Category Archives: home life

10.15.08
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Just think about it

“Do you pray the rosary every day?” the priest asked me.

“I try to,” I answered brightly, happy to be able to honestly answer in the affirmative. I’m not always successful, but it is a goal, and I’m best when I can go for a run. I pray when I run.

“Do you pray it with your husband…with your kids…or just by yourself?” he pressed.

“Just by myself,” I sheepishly admitted. That’s MY time.

“Well, you know, it would be good to say it with the children…just think about it…”

{sigh}

I DON’T WANNA! Mentally, I threw myself down like my three year old, kicking my feet and writhing from side to side. Really, no matter how far along the path I may think I have come in shunning selfish behavior, I find myself right back at square one: ME AND WHAT I WANT.

I want peace and quiet. I want meditation. I want quiet whispers at the mouth of a cave on a mountaintop.

I do not want 20 minutes of fussing and fidgeting and correcting pronunciations (or remaining calm and ignoring all of the above). I do not want little eyes rolling and little mouths moaning at the torture their mother is putting them through.

But actually, my three older children love to pray the rosary. It is the next two, who are very young, who do the fussing. And the fidgeting. (They all do the bad pronunciations.)

And so, I thought about it.

I discussed it with a friend. Well, actually, I told her just how impossible it was. After all, I was struggling to develop a habit of morning prayers with the children: morning offering, praying for the Pope and his intentions, Guardian Angel prayer. Five minutes, that’s all I had. I couldn’t possibly do a 20 minute rosary every morning. Or afternoon. Or evening.

But then I thought, maybe a decade. That would only add about 5 more minutes. Couldn’t I do that?

And immediately an opportunity arose: Bill’s physical therapy. Three mornings a week, we all drive him over for his knee. The other two weekdays also have us in the car.

So we have expanded our morning prayer to include one decade of the rosary. We alternate what mystery we “meditate” on. We go around for the Hail Marys: Fritz, Billy, Katie, even Jenny, then Bill or I before we go around again for ten. It was a seamless transition, and the kids love it, even Jenny (after our first session where I basically said we would sit there until she did her part and, after about 3 minutes, she finally gave in and hasn’t been a problem since).

Today, in fact, we did it with such ease and so quickly that I wondered: couldn’t we do two decades? I’ll have to think about it…
10.13.08
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Dear Children,

This is why I don’t like you to use my camera. I don’t know why you would feel compelled to touch the lens and get it sticky, but you do. It is very difficult for the automatic point-and-shoot contraption to focus on something past your fingerprint. I know it makes me sounds like a mean mommy, denying you your artistic freedoms and all, but your aunt gave you a camera. Failure to charge it does not give you permission to use mine. Here are our Oktoberfest pictures.

Wouldn’t they have been really lovely if they were in focus?

{sigh}

Well, at least we all had a good time.

10.03.08
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Owl bet they can catch that mouse

Years ago, my dad (or my mom?) gave me the book Club the Bugs and Scare the Critters. It has lots of useful information about natural pest control, although at least half the suggestions will not appeal to those who think killing rodents is not nice. Even I balk at some (most) of their ideas.

But it’s good to know what works.

Ever since this incident, I’ve been reading (and re-reading) the section on mice. According to the book, gadgets that use sound waves to deter mice are a waste of money. Peppermint oil, though, is a natural repellant. I can see me putting cotton balls soaked in that on the kitchen counters, especially at night. Might even be nice, although it may make me hungry for candy canes.

I will not follow the suggestion of putting out instant potato flakes and a bowl of water. Apparently, the flakes will expand in the stomach causing a rupture and a torturous death. Not my style.

I have seriously considered getting a cat. But not all cats are mousers. A friend suggested one of the strays in her neighborhood. That increases the odds they know what to do. Hmmm…

The book says that some dogs are good at killing mice. I have a dog. She has demonstrated an ability to catch small furry things. Maybe I don’t need a cat, methinks.

This morning, I finally met IT. I had started a load of clothes last night, but failed to close the lid. The washer and dryer are in a closet to the right of my kitchen counter where I have my coffee pot. I was on my way to get my cuppa when I noticed the lid. Closing it, it immediately began the spin cycle, startling IT. As I was pouring my coffee, I noticed IT, and IT noticed me, stopped short, made an about-face and disappeared among my laundry baskets on the floor.

