At 820 this MORNING I announced, “OK everybody. Time to get pajamas on!” When the result was CHEERING, I did a quick rewind and replay and then corrected myself, “No, it’s time to get DRESSED.”

Being a stay-at-home mom is only mundane for those who lack creativity or who aren’t up to a challenge. I mean, what’s boring about taking 5 kids shopping for tennis shoes? I think training for the Olympics – perhaps figure skating – is a worthy comparison. You do the same moves, the same jumps, the same twirls over and over and over. And then you perform once or twice and hopefully get thunderous applause. And even if you fall down, you know you’ve done better than most people can do. So moms remind the kids to say please and thank you at least 5 times a day (per child) for approximately 17 years and change diapers ad naseum and on and on and on and then one day your child is grown up and you, hopefully, get thunderous applause.

From Catholic Exchange: how the radical feminists think that going to a dreary desk job and crunching Excel spreadsheets is somehow superior to stimulating and developing the intellect and psyche of our future leaders, scientists and doctors and being queen of a castle where all your subjects think you are the smartest AND most beautiful woman in the whole world.

And then there’s abortion to make sure that all women get to have those dreary desk jobs without the baggage of kids. Why women have allowed themselves to be duped into accepting something that only benefits MEN and a greedy for-profit industry is beyond my ken. Because of abortion, women can now be used as a vehicle for sex with no commitment at all by their lover. I mean, if a woman were to get pregnant, the man can walk away and tell her to get an abortion. At least 50 years ago, he felt some guilt. And perhaps the risk of pregnancy was enough to keep the clothes on when the car got steamy.

And if 8 people died as a result of a new vaccine to prevent colds and flu, the vaccine would be pulled and the company bankrupt.

All the kids got up today at roughly the same time. The requests for food and drink started to come rapid-fire and I set off for the kitchen…but, no, the baby isn’t happy anymore, so back to the living room to pick him off the floor and there I go to do my morning chores with baby on hip. As usual.

I’m stooping to retrieve clean dishes from the dishwasher and multitasking the preparation of Aunt Jemima frozen waffles and pancakes, cereal, milk, and juice and internally laughing again at the (male) friend who was shocked when I confessed to chronic lower back pain (mild) for the past, oh, 9 months or so (last part of pregnancy into 7 months of baby), when I feel wetness on my arm.

I pause to check the baby’s undershirt, suspecting a very wet diaper (it’s first thing in the morning), and finding that it’s not urine but it’s sure yellow.

sigh.

No wonder the kid was fussing. What a beautiful start to the morning! And my PJ sleeve is yellow too. And now I’m reminded of the growing pile of laundry…

Here’s Pete at breakfast yesterday.

“Do you mind, Ma? I’m trying to eat.”

Maybe this works for some babies, but given the fact that I could not put my baby down for a nap AT ALL yesterday and given the excessive amount of gas and spit up I had to deal with as a result, I believe, of consumption of this product, I give this formula a thumb’s down. Pete’s food problems apparently go beyond just milk protein sensitivity. I’m sticking with breastmilk alone (except for that dinner in a week) for a few more months. And no milk, cheese or yogurt for me either. 😦

Thanks to Mark Shea for this interesting read. Too many good quotes, so I settled on this one:

Replacing the zealotry of religious intolerance with a secular version is hardly an enlightened alternative.

According to Bill, my fleece PJs are decidedly unsexy. That’s too bad – for him – since they are so warm and comfy. I think I can actually turn the heat down a few degrees at night since I find myself kicking off the covers. Something soft and clingy will have to wait until spring.

Since I really don’t have a chance to watch TV news or read the newspaper, all my news comes from on-line browsing and from my husband who actually has an opportunity to discuss global issues with people old enough to know what a “global issue” is. I didn’t even know that they increased the price of first-class postage by 2 cents until 2 weeks later. Lame.

But is this making the news? I’m all for treating all religions as equals, unless of course a religion thinks it’s OK to violently target another religion, and then said religion needs to have its be-hind whupped. I don’t expect the Muslim world to accept Christianity as equal, but they better start tolerating it. Yeah, sure, it’s a few bad apples…or it’s not Muslims, it’s terrorists acting in the name of Islam. Right. And the evidence to support the idea that the general Muslim population is opposed to this behavior is where? The government and religious programs to teach tolerance and goodwill to people of other religions are…where?

