence or learning.

It is a test of sitting down and filling in bubbles. It is a test of rising no higher than the lowest common denominator. It is a test of how well a child can concentrate in a stressful situation without being distracted by a roomful of other children.

As a kid, I was an excellent standardized test taker. I excelled at it. I enjoyed it. As a college student, I loved it. I never took a class on how to pass one. I never studied up on previous tests or took practice tests, and yet, I always did well on them.

The same could not be said of my actual grades in actual classes. Do you know why? I was an excellent TEST TAKER. I was not an excellent student until graduate school.

They are completely different animals.

ALL of that is to say that Derek had to take part of a standardized test today, as he's officially a 5th grader. It was a writing assessment, and he had to sit in a room of about 10 other homeschooled 5th graders and write a creative story about whatever prompt they gave him and he had 35 minutes in which to write it. It almost killed me. I'm still a little queasy.

Derek is not a test taker. Derek is a smart kid who can learn with the greatest of ease. He has an elephantine memory. When Joshua was a baby, he called Derek, "De-dic." We now call him "Eidetic." He can recall all the chapter titles in any book he's ever read. He remembers the numbers of boats in a particular fleet during Admiral Farragut's taking of New Orleans during the Civil War. If someone were to give him the task of writing the steps involved in building a Star Wars Lego Giganto-Enormous Thing With a Made Up Name, he could do it with precision.

"Imagine you've landed in unicorn land," is not really up his particular style of writing alley, though.

sigh.

I'm sure he did a fine job. He told me what he had written (because he remembered it all, of course) and it sounded like a nice story, and I know for sure that his handwriting, punctuation and grammar will all meet or exceed the standards. I'm fairly sure that based on this one assessment, the school board won't be recommending he go to public school anytime soon, but still...I'm irritated.

I am irritated that the powers that be have deemed that creative writing is an appropriate test for every child's ability to comprehend language and use it in written form. I'm irritated that fantasy creative writing is the standard. I'm irritated that girly fantasy creative writing is the standard. Why not just insist that everyone include the words "glitter, fairy, princess, and knight-in-shining-armour" in their stories?

I wonder what would happen in the prompt was something like, "Imagine you've woken up in your dream garage. Write a story about the kinds of car parts you'd find there and how they should ideally be assembled to produce the highest horsepower and pound-feet of torque."

That's the kind of standardized testing we could get behind here...

Rant over. Have an excellent evening, all you non-standard people out there.

I love ya.

Curled Up

Because I am, apparently, the world's most susceptible person, I've had strep throat all weekend.

My children rarely get it, but I, on the other hand, am a streptococcus magnet. To my knowledge, I haven't been around anyone who has had it. I haven't been kissing random strangers in the streets. I haven't licked any grocery store buggy handles.

And yet, Friday night, when the little sore spot started irritating me on the left side of my throat, I knew exactly what it was. I spent Saturday in the bed, hoping and praying it would just get better and go away, but when I woke up at 5 AM with 101 degree fever, I knew exactly what it was. Even when I went to the neighborhood clinic to see the nurse practitioner, and he told me it was probably just a virus, because my throat didn't look all that irritated, I knew exactly what it was.

It sucks, being right all the time.

So, I'm on penicillin and trying to sit upright most of the time, because for some reason, it takes me 17 years to get over a dose of strep. When my kids DO get it, they take one pill and are magically healed and start bouncing off the walls, but not me. It takes a couple of days, usually. But I have to get better and soon!

On Friday, I head to Memphis, and I have much outfit planning to do before then. And packing. And unpacking. And repacking. And re-planning. And all that giddy excitement tends to be tiring.

I think I'll go take a nap, now...

There's a Reason I Need a Getaway

Jasper has a new trick. He figured it out by watching us open the door, so now he just lets himself in.

That sounds like a great thing - saves me a trip to the door, right? Sure, except I still have to close it.

And then clean up all the mud from the door, the floor, the kitchen cabinets, or wherever else his little (gigantic) paws have marched.

He's a digger, he is.

In the last week, I've given him three baths, cleaned his and Raikki's paws countless times, mopped up little "accidents," replaced the water bowl that he's picked up and carried all over the kitchen (with the water still in it,) picked up the mulch that he's brought in to chew on, wiped a ton of mud off his nose, and many other things I'm too tired to recount.

Then, there are those pesky children to deal with. They came in last night with unrecognizable shoes...completely coated in a layer of mud an inch thick. Their pants and jackets were caked with it, as well. My washing machine was in overdrive.

sigh.

But there's a light on the horizon...one week from today! I'll be landing in Memphis! Meeting up with Melinda! Pretending there's no such thing as mud!

Which means we'll probably skip Mud Island.

Now...I'm off to stock up on paper towels and dog shampoo for the next few days. I have a feeling I'm going to need it.

He's Got Your Eyes

These sweet peepers are very similar to mine. The color is greener, and the lashes are longer, but like mine...

