The Ice Cream Cure

As related here before, Susie received a Razor scooter from Grandpa for her birthday. I just noticed the caution label on the handle:

This product moves when being used.

What has this country come to, eh?

*********************

Rachel had her adenoids removed this morning. Wimp that I am, I made sure Larry took the morning off in order to escort her to her outpatient surgery. And being squeamish, I didn't go into a lot of details with Rachel ahead of time about what would happen. Her takeaway being that she was going to get a LOT of ice cream after the "procedure," she was excited about getting in the car with Daddy early this morning. She reminded me of my childhood dog jumping happily into the car for a "ride," only to be driven to the much-hated veterinarian for shots or whatever.

Things went fine, however. She's back home and snoozing on the couch, her tummy full of frozen confections. She's refusing to take the pain meds, though. As luck would have it, I'll be out this evening at Knit Night. How smart of me to schedule the surgery for a Wednesday, I must say...



[Scooter Photo Credit: wiki-land]
[Ice Cream Photo Credit: whoateallthepies.tv]

Early To Bed...

I've got nothing. Sorry. Not even something funny to link to! Anyone seen anything funny lately?

But for now I must get to bed - David's birthday is tomorrow (and, yes, I will have yet another teenager less than 24 hours from now) and something tells me he expects a cake. At least he isn't asking for any space-travel-themed concoction this year...

Art Linkletter Was Right

Today? Was the moment of truth.

90 degrees

Sunny

Nothing to do

"Let's go to the pool!" the bored children cried. And, realizing that delaying yet another week would not make me any thinner or the varicose veins on my legs any less prominent, I said, "Okay! Let's go!" with an enthusiasm that I believe bordered on the heroic.

I proceeded to pack up towels, locate the sunscreen, order the children into swimsuits, and accomplish all the other myriad tasks required for an aquatic pilgrimage with kids. At one point during this flurry of activity, Susie walked into my room. "Are we going yet?" she asked.

"Pretty soon, sweetie - I just have to get changed myself," I told her.

"Yes," Susie said, in a sage tone not usually employed by a 5-year-old, a tone replete with an appreciation of the challenges of middle age. "You have to try and squeeze into your swimsuit."

Well...um...yes, that's one way to put it. I just didn't think the effort was that noticeable. I mean, the squeezing part....

I guess kids do say the darndest things.



[Fat Lady image credit: Lost in Suburbia]

Parenting Illusions

We parents like to believe - nay, we need to believe - that, by doing the "right" things, we can prevent tragedy from befalling our children.

Family dinner hour? Check!

High-tech car seats? Got 'em!

Unconditional love? No problem!

We even up the ante a bit by throwing in some extras: homeschooling, say, or an organic diet, or maybe a solid religious upbringing. Anything, actually, to increase the odds that we won't become one of those families visited by horrific misfortune. And, to further deny the crap shoot that is childrearing, we look for ways that those other parents - the unfortunate ones - may have messed up.

"What do you expect? The kids were home alone after school every day."

or

"That kid played too many video games/watched too much TV/texted her friends all night."

or

"They're not Catholic/Jewish/Evangelical (circle one), like us."

Oh, the list of how other parents have obviously screwed up goes on and on. You see, we need to reassure ourselves that we are in control, that we will not become the next poster family for Kids-Gone-Wrong. We need to protect our illusions of invincibility, even when doing so translates into a lack of compassion for our fellow parents, a refusal to acknowledge our common frailty in the face of the vicissitudes of this earthly life.

But our illusions of control are just that - illusions. True, they give us the courage needed to bear children and to send them out into a world where anything can happen. They give us hope that we can prevent the unthinkable. But these illusions also spare us from facing a discouraging truth: sometimes, despite our best efforts, we cannot save our own child from himself.

*******************

Henry Louis Granju was a beautiful child, a loved child. He was a drug addict, yes; but first, he was MamaPundit's cherished son - a little boy who lit up his parents' world with his smiles, later an older brother adored by his younger siblings. And now, he is dead. There will be no recovery from, no reconciliation for his struggles of the previous 4 years. There will be no happy ending. His is an unfinished story, leaving behind anguished regrets made more painful by the happy memories of a little boy who loved and was loved in return.