It comes as no surprise to me: running without a cold/cough feels better than running with one.

Another no-shocker: running without a jogging stroller is easier than running with one.

Now, if I could just remember to double tie my laces before I leave, my run might be wholly enjoyable.

The on-again, off-again goal is currently on: run the Army Ten Miler this fall. The only risk to it being off is, well, moving to Kansas. My currently little run is just over 2 miles, and I’m very proud of those two little miles. But this month, I need to get it up to 3. I did 3 when I was visiting my sister at Thanksgiving time, so the distance doesn’t bother me. But my lame 12 mph airborne shuffle means that Bill is stuck with unhappy baby for 45 minutes instead of a half hour.

He tried to give Pete a bottle last night while I was gone, and Petey did drink some of it. But the poor guy’s been erupting gas bombs out one end or the other all night long. Lovely.

On the 11th of this month, I’m going to a formal dinner with Bill and all the kids, including the lucky baby who usually gets to tag along everywhere, will stay with the sitter. But I think after dinner when there is usually a guest speaker who talks about pretty boring army stuff, I might just have to slip home to nurse the baby to sleep. I’m sure Bill will clue me in on whatever I missed. There’s a rule in the army: the higher in rank you get, the longer your speeches are. And if the guy professes an intention to “keep it brief”, add 15 minutes to what you think it might take.

A rare precious moment I never want to forget. My daughters dressed as superheroes. My boys followed suit. Since the girls were done first, and Fritz was rushing to catch up, he said, “Don’t save the world without me!” The neighborhood kids got dressed up too. The whole lot of them ran off to help the poor and oppressed. These are the moments of childhood I find most precious. Would that they all continue to try to save the world the rest of their lives.

Local superheroes: Jacob Pearl, Billy as Spiderman, Danielle Holdeman and Jenny as Supergirls, Katie, Sam Chase as Darth Vader, Tucker Chase as Robin, Fritz as Batman and Erin Chase.

I went shopping yesterday. I had a mission: to buy a formal dress. The last time I had to do this, I decided to sew my own dress. I still have that dress and like it a lot, but I’m still 11 pounds up (but only 11 pounds up!) from my pre-pregnancy weight and it’s just a bit tight. I’d rather be comfortable, and it’s always good to have a spare dress…or two…or three…

Along on this mission I took a young woman I know. She is 20. It was good to take her, since she kept me from even looking at the old woman dresses. These are very nice, very modest dresses that look best on someone who is 45 or older. I’m not there…yet. Soon, but not yet. So, it was nice to have someone along who kept me focused on younger styles.

The problem with taking this particular woman, though, is that she is a size 4 with A cups. I am currently a size 12 with C/D cups. So, every dress that she tried on looked fantastic on her. Ugly dresses looked great on her. Beautiful dresses looked beautiful on her. And I looked like an slightly overweight, soft-bodied mother of 5, which I am.

big sigh

Anyway, I looked at the dresses that were available and was so very disappointed. Every dress is either strapless or spaghetti-strapped. I couldn’t even find any sleeveless dresses. To make things worse, the cleavage on these dresses dropped below the breasts. And most didn’t have backs, either. Now perhaps I am a bit of a prude and I’m not interested in showing off my body to a whole room of strangers…but from a purely aesthetical standpoint, I really don’t want to see that much of somebody else’s body either. Unless it’s a really nice body. Some dresses simply shouldn’t be made in a size larger than about 8. And perhaps it is fashionable to go about without a bra, but if you’re bigger than a B cup, it’s really not attractive. Really, it’s not. And dresses that have no back, have spaghetti straps and have cleavage to the navel do not allow for the wearing of a bra.

I tried on 6 dresses and settled on one with spaghetti straps. I bought a sheer black scarf to go over the shoulders, since I freeze at normal room temperature. And I’m determined this coming fall to start another sewing project. I’ve got to figure out a way to make an attractive, stylish dress that adjusts without too much trouble to the constantly changing measurements of my constantly changing body.

And with that invention, I’ll make a million bucks!