They don't see so well.

If there was one thing I'd choose to not pass along in my DNA, it's my eyesight. I've worn glasses since I was 8, contacts since I was 14, and up until I turned 40 or so, every year I had to get stronger ones.

Dr. SmartyPants has 20/20 vision, or did until his near vision started to conk out. But still - at a distance? No problems. Derek has his father's eyes.

Lucky kid.

Today I took Joshua to get fitted for contacts. He's nine. I was 14. I'm having a hard time thinking he can handle them, but the doctor said they'd be fine - great, really, especially for sports - and so...

He learned to put them in today. Pretty much. We'll see how he does taking them out tonight, and putting them in tomorrow morning. Those gorgeous eyelashes are a bit of a hurdle to overcome.

Mah baybee. Wearing contacts. Next thing you know, he'll be sporting braces and getting a driver's permit and wanting to go on a date and...and...and...

No. It's best to not think of such things. I'll think about that tomorrow...

My Kind of To Do List

I found this list on the kitchen table a couple of days ago. Joshua has been planning out his days very carefully, I see. I like how he thinks - there are four entries for playing, two for eating and two for dessert (desert), followed by a peaceful 13 hour sleep.

Sounds like my kind of day.

Instead, I woke up at 4:58 am to the whimpering of a puppy needing to go out, and have not had a combined 13 hours of sleep since 1999.

I hope your Wednesday, on the other hand, is full of playing, desserts and peace!

eight am

I had planned to keep my 365 project over on tumblr, but I've been finding the site down more often than I'd like, and feeds not getting through, and many many complaints from long-time users, so I decided to come back to old, reliable Blogger. So - if you've been following along on tumblr, please turn your direction to http://8am365.blogspot.com/ instead. Plus, you can follow there, and comment and say nice or not nice things about our daily family portrait...as long as they are nice things.

Okay? Thanks.

I haven't taken any other pictures today to show you. And the reason is very simple.

I'm in full on procrastination-mode, people. I emptied my cluttered up studio - to the floor and walls - and all the junk that was in there is currently residing in my family room. It included everything that was already in there (art supplies, school supplies, office supplies) PLUS everything that ended up in there when we moved back from Arlington. I'm so overwhelmed I don't even know how to start working on it, but I have to, because I supposedly have a deadline of January 31 to have it done. That deadline comes from my goal setting pow-wow with Linda, and it's fast approaching.

So, I'm here to admit to you a problem I have.

I'm addicted to art supplies, school supplies, office supplies and paper.

And books.

I'm excellent at throwing away other things - clothes, shoes, dishes, knick-knacks, old spatulas and spoons. I was reading a blog the other day that challenged people to cut their wardrobe down to 33 items for 33 days just to see how little you could really live with, and I realized that I'd have to go shopping and buy some more things to reach 33 items.

But paper and pens and paint and folders and notebooks and books (oh, the books)...

SO. STINKING. HARD.

sigh.

I have a vision for my studio, though, and it involves absolutely no clutter. None. It involves open space and white walls and lots of light and one (ONE) bookshelf with books and supplies and that's all. And I'm going to get there. I'm going to get there. I'm going to get there.

And I'm going to start.

(tomorrow)

Monday? Really? You Can Go Jump in a Lake.

This photo has nothing to do with the post...I was just inordinately pleased with it, and wanted to make sure you saw it, in case you aren't following my 365 project at tumblr...

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The weather is actually not terrible today. When the boys and I went out at about 11, it was already 41 degrees, and I think we may have broken a sweat on our one mile run. They are participating in a marathon of sorts, in conjunction with Dr. SmartyPants' and my half-marathon in April. They ran the first mile of it on Saturday, at the Knoxville Zoo, and then they will run 24 more over the next 10 weeks before finishing the last mile on the marathon course. They get to cross the 50 yard line at Neyland Stadium on the Saturday of marathon weekend, just where we'll finish on the Sunday.

Today's run was the hardest mile I've ever run in my life. And actually...I only ran 1/2 of it. I walked the rest of the way back. The Smarty and I ran 9 miles yesterday and everything on my body below my ribcage is in pain. Good pain - not injury pain - but holy smokes. Ouch.

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The thing about Mondays is that it's always a battle. We have to reset the internal clocks for the boys after the weekend. They don't sleep all that late on the weekends, but it somehow feels to them like we're getting them up at the crack of dawn.

Which we don't. I get up before the crack of dawn, and I don't wake them up for another hour and a half because IT'S SO FREAKING QUIET during that time.

They have no idea.

We started school well this morning, but there were some dramas that had to play out over the course of the next few hours. I have this one child...who shall remain nameless...that is SO DADGUM STUBBORN I can't even believe it. He is convinced that if he avoids doing his work, I'll eventually get tired of looking at him sitting at the table and tell him he doesn't have to do it.

Not once, in all the years of schooling that he has, have I ever told him to just stop working. Ever.

And yet.