For 4 years MamaPundit was immersed in the maelstrom that living with a troubled teen produces - the constant fear for his safety, the self-doubt, the daunting task of finding help for a problem she never dreamed a child of hers would face. She is haunted by the belief that there was something she missed, some way she could have prevented her son's death. On top of that is shock: the shock that her Herculean efforts on her son's behalf have been rendered - cruelly, abruptly - irrelevant by her son's death. At long last the maelstrom has ceased; but it has been replaced by a desolate emptiness rather than by the return of the child she loved.

Please pray for her peace of mind; and pray for H's siblings, including the unborn child MamaPundit is carrying. And perhaps, in honor of her suffering, each and every one of us can try to be a little kinder to whomever we meet today - because we just don't know who else among us may have been similarly sucker-punched by the loss of that illusion of control.

Midnight, With Pretzels

Darn it! I fell asleep at 8PM with a headache, so here it is past midnight and I'm not sleepy. But feeling better. Except for some indigestion that I've self-diagnosed, in my best hypochondriacal fashion, as Stage 4 cancer. I stumbled downstairs to gnaw on some pretzels (because everyone knows that is what remedies Stage 4 cancer) and discovered almost half the family draped over the living room furniture, asleep, with the portable fans trained on them.

We do have air conditioning, you know. Go figure.

Susie's birthday on Tuesday was an unparalleled success, with the Queen for a Day being so worn out that she put herself to bed at 7 PM. Or maybe it wasn't fatigue that did it - maybe it was her new-found maturity at age 5 that enabled her to fall asleep on her own, in her own bed, and stay there all night. Definitely a first around here...

Susie received her very own Razor scooter from Grandpa. I try not to let it bother me that a 5-year-old can ride this diabolical vehicle without falling off, a skill which continues to elude me. Maybe I will just get myself a Segue.

Although I think I would fall off of that, also.



[photo credit: in.com]

Power Corrupts

It being Susie's birthday eve, I must get some shut-eye in preparation for the festivities tomorrow. I told Susie a few days ago that she gets to be Queen for the Day on her birthday. I now regret having done so. The girl has taken that concept and run with it. In fact, she is crazed with power. I overheard her telling Brian this morning, "Tomorrow? It's my BIRTHDAY. And you have to wear a clown costume."

I spent the rest of the day introducing her to the concept of a benevolent dictatorship; but she wasn't having any of it. Verily, I've created a monster.


[Image credit: msrballoons.com]

The Yarn Cure

Octamom is demanding pictures of Fridge #2. Let's make a deal - the day I go over 10,000 readers a day, I'll post those photos. Which makes me pretty safe, as my current average hovers around 200...

My parenting today was less than stellar. I seem to have picked up the cold I thought I had ducked (which is what happens when your 3-year-old sneezes in your face), so I spent half the afternoon lying on the couch; the rest of the day I spent being spectacularly unproductive - jigsaw puzzles, cards, whining...

No, wait, it was the kids who were whining. Whatever...


Rachel has a special talent for injuring herself in bizarre ways. Today she screamed for half an hour because she had shoved a playing card under her fingernail - repeatedly.

[Are you wincing? I'm wincing.]

She says that was the only way she could pick the card up from the floor. I say she was inflicting Karmic payback on herself for a former life spent as a torturer of political prisoners.


It refuses to snow here, which makes me grouchy. How about you all point me to something funny, heh? I could use a laugh, if only to distract me from the ennui that seems to currently be my life.

Yes, I am aware that a good cure for ennui is to start some new knitting project. And order some yarn. Believe me, I'm on it.

More Gray Hairs

That chair? The one that the kids were having so much fun on? The one that was such a great deal at a yard sale? Tonight it cost us a 50-dollar emergency room copay after Rachel swung it around too fast and Susie fell off, landing on her chin.

I didn't know chins could bleed that much.

On the bright side (because that's where I like to live), Susie's teeth weren't knocked out, the stitches at the ER only took 2 hours, and none of the other kids drank Larry's untouched glass of beer while he and I were at the hospital with our injured one.

Yeah, Larry was just settling down for a rare relaxing evening when all this happened. He should have known better, right?

While Susie was still screaming and Larry was attempting to stanch (sp?) the flow of blood, Rachel was yelling at me, "Get the band-aids! Get the Bactine!" She's a natural medic. I just hope she doesn't get any weird sewing ideas after she sees Susie's stitches.

