When Bill was deployed to Kosovo in 2003, we lived in a wholly civilian neighborhood. Most people I knew did not know one single other person in the military – not a cousin or a nephew or even a brother of a friend.

When things went wrong with the house or household appliances, I first tried calling friends to see if they wouldn’t mind loaning their husbands to come and take care of this or that. These were really good friends who helped me tremendously while Bill was gone and who would have gladly sawed off their husband’s left arm if it would have alleviated some of my suffering. But in response to my request to fix a storm door, they ALL said, “He’s just not handy like that.” I couldn’t believe they accepted that excuse.

Bill is not afraid of inanimate objects.

So when I pushed the button to start the dryer this morning and it made a horrible sound and emitted a burning smell, I fled to my brave knight and petitioned his assistance. He put down his freshly poured bowl of cereal and came to see what was the matter. I demonstrated the dryer’s bad behavior, and he (God bless him) immediately, although a bit grumpily, motioned to begin battle. Soothed by his confident and calm demeanor, I bade him finish his breakfast first.

After eating and changing out of his pajamas, he took apart the machine to discover that a pencil had gotten sucked in – probably through the lint trap – and had jammed the belt. Can you imagine the jubilant cheers that arose upon news of his triumphant victory? Had I had fresh flowers, I’d have thrown them at his feet or possibly woven them into a crown. The bleak threat of hauling loads of wet clothes to a laundromat to dry was dissipated in a moment and there was joy in all the land.

At least in my neck of it!

It is recess time. I sit at my computer eating Crunch and Munch. I’m not happy that this huge can of Crunch and Munch is even in my house. I bought it to help support my sons’ cub scout troop. After weeks of sitting unopened in my living room, I finally caved last night and exposed the sweet joy contained therein. I told my husband, after I consumed half the can, that he was to take it to work with him today.

He forgot. I forgot.

So far, three of the kids have tasted the Crunch and Munch. Pete likes it. Fritz refused to try it, and I had to practically force one tiny piece into his mouth. He continued to believe that it was yucky. This demonstrates to me why some people can persist in believing something despite all evidence pointing to the contrary. It’s all mind over matter.

Jenny tried it after I used the word “candy” to describe it. She didn’t like it.

Katie just walked in and tried it. She doesn’t like it.

I called Billy in, and he likes it. If this child were not so bizarre in every other aspect of his personality, I would be thanking God that I had one normal child.

Unfortunately, I think I have none (it’s way too early to make the call on Petey).

Time to end recess. Still a good quarter of the can left to eat after lunch…now I have to fight Billy for it.

I found a trackerball at eBay for cheap. It’s the same as my current one, so all I’ll have to do is pop the new ball into my old mouse and not deal with the mess of wires behind my CPU. Now I just have to wait for it to get here, and hope my hand doesn’t hurt too much.

A few minutes ago, Billy asked me what “affiliated” meant. I explained it to him and asked where he learned the word. He quoted some lines from The Incredibles, giving me yet one more reason to love this movie.

I enjoy movies as much as anybody, but have always considered life to be too short to watch them more than once. I’d rather read a good book five times than watch a good movie twice. However, when one has kids, repetition is forced upon you. If it’s not TV shows or movies, it’s books or songs over and over again. My mom had (still has, perhaps) The Cat in the Hat memorized. I used to recite The Big Red Barn to Billy as he impatiently flipped the pages of the book when he was Petey’s age.

But I don’t mind watching The Incredibles over and over. Perhaps it’s because I’ve never actually seen the whole thing from beginning to end without pause. I’ve seen the whole movie, just not all at once. {Insert grumbling about little children here.} But I just think it’s a really good story.

I liked it so much, I actually purchased the DVD which is not normal for me. Aside from strictly children’s shows (Thomas, Disney, even a Spongebob or two), the vast bulk of DVDs we own were bought by Bill. I assure you, I had no say in the decision to buy the complete collection of Mr. Bean. I’m happy to own the Lord of the Rings trilogy, but Bill gave them to me for Christmas. I don’t buy DVDs, but I also rarely have the time to watch them. Our Netflix rentals sit here for weeks.

Recently, I threatened the kids with removal of the TV from the living quarters (specifically, I said I was going to put it in the garage). The kids have certain times of the day they are permitted to watch TV: before school, during lunch, and after school. Rarely is the TV on after 6 pm. If friends come over to play, which happens frequently, the TV is usually off. If the weather is nice, the TV is off. On the weekends, the TV is on football, unless the weather is extremely nice and then I put my foot down and we all go outside. But those hours of TV viewing are sacred to my kids, and the idea of not having a TV was horrifying.