Last week, I started the new policy of a timed math lesson - he has a certain amount of time to get his work done, and if he isn't done, he gets twice as much math work to complete. Last Thursday, the day after the implementation, he got his work done in 5 minutes UNDER the scheduled amount of time. And it was all correct. Because he's a freaking math genius.

Lazy...but genius.

Today, at the end of the scheduled time, he had completed 3 (THREE) PROBLEMS. Not three sections, mind you...three. individual. division. problems.

So, I counted up the remaining problems, multiplied by two, and made him a new set of worksheets, thinking that would certainly spur him on.

Fast forward four hours later...I've taken him on a run, given him a lunch break and gone to the grocery (while he stayed home and "worked.")

He had completed 8 (EIGHT) PROBLEMS. Please understand that I'm not even talking about eight ADDITIONAL problems. EIGHT PROBLEMS TOTAL.

So we had another talk where I asked him if he understood how to do the problems (yes,) if he had a brain disfunction that prevented him from doing his work (no,) or if maybe he just thought I wouldn't make him actually finish (yes.) YES. He admitted it.

I gave him 30 minutes to finish (the original work) or risk another doubling of extra work, while I went to finally take my shower. After 20 minutes?

He was completely done.

Now he just has to do his reading, write a paper, go to piano lessons and take care of the additional math work and we'll be all done with school.

9 billion hours after we started.

Oh, Monday. You really are a bitch.

Hello, Friday. Where Have You Been All My Life?

We got out and about early this morning, getting our banking and grocery shopping done before we normally start school. (We don't do formal school on Friday - we save it for science experiments and field trips and what I like to call life lessons...like "How to do Your Own Laundry.")

I've been thinking how pleasant life has been this month, in the quiet of winter - after holidays and before sports and other distractions begin again. We've stayed home more than usual, and it's been really relaxing and wonderful. It makes me want to never get back involved in all those "extra" activities we stuff our lives with - the things that make dinners rushed and bedtimes late and mornings crabby, but without those extras, we'd be less well rounded and far too insulated from society and would end up wearing nothing but Pajama Jeans and Forever Lazies.

So, we're looking for a piano teacher, and investigating martial arts academies for one and soccer academies for the other and attempting to plan our time between the two schedules which will inevitably need to happen at the exact same time. Gone are the days when I tell them what sports they'll be doing, and by the way, make it on the same team, please.

sigh.

But I'm not complaining. I'm just going to be very mindful to enjoy the next ten days or so of sweet quiet January evenings by the fire -- telling stories and reading books and cuddling with the pups and loving each other. I may never see them all together again the rest of the year, but for now...

They're all right where I want them.

Everybody's Got a Parasite, I've Got You*

*from Antidote by my favorite band when I was in grad school, Pain. (That's not grad school pain. That's the band, Pain, that I really liked a lot in grad school, and actually really still like them, but they aren't producing any music currently, darn it.)



Okay. I've been mulling over this one for a while, wondering if I should post about it, and I finally decided that I had to, or risk obsessing about it. See, I was reading a post by a blogger that I enjoy, and she was talking about her day helping in her son's kindergarten class. The main point of the post was that she wasn't one of "those" moms - you know - the ones that are constantly at school every moment of the day and kind of snarky about moms who weren't there every moment of the day. One of her commenters commented thusly:

Ok, this is my response to the “passive aggressive” ones who never saw me at school. It is rude. It is not “nice”, and it isn’t meant to disparage non-working moms who aren’t being rudely aggressive toward me - really. That’s my disclaimer, and I’m sticking to it.

“Oh, well the reason you don’t see me around is because I am EMPLOYED - I’m not just being a parasite on my husband’s paycheck.”

Now, I know she prefaced it with a disclaimer about how it isn't meant to disparage non-working moms and all, but c'mon. I don't buy into the "no offense" defense. What you say is generally what you mean. And really? A parasite?

What is it you imagine I do all day at home with my children? How can you, a mother who comes home and does all those things after work and knows how time consuming and difficult they are, suggest that SAHMs are parasites?

Is there really no wiggle room one way or the other any more?  I mean, I know there isn't in the politcal world - you're either right or left, right or wrong and never the two shall meet, but is there any place in our society for moms who take each other out with these kinds of comments?

I was kind of stunned at how the comment affected me. I'm not usually so sensitive about things, but it made me stop and think. Am I a parasite on my husband's paycheck? Are other moms who have chosen to stay at home parasites? I had to ask Dr. SmartyPants, who looked at me like I had lost my mind and told me that he never considered me one, and that if chose never to work, even after the kids were grown and gone, he still wouldn't consider me one.

(everyone together, now...awwwww)

I chose this path, just as others have chosen theirs. I admire and respect moms who work just as hard outside their homes as they do in them - who care for their children with love and grace and aplomb, even while they aren't with them 24/7. I can't imagine how hard it must be to leave in the mornings and not see them until supper time, but millions of mothers do it and they make it work and their children are loved and they know it. Just as many mothers choose to work as those who have to work. It's good for them and it's good for their families, and they rock.