There are 8 stitches on that little chin. Sensible guy that he is, Larry, after getting an initial glimpse of the damage inflicted, said to me, "Let's go. And don't look." I guess he didn't want to deal with an unconscious wife in addition to an injured child. Good call.

And, as usual in these situations, the parents are more traumatized than the child. Susie didn't even cry during the stitching. And she sang herself to sleep tonight while playing with the pretty hospital bracelet the "nice lady" gave her.

******************************

It turns out that the manager at the bookstore is interested in hiring someone who has a kid-induced lobotomy. Imagine that! Can I interest you in our members' discount card?

Name That Post ('Cause I Can't)

Today Rachel turned 6 and, to celebrate, she had her first real birthday party. A real party, meaning people other than family were invited. I ran around the house all morning, cleaning up and ordering the kids to do the same. My bedroom looks like a storage closet because I grabbed all the clutter on the main floor and shoved it up there before the festivities commenced.

It ain't pretty, but it works. Heloise, I'm not.

While Rachel was opening her presents, I commented to my neighbor that it was such a funny coincidence that everyone gave Rachel Hello Kitty stuff and here we had Hello Kitty napkins, plates, etc., for the party. Whereupon my neighbor pointed out that the Hello Kitty invitations that we sent out last week may have just possibly tipped everyone off.

Oh, yeah...I forgot about that.

Anna decorated the cake (and I am so very grateful) and helped Rachel stuff the loot bags. She also hid the loot bags for for the treasure hunt. And she painted Rachel's nails with the Hello Kitty nail polish she bought Rachel for her birthday. For a while there, it felt just like the good old days living with the not-adolescent Anna; that is, until I had the temerity to ask her a simple question, and she looked at me as if I had just passed gas in her face. Oh, well...

I have a dental appointment tomorrow morning. This would be the appointment that is replacing the one I totally blew off a couple of weeks ago. So now I am worried that the dentist may still be angry. And he has all those sharp, pointy instruments lined up, waiting for me...

So I would like to go to bed early this evening, but I know better. I tried to do that last night, but I swear that Larry waits until I get up there to start snoring. Actually, he waits until I have just fallen asleep to start snoring.

So I hit him.

And then he has the nerve to act like he doesn't even know what's going on. Let me tell you, I don't believe him for a minute. This is just his passive-aggressive way of getting back at me for making him get rid of his ugly chair last December.

Marriage can be complicated like that.

Miscellaneous Doesn't Even Begin To Describe It

I am so proud. This post of mine is number 3 on the page when someone Googles "self scan line idiots." Thank you, thank you very much.

And this news item wins my "Too Gross To Finish Reading" prize of the day. I had to read the first paragraph or two, because I just didn't believe the headline meant what I thought it meant. But now I just don't want to know any more.

An anonymous commenter yesterday sent me this link to an article in a Kansas newspaper about what is inside people's fridges. (I think I've tapped into some sort of cultural zeitgeist here.) Most of the women interviewed seemed to have fridges like mine. But there was one overachiever who is so proud of how her refrigerator looks on the inside that she bought a model with a transparent door, just to show it off.

What can I say? There walk among us some who are not human.

[Excuse me while I go look up "zeitgeist." Hmmm.....yes, I think that was the right word; but using cultural in front of it may be redundant. What do you think?]

The Hotfessional saw my 3 bottles of salsa and raised me 12 (yes, 12) bottles of salad dressing. I happily bestow the title of Condiment Queen on her deserving vinagrette-ness. If I knew how to make one of those nifty blog buttons, I would do it and send her the code. She also (feeling bad knowing that she had bested me in the condiment competition) granted me an award that looks very pretty, but I have no idea how to show it here. It says "Brillante Weblog - premio 2008," which may or may not translate to "Brillo Blog - Prematurely 2008." That doesn't really make sense to me, but that's what the blogosphere is all about - you can say anything you like and it doesn't even have to be coherent.

Actually, that hits a little close to home, now, doesn't it?

But what about the kids, you ask? Here I am this week, posting about news articles and the contents of my refrigerator and finances and knitting, and where the heck are the children all this time? Are they foraging for themselves among all those rotting vegetables and bottles of salsa, looking in vain for something to fill their poor little tummies while their mother sits blogging?