My brief, but classic, cry of eek woke Bill (sorry, honey) and brought the dog. But she, like me prior to this past Monday, was not expecting a non-human life-form, and could not understand what my pointing and gesturing was all about.

To appease my mouse-loving Franciscan commenters, I just ordered a non-lethal trap. I’m not sure exactly what I’ll do with the ones I trap (release them on the median of a busy highway?), but I’d prefer to handle a live mouse than a carcass.

I didn’t intend to make a long post (this one was begun hours ago), but one more possibility for mouse disposal presented itself this morning. We were getting ready (in that insane chaotic way a household of 8 gets ready) to take Bill to physical therapy when the dog started barking. Wondering what could have gotten her riled, beyond the usual repertoire of local dogs barking, cats howling, joggers passing and kids acting like maniacs, I stepped out of my bedroom and looked out the sunroom window. There, perched at the top of a post holding our bird feeders and staring right at me, was a barred owl. It took my breath away. I tried to get Bill over to see it, but the kids report that another owl attacked it and the two fell off the deck and away. Such excitement for 7 am!

Anyway, if an owl or two wants to show up every morning, I could plan a release then. It wouldn’t be cruel. I’d be helping the food chain, that’s all. The book doesn’t mention getting a pet owl to help you out, but I’ll bet they’re the best mouse catchers of all.
09.27.08
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Being Thrifty

Yesterday, the boys began fencing. Even though I knew this day was coming, I was ill prepared and only remembered Wednesday night that they had no athletic pants to wear.

{sigh}

I had already decided that I was going to buy children’s pants from Sears, and Sears alone, so I could take advantage of their free KidVantage Club with its Wear Out Warranty (pants on boys last an average of one month before acquiring holes in my house). Sears opened at 10 am, fencing was at 11 am. It was tight, but doable.

We got there early and, as soon as the doors were opened, raced for the boys’ section. I grabbed what pants I could find in the approximate right sizes and had the boys try them on. Out of 5 or 6 different pairs of pants, we managed to find 1 to fit Fritz and 2 to fit Billy (one of his was a pair of jeans). That’s all I had time for.

Total cost: $46 and change.

After fencing, I dragged the kids to a thrift store that has 50% clothes and shoes on Thursdays (thank you, Denise, for that timely suggestion). I bought 6 shirts, 5 pants, 1 winter coat, 2 pretty Christmas-y dresses, and one pair of size 3 pink tennis shoes that will fit Mary for about one month.

Total cost: $25.38.

Thrift store shopping is a process. I didn’t find everything I needed, but there will be more next week, and some things, like a few more winter coats, aren’t desperately needed yet. Other things, like size 10 slim boys pants with no holes in the knee or church-going shoes in just the right sizes, aren’t likely to ever appear, and I’ll have to buy them new. But as long as the kids don’t mind, and the selection is good, I see no reason to go retail.

09.14.08
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Tethered

Three kids have piano lessons on Tuesday afternoons.

Four kids have CCD on Tuesday evenings.

Three kids have Scouts on Wednesdays (Jenny’s homeschool Daisy Troop meets every other Wednesday). I do not know when Billy’s den will meet.

The boys have fencing on Thursday mornings (with homeschoolers).

The girls have ballet on Saturdays.

For each kid, it seems reasonable. One sport. One “activity” (Scouts). I consider piano to be academic (my students would happily drop it). And CCD is “required” (Katie is in 2nd grade – take one, taken ’em all, I figure).

But as my calendar pages are filling up, I’m feeling so very tied down.

09.01.08
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Good grief Gustav

On Friday, from my husband, via email:

If Gustav hits Louisiana, I’ll have to go to Germany.

If that makes sense to you, you must be in the National Guard. It’s okay. It’s not like we had serious plans for his vacation. And I’ll take this change of plans over the scenario from three years ago when Katrina hit: Bill worked 36 days in a row, had one day off, then worked 24 more days in a row. Fun times.

Pray for the poor people in that area.