But for those who choose to be at home - the idea that we are somehow lazier or get less done or have no drive to succeed or that we are parasites on our husband's paychecks is insulting. We've just made a different choice - a choice that works for our families, just as your choice works for yours. Our days start as early as the working moms' days do, we work just as long and just as hard, but our paycheck is measured in time, not in dollars. Our service is commemorated in one Saturday out without the kids instead of with a plaque. Our pension fund is a box full of homemade cards and letters and the knowledge that we did what was right for OUR family. Not for yours.

ours.

*********
ps. I'm guesting over at Indie Fixx today - come by and say hello!

Why I Love My Family: A List of 18 for the 18th

1. Every morning, for the past 18 days, they've walked into the "photography studio" and let me take their picture. They have even reminded me to make sure and take a photo that morning. A certain member of this family, who has had to travel for work, has even taken self portraits and sent them to me, so as to not disrupt the flow.



2. They like when I knit them things, and request items from me.

3. They give out hugs like they were free or something.

4. They clean their rooms when I ask them, even when they don't really feel like it.

5. They clean the dishes after supper, since I've already cleaned them twice during the day and made supper (thanks sweetie...)

6. They play Beatles Rock Band with admirable zest, if not laudable talent. They let me take video of said playing. They may let me post said video, if I ask often and nicely enough. PLEASEpleasepleasepleasepleaseplease, Dr. SmartyPants, PLEASE.

7. They hum Eight Days a Week while playing with Legos.

8. They sit and draw while I read to them.

9. Sometimes they fall asleep when I read to them after supper, but they pretend they've heard everything. Being an engineer is hard work and his brain gets tired. It's okay, really.

10. They let me read to them after supper instead of vegetating in front of the television. (We're reading Little House in the Big Woods right now.)

11. They think a salad and a baked potato is haute cuisine.

12. They say "excuse me," "please," and "thank you," to me, to each other, and to pretty much everyone who crosses their paths.

13. They don't like slow drivers.

14. They love dogs.

15. They love chocolate.

16. They love cars.

17. They love photography.

18. They love me.

The Friday I Finished

I mailed in my Sketchbook Project today. It was hard to let it go. I've become kind of attached to some of the drawings in there, like Spock Frog and this one - Moulin Rouge Elephant. I had to make him hang from the ceiling - it seemed more "Spectacular Spectacular," somehow.



It will get scanned into the collection, and when it's online, I'll give you a link, so you can all go flip through it. Of course, if the tour comes to a city near you, you can go flip through the actual thing.

That's so cool...

This was the first thing on my list of goals for 2011, and I'm ecstatic that I got it done on time. I was a little worried there, for a bit - life had gotten crazy, as it does at the end of a year, and I was afraid that after all that build-up, I was going to crash and burn. But I didn't. I pushed through and in the end, while it changed a bit, it's a completed work.

Hurray!

In other news...

I left my house yesterday, for the first time since Saturday. Holy lord. It was just to run to pick up dog food and people food, but it was like being let out of prison. I'm not going to talk about what was keeping me inside, because I don't want to be that blogger that complains about the s-n-o-w all the time, but I'm still moving to Ecuador, people. This winter thing is just stupid.

Today is sunny and warmER than it has been. (It's not warm...just warmER.) I'm considering putting on all my clothes and standing outside and meditating for like 6 hours, rather than starting on the next item on my goal list for the year, but that wouldn't be too productive, I suppose. Those remaining boxes aren't going to unpack themselves, after all. Although...

I saw recently that a large, nationwide garbage disposal company has these big garbage bag things they'll deliver to your house, for a fee, and then come and pick up and take away, and hey - wouldn't that be easier than unpacking the boxes? Why yes...yes it would!

And ALSO - it's day 14 of No-Restaurant-January, and I'm getting a little antsy. It hasn't been all that hard to do, exactly, but when you eat nothing but your own cooking for an extended period of time, it just seems like everything starts to taste the same. It kind of all tastes like ham.

But that could be because I got a ginormous ham on sale at the grocery and have been using it in every single dish I've cooked for the last week.

I need a fabulous Mexican food specialist to come to my house and make me a beef chimichanga and some cheese sauce.

With a side of ham.

Have a great, great weekend, people...

Zelma Cinnamon Fine Art: A Winters Slump ~ Red Hot GIVE AWAY!

My friend is giving away a painting! Go check it out, but don't follow the instructions, because then you might win it, and that would mean that I didn't win it and I would be sad...

Oh, I'm just kidding...GO...ENTER...WIN!!

Zelma Cinnamon Fine Art: A Winters Slump ~ Red Hot GIVE AWAY!

Happy Monday! Wait...I Mean Tuesday, Right? Tuesday?

I'm so messed up. I don't even know what day it is. Except that it is 1/11/11, and that's cool.