(Actually, while I was arranging the food items on the counter for yesterday's photo shoot and yelling at Rachel and Susie to stay out of the picture and stop touching the gross zucchini, for heaven's sake! - Anna said, "You know, this is getting a little weird.")

Happily, everyone has been well-fed this week, despite my out-of-control blogging habit. Theo (our milk-allergic kid) is away, so we've been having a dairyfest of sorts - homemade pizza Tuesday and today; ice cream with the not-quite-jelled peach jam yesterday; homemade whipped cream to go with our blueberries on Monday. We've done everything short of making a butter sculpture, actually.

Oh, and today we had an ice-cream cake (as opposed to our usual homemade, dairy-free ones) for Anna's birthday. We're celebrating a day early, as she is off to a big amusement park with her youth group tomorrow (our birthday present to her). And I just realized that this year is a once-in-a-lifetime birthday for her - because the date is 08/08/08. Is that cool, or what? If only she had been born in the year 2000....

(For those of you who don't think that is really neat, I bet you're the type of folk that don't get all excited about "perfect square" days, either. You probably don't even care that the next one is coming up in 2009, on March the 3rd.)

It is also a special birthday, because it marks exactly 2 years since Anna was stolen by extra-terrestrials and replaced with an alienated teen clone. Anna, honey, we wish you were here! We can't forget how you used to smile at us all the time and how you would greet every day like a present waiting to be opened. We sort of miss that.

(Sigh.) I had better stop now before I get too maudlin. Well, more maudlin...

Is "maudlin" a word? It's looking funny.

Weekly Wrap-Up

You can catch me over at MidCenturyModernMoms today, discussing how I managed to get my teen daughter to pay for a little vacation for me...

And over here, I am just about to hold an exciting drawing to see who will win a copy of Fifty Acres and a Poodle. I've got all the names on pieces of paper and all the pieces of paper are in a plastic baggie (freezer-safe) and now I just have to reach in (no peeking!) and pull one out. Ready?

Here, I'll shake the bag a little first. Okay, here we go...

(Oh, this is so exciting, I almost can't bear to look.)

Kari! Kari is another homeschooling mom who has only recently started showing up around here (or else has only recently de-lurked). Her blog is a must-see if you've ever wanted to know how to convert a school bus into an RV. (And, darn it, Kari, it's your fault I can't get the Partridge Family theme song out of my head this evening.) Anyway, they've just painted the bus (not in Partridge Family colors, to my immense disappointment); and it is well worth looking at.

So, Kari, send me your address (I won't publish it, don't worry) so that I can send you this book. What's that, farmsuite? Where's your book? The one you won last week? Oh. How embarrassing....

Would you believe me if I said I have right here next to me 2 envelopes that I have sworn to address tonight before I allow myself to indulge in the Haagen-Dazs raspberry sorbet that is sitting in my freezer? With any luck, these books might just make it into the mail this week. They've got to, or this book club is going to lose what little credibility it might have. Let's see, where is my pen?

There! Envelope addressed (anyone else feel as though they are forgetting how to write longhand? I swear I had to think about how to write an "m") - now I just have to find the book; it's around here somewhere.

**********************

Produce update: We've baked a double batch of peach cobbler, canned 6 pints of peach jam (with the fruit all floating on the top, which does bother me, still), and have gotten absolutely nowhere with the box of tomatoes, from which is emanating an incredibly foul odor.

Weather update: Electricity prices are supposed to rise by about 20 percent starting this month, so I decided to use our air conditioning 20 percent less to make up for the increased cost (yes, I know, I am a real pioneer woman). Unfortunately, temperatures are hitting the 90's this week, with matching levels of humidity. That fact, plus working in the kitchen for hours with a canning kettle steaming on the stove makes me have second thoughts over my new-found frugality.

Kid update: Anna's away! ...and the livin' is easy...I'm sorry, I cannot help breaking into song every now and then. It's nice to get a break from all that teen girl stuff - you know, the hair crises and the slumped shoulders and this new thing where she'll answer any question or request with an "Um...okay?" along with wide-open eyes and a slight shake of the head which convey with remarkable economy the sentiment, "Sure I'll do it, even though it is a totally nonsensical request that only a total loser grown-up would make." I've tried imitating it when Larry asks for something, but I can't do it right. It's very subtle.