08.22.08
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Insanity is…

…doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

Like me and cakes, especially if I’m doing the decorating.

*******

As an aside, I must explain that kitchens/food disasters are just a part of my life. The end results are generally good, but it’s the getting there that is often…adventurous.

For example, the house we own in New Jersey came with several pieces of furniture left behind by the previous owner. One was a kitchen table with a metal top on a wood frame. The house was small, and I would often sew at that table in the kitchen. I quickly learned that the frequency of the metal table top matched that of a certain speed of my sewing machine.

For those of you non-science types, let me explain what that means. Have you ever heard of the Tacoma Narrows Bridge? If you want to see some amazing live footage of a bridge collapse, check out this video. What happened with this bridge is one day the winds going through the Narrows exactly matched the frequency of the concrete and steel structure of the bridge. Everything has a frequency, and the wind made the bridge oscillate just like a wave. Cool to see, especially since nobody died.

In my little kitchen, my sewing machine did to my table what the wind did to that bridge. So, what did I do? Nothing. I would sew along on a bouncing table.

One day, I had chili in the crockpot. Did I mention the kitchen was small? I had no counters, so the crockpot was on the kitchen table. I was also sewing. The crockpot was behind the sewing machine, and I was paying it no mind. I got into a groove with whatever project I was working on, and as I got up to speed, the table began to bounce, violently. I continued to sew, and naturally, the crockpot bounced right off, hitting a chair in just the right way to send chili flying from the ceiling to the floor along the wall with my few cabinets and the sink.

However, enough chili stayed in the crockpot that we still ate well for dinner. We just didn’t have leftovers.

******

Today, for Katie’s birthday, we drove over 3 hours north to visit with friends. I made her a chocolate cake with chocolate icing all from scratch. I made white flowers and she and Jenny and Peter put M&Ms in the centers. It was beautiful. She was so happy.

I told her we should take a picture of it before we put it in the car, because I was doubtful it would get to Pennsylvania in one piece.

I forgot.

I think we were in Delaware when I heard the thud in the way back. It was bad. I salvaged it as best I could, and we ate it anyway. I think the kids called it a “volcano cake.” It was yummy. Ugly, but yummy.

I’ll see if those photos came out tomorrow. After I clean my van.

07.31.08
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A (bath)room with a view

If you walk through the front door, you are in the living room.

This is open to the dining room, which leads to the kitchen, which is connected to the sunroom, which has the door to the master bedroom.

The master bedroom has a master bath.

This house was originally a ranch with the typical three bedrooms and one bath. At some point someone built an addition with the sunroom and master bedroom. They converted one of the original bedrooms into the master bath and left the original door.

So the master bath opens to the hallway with two other bedrooms and the one original bath.

And the hallway leads to the living room.

*******

Peter wakes up in a happy, drowsy mood and curls up in my lap. Within minutes though, he begins to squirm as he realizes that he needs to go potty. So he and I and Mary (because she has decided she wants my lap, too) go from the sunroom, through the master bedroom and into the master bath. I put Mary on the floor (half the floor is carpet), lift Peter up on the potty and sit on the edge of the tub and wait.

This is my morning routine (slated for 7:18 am).

I don’t close the doors, because he’s three.

Today, I should have closed the doors. I didn’t realize that today I live in Pamplona. The poor baby almost got trampled by the children running ’round and ’round, followed by the dog, of course.

This master bath is decidedly the most highly trafficked bathroom I have ever known.

07.21.08
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From the battle front

What a quagmire.

We got involved in what should have been a simple “humanitarian” relief effort. Providing food for the less fortunate. A real feel good project.
We set up several drop off points to ensure direct aid to those most in need.


The locals were happy…at first.

Then the warlords moved in and seized most of the supplies.

We’re now on the brink of war.

Kinder, gentler members prefer tactics that prevent the warlords from gaining access to the supplies. But the budget is already stretched to meet these charitable efforts and any additional resources will reduce the amount of actual relief given.

Additional troops have been brought in to assist in defending key distribution points.

Some ideas are just simply not viable.

Unfortunately, certain members are strongly urging for a more permanent solution.