I'm confused because of the snow. The snow was nice yesterday, so I gave the boys a snow day, so we did our Monday work today, but it isn't Monday and I'm pretty sure it's Tuesday, but it could be Wednesday.

I haven't left the house since Saturday. It's beginning to wear thin.

Sigh.

I did get out on Saturday and met up with Linda to work on goals for 2011. I'll share them with you as soon as I find my notes.

No. I'm just kidding. I know where they are. I'm still just processing them and putting them in my calendar and assigning priorities to them and all. The first goal is actually only 2 days away, so I'm frantically working on that, so I can't tell you about it right now, okay?

Sigh.

This is what winter does to me. And I don't like it.

Not one bit.

Anyone up for a move to Ecuador?

Oh, Life. Is Bigger.

I woke up with R.E.M. in my head - Losing My Religion, in particular. I don't know why. I haven't heard it recently. I haven't even thought about R.E.M. in an age, and yet.

There it is.

So in honor of that bit of randomness, let's have a list of random thoughts by me, okey dokey?



My children are obsessed with three things...this is one of them. Hot Wheels. They currently have 2.5 million little cars, randomly scattered around my house. They know each and every one of them and know when one is missing. If we go to the store and they see Hot Wheels, they have to go look, and they peruse their mental inventory to see if they have that particular model and THEY ALWAYS KNOW.  Occasionally, I'll bring one home to them and it is invariably one that they always have.

Of course, I can't even remember my children's names most of the time, so this is probably not as amazing a skill as I think it is.

The other two things my children are obsessed with are Legos and stuffed animals. They are also randomly scattered around my house - left for me to trip over on my way to take the puppy out in the middle of the night. I would like a very large dumpster to be delivered to my house so that I could throw them all away and just start over.



We've officially declared January to be "Restaurant-Free January," and have pledged to not set foot in a restaurant during the entire month of January. This is very difficult for me, as I'm very good as setting foot in restaurants, especially when I forget to get dinner ready. It's going to take a fair bit of planning and self-control, neither of which I'm terribly adept at.

Dr. SmartyPants doesn't actually have to comply with this pledge, as he travels frequently for work, and it's very hard to pack a week's worth of breakfast, lunch and dinner with the extra baggage handling fees these days.

Stinker.



This dog pees 75 times a day. Most of them outside. I'm not even kidding. I got up at 5:20 this morning to take him out, and in the next hour, I took him out an additional six times.

Please remind me of this, the next time I say I want a puppy.

beale-street-by-ronsaaridotcom

In 27 days I'll be taking a little trip I'm completely excited about. I know someone else who is excited, too.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Change!

before



to this.

ahhh...it's amazing what a gallon of paint can do for your attitude...

It's a Whole New Year, Baby.

Whoa. This Monday got away from me before I realized it had started. We started back to school today, and after two weeks off, I was glad of it.

I'm sick of TV. Of Cartoon Network, in particular. If I hear the theme song to Hot Wheels...Battle Force Five again, I may scream.

Great. Now it's stuck in my head. Hot Wheels...Battle Force Five...somethingsomething...To SURVIVE...

Jasper is 13 weeks old today, and has been with us two whole weeks. He's getting closer to understanding WHERE TO GO when he has to go, but it's an uphill battle.

And I've been downhill the entire time.

New Year's Day was just not great for me, people, and I'm hoping it isn't going to set the tone for the year or anything. The 5K was a wash (for us...some people ran it...), I barely had enough paint to finish my bedroom, Joshua dropped an entire gallon of milk in the garage and Ron picked up the stomach bug that's been going around, and I didn't get to go meet with Linda for our annual goal-setting-fun-having-rollicking-good-time-making New Year's Day meet up.

But at least I didn't blow up my car.

Speaking of Linda...she has an amazing project in the works that I'm so totally excited about, and eager to help out with whenever I get the chance...if she'll let me...you should go check it out, add it to your blogroll and follow along. You just might learn something.

I'm three days into my portrait project and haven't missed a day yet, although Dr. SmartyPants didn't get his picture made when he was sick yesterday, so there's that. But...I thought it would be kind of tacky to make him get out of bed and show the whole world how he looks when he doesn't feel too super-swell...I was extra excited to take pics today, because we were all awake and dressed before eight, which took the Nick Nolte/Lindsay Lohan vibe out of the photos, if you know what I'm sayin...

Peace, people. Stay out of jail, 'kay?

Happy New Year!

Good morning, my people...I hope you all spent a wonderful evening enjoying the last day of 2010. I managed to stay awake all the way to 11:30 before I went to sleep.

I live an exciting life, folks.

I was supposed to run a 5K this morning, but it's raining cats and dogs, and I'm just not that hard core. Tomorrow is supposed to be nice. We'll have a little Ottwork 5K then.

I've started a new project for 2011, which I'll actually document at my tumblr site - I'll be taking an iPhone photo of each (human) member of my family every morning at (about) eight AM, creating a collage of the four photos, and posting them to the tumblr site every day. I'm hoping to document the minute changes we all go through in a year...it's all about the minutia...