Susie is three. She keeps telling us that.

Rachel's tooth is loose. I don't know if it is naturally loose, or if it is loose due to her aggressively wiggling it because she wants the money.

Health update: We are all taking turns falling prey to this weird throat virus that lasts forever. One of its more endearing features is that it makes its victim start coughing every time he/she falls asleep. I feel as though I am being tortured. The only thing that will stop the cough is sucking on a Ricola cough lozenge, but then I worry that I will choke to death on it as I sleep. The other night I woke up with a little bit of the lozenge left in my mouth and I thought one of my teeth had fallen out. I got a little hysterical.

Otherwise? We're fine. Just fine.

Tomorrow - a new book!

HyperParenting - Exhibit A

Today, I present to you one e-book you'll never find me downloading.

[You didn't click, did you? You never do.]

That's okay, I'll tell you. It's an e-book for parents who struggle "with the difficult decision of picking the right preschool for their child."

That's right, folks! This book is chockfull (sp?) of checklists, worksheets, and planners that promise to enable you to find the right child-family-preschool fit. Also included: handy tips for navigating that tricky admissions process!

Whew! That's a far cry from our method of preschool selection. Essentially, Larry and I have only 2 criteria: location (Less than 3 miles from our house? Check!) and affordability (can we still feed everybody? Barely. Check!).

While it has never fit well into our family's budget (particularly the type with waiting lists and acceptance letters), there have been 2 times in our 16 years of parenting that Larry and I felt that some preschool might not be a bad idea. The first was when David was 4 and lay on the sofa talking to himself all day. Brian was only a toddler at the time, too young to really play with; and David had no friends who were boys. His loneliness and his weird behavior worried us (think Unabomber, okay? because we certainly were); so we sent him off 2 days a week to make some friends of the masculine persuasion and to stay out of my hair for a few hours.

Imagine our dismay upon hearing from a happy David after each (expensive) (for us) preschool session, "I played with Lizzie, and Sarah, and Hailey." Money well-spent, eh? But it did keep him busy, and he seemed to babble a little less when he was home alone; and by the next year Brian was old enough to be his playmate, so we were able to stop paying the big bucks for David to make more girlfriends.

We found ourselves knocking on this same preschool's doors 5 years later, however, with Rachel in tow. You know, Rachel - the 4-year-old of plumbing and taxidermy fame. We had a few qualms about dumping her for 4 days a week on her unsuspecting teachers (and Grandpa had to help us out with the tuition); but we were desperate to find something, anything, to distract her from the mischievous housewrecking in which she had been engaging.

[We tried the Marines first, but they wouldn't take her. Scaredy-cats...]

So there you are: no checklists, no worksheets, just a simple "Here's our child, feed her a snack, here's all our money to sweeten the deal" transaction that bought me some much-needed hours of guilt-free peace and quiet. Preschool, if you can afford it, is a wonderful creation, something invented with a mother's sanity in mind. If your child learns something (other than how to burp at snack), great! If he doesn't, who cares? It ain't Harvard.

And it definitely shouldn't cost as much.

[Don't forget - if you want to be considered for this week's book club giveaway, leave a comment on this post by Saturday evening!]

Beach Joys

Whew! Okay, missed a day. You see, being sick and all, I decided we didn't have anything better to do than go ahead with our plans to make a day trip to the beach, 3 hours away. I felt like hell and probably would have rescheduled; but Larry had hemmed and hawed about being able to take a day off next week instead, so I said, "Fine. We'll stick to this week. Who cares if it kills me?" Because no one can be passive-aggressive like a Jewish wife/mother...

Anna opted, once again, to stay home and hang with her best friend's family for the day. We wasted no energy cajoling her to join us, as her staying home meant we wouldn't have to take 2 cars and thereby saved us about 60 dollars in gas money. Sometimes an alienated teen can be a useful thing to have. Also, her staying home meant that she wasn't sitting with us all day, dementor-like, sucking away any enjoyment we might be deriving from watching the younger ones frolic in the sand and surf.

Not that that bothers me, or anything...

So we packed up the 2 boogie boards, and the cooler full of food, and the 2 cute little beach chairs I got for the girls for only 5 dollars each; and we didn't pack the beach umbrella, which had mysteriously disappeared since last year, and we set off in search of some summer fun. I knitted all the way there, which was nice, even if I did have a sore throat, and laryngitis, and was sleep-deprived because either Susie or I kept waking up coughing for the previous 2 nights. But no problem, really.