Only one thing is certain: we’re in this for the long haul. There is no “quick-fix” solution, no “get-in-get-out” answer. We can only hope that, over time, we can win the hearts and minds of the locals who will either help defend against the warlords or help convert them to a more equitable distribution of the goods.
Your prayers, in this time of crisis, are appreciated.
07.18.08
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I’m flexible, I swear

Several months ago, Bill and I attended a marriage retreat. One of the talks centered around our expectations: conscious or unconscious, realistic or unrealistic. The moderator asked for any examples. I raised my hand. My husband groaned.

It wasn’t until that talk that I was able to pin down a source of friction in our marriage. Bill had always come home at dinner time…or later. The house was reasonably tidy. Dinner was nearly ready. If it was a late night, the kids were in their PJs and it was let’s-be-quiet-and-read-stories time, or they were already in bed. Over many years, I had conditioned him to expect a relatively quiet and pleasant home. In fact, he was usually home so late the year before our year in Kansas, that the kids were often not even awake when he got home, and the “baby” was a toddler not an infant. He was pretty much out-of-the-loop on 90% of the daily chaos that filled my life, and I was pretty much in-the-groove and managing just fine.

In Kansas, his school building was a five minute walk away. Classes were usually over by 1230 pm, or he might have to return after lunch for a guest speaker or one more class. He would come home around 1 pm to find a disaster. As I struggled to have my three students finish up their schoolwork for the day, he would have to blaze a trail from the front door to the kitchen through toys, books, puzzles, clothing and whatever else my mobile little ones had gotten into while I tended to the newborn and tried to keep students on task. In the kitchen, the breakfast dishes would be buried under the lunch dishes, and the counter would be covered in peanut butter and jelly and bread crusts. The floor would be sticky, and the milk would be getting warm sitting in the open. He would start yelling at the kids, and I’d get mad because they would only have a half hour more work to do, and I didn’t want to prolong the school day.

“So, it was unreasonable for him to expect a clean house when he got home at lunch time?” the moderator asked.

“Yes,” I said to a chorus of agreement from all the other stay-at-home moms with little ones.

But in recognizing my husband’s expectations, however unreasonable, I could address the issue or at least be more understanding of his irritation. I tried harder after that weekend to stop at some point in my morning to do a kitchen clean up before he got home and even to at least offer to make him his lunch, and I think he was more tolerant of the debris littering the floor.

For me, a schedule isn’t about knowing exactly what I’ll be doing at 3:17 pm. It’s about recognizing my family’s needs and priorities and assuring everyone that there is enough time for important things, including snuggling on the couch. It’s about managing expectations, so that the kids know mom isn’t going to suddenly interrupt their play because she just discovered the by-products of an hour-long art project or that dad won’t cancel their promised bike ride when he sees the mess in the kitchen. It’s about everybody knowing their role in the smooth functioning of the household, and it’s about dividing up the housework into small jobs done at different intervals so that nobody is overwhelmed.

It’s about me having the freedom to say “yes” to a child’s request for attention because I already have dinner in the crockpot, but also about me not feeling guilty for spending the baby’s morning nap time on the treadmill.

And so, here is my loose, flexible daily routine with plenty of margins:

7 am breakfast and cleanup, grooming and morning chores
9 am school (or free time)
12 pm lunch and cleanup
1 pm quiet time: naps or reading or coloring
2 pm free time (or finish school) and TV time if earned
430 pm afternoon chores, tidy house, dinner and cleanup
630 pm family time: reading or games or just talking
730 pm baths and pajamas
8 pm prayers and bedtime

Prior to 7 am and after 8 pm is “adult” time with obvious exceptions for sick children or extended family time. The children’s chores don’t usually take very long (“feed dog” = 1 minute, “vacuum dining room” may take 6 or 7 because of all those chairs that have to be moved). And the afternoon “free time” is for the kids, since that’s my time to prep dinner, make phone calls, pay bills, plan meals, etc. Even then, I don’t mind interruptions once I have dinner prepped, especially knowing that at 430, the whole household begins to tidy up and work together to get dinner on the table.

Speaking of interruptions…Bill is home and we’re off to his company picnic. Woohoo, no kitchen cleanup!