Today...I'm just going to enjoy the rainy day and relax a bit, and paint a couple of rooms...all part of my plan to make our house feel like our home again.

It also helps me avoid unpacking all the boxes still lurking in my studio...

Here's to a great 2011!

December 28

December 27

December 26

Luke 2

The Birth of Jesus

 ¹ In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. ² (This was the first census that took place while^[a] Quirinius was governor of Syria.) ³ And everyone went to their own town to register.

 ⁴ So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. ⁵ He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. ⁶ While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, ⁷ and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.

 ⁸ And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. ⁹ An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. ¹⁰ But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. ¹¹ Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. ¹² This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

 ¹³ Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

 ¹⁴ “Glory to God in the highest heaven,
   and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

 ¹⁵ When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

 ¹⁶ So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. ¹⁷ When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, ¹⁸ and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. ¹⁹ But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. ²⁰ The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.

 ²¹ On the eighth day, when it was time to circumcise the child, he was named Jesus, the name the angel had given him before he was conceived.

'Twas the Night

A very Merry Christmas to all my lovely readers...I hope you get everything you hoped for, plus one.

You are truly the prettiest ones out there.

Even you, Mark.

This Goes to Eleven...

He's off the charts, man. Eleven years old.

No more Kids Menus. Boooooo.

What can I say that hasn't been said before?

I can say that his kindness grows exponentially with his age. That his sweet attitude toward others is inspiring. I can say that he reminds me more and more of his father, which is an amazingly good thing.

I can say that over the past 11 years I've watched him grow from a chubby little baby that rarely cried into a tall and gorgeous young man who rarely complains.

I can say that he is a sweet and loving big brother who shares his things without a thought of selfishness.

Most of the time.

I can say that when I gave him his birthday hug this morning, his head hit my chin.

And I'm tall.

And I have to say that this morning, when he walked down the stairs and saw the balloons on the chairs, and the presents on the table, he walked into the kitchen with his eyes wide in wonder and said,

"Did you do this for me while I was sleeping?"

"Yes, I did," I said. "Happy Birthday!"

He walked around to the other side of the kitchen, where I was pouring a cup of coffee and grabbed me and hugged me so tightly I couldn't breathe for a moment. His curls brushed my cheek and his arms reached all the way around me. (I remember when his curls brushed my knees and his arms reached to my sides...)

"Thank you, Mom."

And then I died of happiness.

I'm writing this from heaven.

Exhaustion Comes in Small Packages

Say hello to Jasper. He's an 11-week old German Shepherd puppy.

I don't know why I never remember what it takes. It's like having a baby, except this one doesn't wear diapers and you have to follow him around all day and read his little puppy mind to find out if he's getting ready to pee on your floor.

And babies don't really move around much for the first few months, and when they wake up in the middle of the night, you don't have to take them outside and stand in the cold rain while waiting for them to just do their business already.

But, like babies, all that effort and exhaustion is worth it, really. Where else can you get a face like this that looks at you like you hung the moon and arranged the eclipse all at the same time. (Did anyone see it? It was cloudy here...)

Raikki and Chico are adjusting well - Raikki is fairly certain we got the puppy just for him canIplaywithhimNOWohmygoshheissocute,now,now,now,NOW!

That boy needs to learn to relax, people. Which is pretty much the definition of "boxer."

Chico likes to walk up to Jasper, sniff all the important bits, and then growl at him, as if Jasper had approached him.

Because Chico is criminally insane. Which is pretty much the definition of "chihuahua."

I think they'll all be just fine...

Let the Countdown Begin

We spent the weekend at Stone Mountain Park near Atlanta, Georgia...an early birthday trip to celebrate Derek's upcoming 11th on Thursday. We often take little weekend getaways for the boys' birthdays, rather than having a big party, because we don't like other people, especially kids.

That's a joke. We like kids okay, just not enough to feed them cake.

Anyhow...we started the tradition when Derek was probably 5 or 6, and it's been a wonderful way to mark the passage of a new year, to spend some time together as a family, and to have a little getaway from the normal grind. We mainly started it to be sure that Derek's birthday didn't get swallowed up by Christmas, and so far it seems to have worked pretty well.

We've felt sorry for him all these years, but he told me the other day that he was the luckiest kid he knows, because he gets THREE WHOLE DAYS OF PRESENTS IN A ROW!

I love that kid.
****************************
Because it isn't enough to get ready for Christmas and a birthday, I'm also baking about a bazillion cookies, wrapping the rest of the presents, cleaning the bathrooms (I keep forgetting those) and picking up our new puppy today.

Yes.

I did say that.

All I can tell you right now is that he's going to be ginormous, and his name is Jasper.

You'll have to wait until later to see photos.

He's very fuzzy, which makes it incredibly hard to focus my camera upon him.

What?