We even remembered to bring Larry's new kite. I've mentioned before how flying kites isn't Larry's strong suit, but how he nevertheless persists in his dream of finally getting one of these contraptions aloft. As I am the sort of wife that believes in encouraging her husband in his aspirations, I gave him a real kite (as in, it cost more than 3 dollars and didn't come from Target) for Father's Day. He and the kids were sure that this would finally be the day that they would enjoy the family-bonding experience of kite-flying at the beach.

You know I'm giving it this build-up for a reason, right?

According to the company we bought the kite from, the kite we purchased is perfect for beginners and foolproof to fly. Foolproof, my a**. You'd think the thing was made of lead, the way it insisted on hugging the ground.

So now I hate the kite people for lying to me. You would, too, if you had to stand there for half an hour watching your 11-year-old son attempt to make this thing take the air; and then watch him cry when he couldn't do it. I made elaborate plans to return the purported flying apparatus with an irate note for the prevaricators in the catalog-writing department; but then Larry effectively put the kibosh on that idea by accidentally breaking the kite while packing up the van later.

As far as flying kites goes, my spouse is still the Charlie Browniest.

Other than the kite-flying debacle, however, the day was great. We took a zillion pictures, Susie looked extremely cute napping in her new little chair, and I was happy not to be home feeling as though I should be cleaning something. I would say the beach was wall-to-wall people, only beaches don't have walls. Let's just say it was super crowded with great masses of humanity; and I can't help feeling that, after spending a day observing these great masses, there should be some sort of rules on just who, exactly, is allowed to wear a bikini.

We stopped at Burger King for dinner on the way back, just to make our beach vacation complete. And then I came home to lots of comments on my post about business executives feeling the pinch. Maybe I should send in some low-cost vacation ideas to the WSJ. Do you think their readers know to order from the Dollar Menu?

Announcing...

I'm starting my very own blogging book club. It will be simple, really. I'll read a book, then I will comment on it and give it away. The person who gets it must promise to do the same. (I have no idea how I will enforce that, of course.) I need some incentive to read something decent, because - really - my brain is rotting away from the inside out. I can feel it. I mean, if I see a blog post with paragraphs more than 5 sentences long and/or no pictures, I skip it 'cause it looks too hard. That is a very bad sign, indeed.

Hence, the fun of a giveaway. Granted, I still haven't mailed the first book I gave away; but I promise I will develop a better system. Maybe.

And if I were Marie of Memarie Lane, I would know how to make some sort of cute button advertising this club. Of course, if I were Marie, I would also know how to make my blog look not like a Creamsicle. Dream on...

So! I would like to start this giveaway with The Devil in the Details (Jennifer Traig); but I can't, because my best friend (hello?! are you reading this?) still has it. Until she decides to pretend that she is still literate and finish reading it, I will have to focus on other books I have read (because I've read about 3 other books since that one, not that my friend is slow or anything...).

Instead, I give you Cynthia Kaplan's Why I'm Like This. Her self-deprecating, somewhat neurotic style is a refreshing contrast to what one would assume to be the self-aggrandizing personality of a New York actress/writer. Cynthia never fails to surprise the reader with a fresh take on typical life situations, leaving him/her with a new appreciation for the mundane.

How did that sound? I've been reading a lot of Amazon book reviews, and I think I'm channeling them. Because, truth to tell, no matter how much I like a book, I always end up at a loss for words when I try to explain it to other people. I say things like, "Well, um, it's about this woman who is also an actress, but she's not really like that, she's sort of a regular person, too."

Or, "It's about this person who grew up sort of Jewish in Connecticut and who lives in NYC, but it's really funny."

Or, "I really liked this book because....hmm...I guess I identified with the author, even though we have absolutely nothing in common."

Anyway, if you are just dying to read this book (and then pass it on!) after those scintillating descriptions, please leave a comment saying that you are interested. Thanks! (I must say, this idea sounded very exciting when I first thought of it; I guess I don't get out much.)

***********************

In other news, I have won the much-coveted (by me) Imperfect Parent Blogger award. Unfortunately, I have no idea what the prize is, other than that it is - in the words of the people running the contest - "unique." Frankly, I don't want unique; I want an Amazon gift card. So there may be another giveaway in the offing here. I'll keep you posted.