Billy suggested that I would be in big trouble with Dad if I put the TV in the garage. I probably would be! But I said I was willing to deal with his wrath. I also said that I could easily put our one TV in our bedroom and lock the door. {Idle threats: I really don’t want a TV in my bedroom – I may never conceive again!} Then he said that I would really miss the TV. I pointed out to him that I almost never watch it in the first place. I think this fact hit home, and his attitude became a bit more cooperative.

Now if only all the shows they watch would teach them 5 syllable words, I’d probably never threaten to remove that valuable resource. Alas for them, I’m confident that most of their new words will be ones they’ve heard me use or read in a story. Even if we have to read those books over and over again.

Since Bill was home on Friday, I reduced the boys’ already light workload to just math.

And since Bill was home on Friday, I left him in charge of school and went to the grocery store. Bill sat the boys down, told them to do their work, and walked away. Several minutes later, he returned to check on them and discovered they had accomplished very little. Billy, though, was very proud of his doodle of the Flash that he had made on his math worksheet. Bill was so frustrated that he grabbed an eraser and removed all traces of Billy’s artwork!

The math pages eventually got done. I’m not sure if the boys learned anything new to add to their expanding knowledge of math, but I think they learned one thing: Dad is one substitute teacher you don’t want to have!

Friday afternoon we went to Gunston Hall which had been the home of George Mason. George Mason wrote the Virginia Declaration of Rights which is strongly echoed in The Declaration of Independence and was the basis for the U.S. Bill of Rights:

That all men are by nature equally free and independent and have certain inherent rights, of which, when they enter into a state of society, they cannot, by any compact, deprive or divest their posterity; namely, the enjoyment of life and liberty, with the means of acquiring and possessing property, and pursuing and obtaining happiness and safety.

George Mason was one of three delegates to the Constitutional Convention who refused to sign the Constitution because of the lack of a bill of rights (as was later added). Gunston Hall is a much smaller historical site than the nearby Mount Vernon, but the intimacy of the property and it’s lesser fame gives one a greater access to the wealth of knowledge contained therein: in other words, there were no lines.

We didn’t stay long: neither the children nor ourselves were up for a long visit. But we got a good enough flavor of the place to feel it was “done,” and left enough to warrant a future visit the next time we live in the area. As we were driving off the property, Bill slowed the van to a crawl and pointed to two deer – one on each side of the car. Since they were standing perfectly still, it took a bit for the girls to spot them. Finally one started moving, and Katie asked why.

Me: I guess he doesn’t feel we are a threat any more.

Fritz: What’s a “threat?”

Me: A danger.

Katie: Why would a deer think we were a danger?

Fritz: Some people kill deer!

Billy: Yeah, they eat it!

Fritz: They eat the meat!

Billy: That rhymes!

Fritz: Eat…meat! It rhymes!

Me: It’s quite a feat, to eat, the deer’s meat.

Fritz: Sweet!

Bill: What a treat! How neat!

Of course, the backdrop of this rhyming game is the look of horror on Katie’s face now that she knows Bambi could be dinner.

My sentiments exactly.

This morning I soooo wanted to start attending daily Mass daily just so when my kids complained that “We have to go to Mass every day,” it would be true.

And then I went to Mass and remembered again exactly why I don’t go to daily Mass daily. Yes, I suppose if I did it more often the kids would be better behaved. That’s a theory that I fear would require much accumulated time in Purgatory to prove or disprove. You see, for every grace obtained by attending Mass and receiving Communion, I blow it by spending the entire time committing venial sins. Can one truly find God while plotting to murder one’s progeny? When life imprisonment begins to sound appealing (benefit #1: no kids, benefit #2: I’m willing to bet that many prisons have daily Mass), you have to seriously consider the cost/benefit of going to Mass with kids.

Since today was a Holy Day of Obligation, I have no problem with obeying that directive. I feel that my act of compliance out of love of God and Church outweighs any discomfort, embarrassment or distractions I suffered for the 45 minutes. But most days are not days of obligation, and to attend Mass tomorrow, for example, would be an act of insanity, I believe. Perhaps in a few years I’ll be able and willing to torment my children, as they now torment me, by truly going to Mass every day. Paybacks are unpleasant. But, for now, I’ll tough it out on Sundays and leave the rest of the days to obtain God’s graces in some other way.

That spider I washed down the shower drain last week was back this morning. This time, he was in the sink, and boy, did he look mad. Thank goodness my knight was right there ready to rise from his slumber to defend his whimpering damsel.

Thank goodness I am free to be a whimpering damsel when I want to be.