Raikki needed a Christmas present, too...

Freedom!

How can you tell it is the last day of school before Christmas break?

Because things get downright silly, people.

Here's your assignment...track how many accent changes Joshua goes through before his speech is over.

And have a great weekend!

It's Christmas! Not yet! But kind of! Not really!

In the last week before Derek's birthday and Christmas hit us, Dr. SmartyPants and I have begun speaking in code and hiding lists in our pockets and closing the screen on the laptop just as the boys walk in the room and LYING - oh the lying.

Christmas...it's not the season of giving. It's the season of LYING.

Mercy. If Santa still had me on a list, it would be the naughty one. Because I'm a lying liar liar pants on fire.

"Mom! There's a package at the door! Oh, it has your name on it. What is it?"

"It's just books, darling. You know how Mama likes her books!"

"What's the name of the book? Can I see it?"

"No, my sweet precious angel. The book is called "Nunya," and you can't see it. It's only for grown ups. I'm so sorry my dearest love."

"You sure get a lot of books, Mom."

"I know, little man. Mama does like to read. Everything I know, I learned from a book. Never stop learning, sweetness. You can be anything you want to be!"

"Mom? Why are you doing that weird thing with your hands and flitting about the room like a fairy?"

"It's Christmas spirit, dear."

"Is that a beer, Mom?"

"It's Christmas spirit, dear."

Cheers...

It's Tuesday! Let's Celebrate!

Ah. Tuesday.

What can one say about Tuesday? It's neither the beginning of the week, the middle, nor the end.

It doesn't have the angst of Monday, nor the joy of Friday.

It lacks the lazy, worshipful quality of Saturdays and Sundays.

It, along with Thursday, are the days least likely to produce a "yippee!" reaction, don't you think?

I kind of feel sorry for Tuesday. It's like the middle child of weeks. I'm a middle child.

I know exactly how it feels.

Walkin' in a Winter Wonderland

It's a snow day! Dr. SmartyPants work was closed, so we decided to close the school system here, too, even though our commute is from bedroom to kitchen table. The boys have headed outside to sled down a nearby hill, and the Smarty and I are getting busy with the honey-do list.

Snow day...FTW!

Friday! O Happy Day!

I think Friday is a good day to list good things, don't you? I'm pretty sure I stole that from Char, but I'm hoping she won't mind...

My Readers are the Prettiest

Thank you all for your sweet words about my friend, Maynelle. She was a treasure. Her funeral was sweet and poignant and touching and I was so honored to be included in it.

Today, though - life moves on at a frightening pace. My sweet little baby boy will be 11 in just a couple of weeks. How does that happen? My other sweet little baby boy is up to my shoulder and doesn't cuddle in my lap anymore...mainly because he wouldn't fit. (He's still known to snuggle up really good first thing in the morning. Especially if I have a blanket.)

My Christmas decorations are up outside, including my new sweet Christmas hippo, Hector. (See him? Right there in the front? Isn't he ADORABLE?)

In the Pink

I got word, yesterday, that a sweet, dear friend of mine passed away. (This is not going to be a sad post, by the way...keep reading.) Maynelle was in her 80s, and over the last year or so had begun the journey to meet her Savior. I believe she was ready and eagerly anticipating that meeting. My only regret in her passing is that I was unable to see her after I got back to Knoxville, before she left this life.

Maynelle was one of those women that makes you want to be a better woman. She's who I want to be, if ever I decide to grow up. Retired and widowed by the time I met her, she was the very picture of a confident, independent woman. She spoke her mind, although never cruelly. She stuck to her principles, even when it cost her plenty to do so. She was a fiercely loyal friend.

She was raised in a different world than the one she left, but I never saw her shrink from the changes that modern culture wrought. Where others might have judged someone based on external appearance, she seemed to see right through to the heart. I watched her embrace pastors and prostitutes with the same arms, never treating one any differently from the other.

There are so many lessons to be learned from those who have so many more years of experience than we have. I've noticed it, not just in Maynelle, but in my own grandparents who are in their 90s, and have seen so much more joy and pain and heartache and new life and death and change than my feeble 42 year old brain can even imagine. The ones who tend to live happiest are those that learn to roll with the punches without losing their integrity and without becoming bitter and hardened by the experiences. They are the ones that are able to see that there is so much more to this life than the petty annoyances that surround our daily activities.

So, thank you, Maynelle. Thank you for showing me, and everyone you met, what it means to be a woman after God's own heart. Thank you for demonstrating what it means to be a woman of character and integrity and grace and peace.

Thank you for being my friend.

Life is too Precious for all the Drama, People.

Okay. I'm sick of the Comcast story. I feel the need to conclude it quickly...

They came. They didn't show up when they promised. They blamed me. The problem was resolved. I can quit my whining now, at least until my bill comes.

Honestly. Such problems. Poor me - my HD signal is not beautiful. How awful.

Sometimes I stop and listen to myself and I think I'm going to throw up. I mean really. There are people starving in the world, dealing with life-threatening illnesses and war and homelessness, and I spend an entire week bitching about how my cable service provider just doesn't treat me right? Let me tell you something...

Last Friday, I had a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day. I'd hardly slept all week, what with the tornadoes and dog diarrhea and the traveling to Alabama and back. I dropped everything I picked up. I almost blew up my Mustang. I shattered an ornament in the middle of the Target. Comcast didn't show up when they said they did. I stubbed my toe, I cut myself shaving, I was out of moisturizer, whatever. Everything seemed to be going absolutely wrong. I was tired and cranky and just miserable and fairly certain I was having a neurological crisis.

And I wallowed in it. I rejoiced in it, probably. My martyr syndrome switched into overdrive and I milked it for all it was worth. Do you ever have days like that? I was a wet blanket, man. We were supposed to go to the Christmas parade, but there was no way in hell I was leaving my house, and I coerced Dr. SmartyPants to pick me up some teriyaki chicken on the way home cause I sure wasn't going to cook, either - I figured I'd start a kitchen fire.

Saturday was a little better, but I was already planning all the tweets I could tweet and the posts I could post about my terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day, when I saw Melinda's status update on Facebook...

asking for prayer for my Grandson, Brian. He's been diagnosed with Kawasaki's disease, about to start treatment in the hospital. I've no doubt he'll be fine, prognosis is positive, but please pray.

Suddenly, my Friday seemed pretty darned insignificant to what my sweet little 3 year old great-nephew was going through...what his parents and grandparents and great grandparents and the rest of his family were going through.

And I got a huge dose of perspective.

Who cares if my HD channels aren't beautiful?

My kids are.

Who cares if my Mustang never works again?

My husband has a job.

Who cares if I shattered an ornament into a million pieces in Target?

My family is whole and healthy.

Sometimes I find myself addicted to the little dramas that play out over the course of a normal, average week - those things that set my heart pumping a little harder and raise my temper a little. They keep things interesting and keep life from being too monotonous and boring, but I'd much rather have a boring and monotonous life than to be sitting in a hospital, waiting to hear the prognosis of one of my kids, wouldn't you?

I've seen other bloggers devote particular months to thankfulness (November is great for that, I guess) and grace, and it strikes me that this is the very reason to do that. We (I) tend to focus so much on the negative things that go on around us, those First World problems that keep us so vexed...

• the line at Starbucks was ridiculous! I can't believe I had to go to Panera for my coffee.
• that man completely ruined that scene in Harry Potter by whispering to his wife what was about to happen!
• I've been waiting 3 hours for the repairman, and he still hasn't showed!

When we need to focus on the things that really matter...

• my boy climbed in the bed with me this morning, snuggled up beside me like a baby and went back to sleep.
• my husband fixed the damage I did to my car, without one word of scorn (and I totally deserved scorn.)
• i have food in my pantry, and the mad skilz to cook it.

So. I'm going to end the year right. I'm going to force myself to focus on grace and mercy and thankfulness. And you'll all just have to come along with me, okay?

By the way - Brian is responding very well to his treatment, and is expected to go home within a day or two. Please join us in prayer (if you pray) or in sending good, strong, healing thoughts his way. I know a whole bunch of people in Louisiana who would be thankful for it...

The Saga Continues...(or how social media gets results...) Part III

I apologize for disappearing on you in the middle of the saga. I was down in Alabama and between the tornados and the exploding dog diarrhea, I suffered a great lack of sleep and brain function.

But that's a different story.

For this story, we need to remember that everything seemed to be in order. Twitter had sent us a Comcast knight in shining bucket truck and we had headed out to see Harry Potter, glad to be finally done with the drama.

By the way - the Harry Potter movie experience is yet another story I have to tell. Melinda is convinced that I'm a rude person magnet. I'm just sayin'.

So, last Saturday, we went to bed, secure in the knowledge that our cable and internet woes were taken care of. We got up Sunday morning, picked up the boys and drove up to Townsend for our long run of the week (5 miles!  Woot!). Afterward, we headed up to Cades Cove in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park and enjoyed the gorgeous day.

When we returned home, we turned on our shiny new cable and tuned it to an HD channel and noticed that it seemed to have a problem with its vertical hold. Anyone remember the vertical hold dial on the old TVs?

Yeah.

That.

Then the diagnosis begins. My engineer husband starts switching out boxes and cables and RCA cables and moving things around to try and determine if the problem is with the boxes or the cables or the TV or whatever. Nothing changes. As a matter of fact, the TV in the bedroom (which had been functioning properly) now also developed a vertical hold problem.

Sigh.

Do we really need television?

Dr. SmartyPants finally calls the Comcast helpline, they check our line and say they need to come out and make some adjustments to the outside connection. We, of course, were all leaving town in different directions the next day, so we scheduled an appointment for Friday, which is today.

Just so you know, I fully expect the first bill to be completely wrong.