Poor Susie keeps jerking awake, saying that her ears hurt. We've already pinned her down and forced Motrin into her, but it doesn't seem to have made any difference (aside from traumatizing me). This situation does not bode well for the rest of our weekend.

The illness seems to have come on rather suddenly, as just today Susie (along with Rachel) was a happy attendee at a birthday party which featured The Reptile Lady. I know that sounds like someone who belongs in a circus sideshow (Step right up! See the Bearded Dragon Lady!), but in actuality it was a very personable young woman who arrived at the birthday girl's house with various ugly creatures in tow. These included a bearded dragon, 3 snakes (including a boa constrictor), and a tortoise. I, for one, was completely grossed out (well, except by the lizard - he was sort of cute). Oh, and Rachel is now the proud owner of a stuffed iguana, awarded for her prowess at Pin the Tail on the Donkey. I hope she didn't cheat. I also hope she doesn't cut its head off.

I chose to hang out at the party with the girls, because the alternative was to stay at home and watch Larry tug huge pieces of flagstone all over our backyard in the 90-plus degree heat. In fact, before the party, I was so desperate to get away that I took the kids on a walk to get a free smoothie at a Grand Opening about a mile from us. I figured we'd be the only people in our rather affluent town to be cheap enough to care about a free 12-ounce drink. Apparently, however, the economic downturn is taking its toll; we arrived to find we were 101st in the line waiting for the store to open. I know we were just past 100, because they ran out of free T-shirts just before we got to the door.

They were good smoothies, though.

Well, that's all the news fit to blog for today (and then some); pop on over to MidCenturyModernMoms if you care to find out what the cardinal rule for raising teenagers might be. Or don't. Whatever. I think I've bothered people enough this week.

'Til Death Do Us Part

I found the following assertion (well, warning, really) in this column, which interviewed a priest on marriage advice.

People are the same after marriage as before, only more so.

Pretty astute for someone who has never been married, no? He meant it in the sense that you can't change someone by marrying them (i.e., someone who drinks too much before marriage will drink too much after marriage too). But it occurs to me that this statement is also true in the sense that whatever attracts you to a person in the first place, has the potential to drive you crazy after a while. The boyfriend who is so steady and dependable? Becomes boring. The guy with the great sense of humor? Turns out he can never be serious. One of the things that attracted me to Larry was that he was so nice to everyone he met. Now it often irritates me that he gives everyone the benefit of the doubt. Dammit, can't he be just a little critical?

I'm sure this works the same way for guys, too. The bubbly girlfriend who could hold up her end of the conversation and always had something fun to say? Turns into the wife who just doesn't shut up. The independent, take-charge career woman? Changes to a control freak - can't she ever let her husband make the plans instead?

You know, people mention the 50 percent divorce rate and shake their heads in dismay; but, to my mind, it's amazing that half of all marriages succeed.

Have no fear, though; Larry's and mine will be one of the successful ones. I'm pretty sure that - no matter how much we might irritate one another at times (um, hypothetically speaking, of course), and regardless of what rough spots we might have to navigate in the course of lifelong matrimony - neither of us will be anxious to just bail out. For we have a deal, you see: should one of us decide that the marriage is over? He/she will receive full, unhampered custody of all six kids.

Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "Quitters never win," doesn't it?

Living History

This little tidbit is for all you homeschoolers out there, who I am sure have visited just as many living history museums as our family has. Have I mentioned that we went to Plimouth Plantation at least 3 times during the year we spent in New England, and Sturbridge Village twice? I won't even bother to recount the joyful time we had last year, when we dragged Anna with us to visit Jamestown. Suffice it to say, listening to 50-year-old history nuts dressed in leather jerkins and funny hats tell us how to clean a hunting rifle was not her idea of a fun day. And the 3 and a half hours in the van with her younger siblings? It made the Amistad look like a joy ride. (Thankfully, I was in the other van with Theo.)

My point being, Larry and I are living history nuts; and the children have been made to suffer accordingly.

Oh, and that Imperfect Parent voting thing? I guess people can vote each and every day through the 11th. And, gee, I've never won anything before. All those bloggy giveaways and contests? Nada. So, um, if you wouldn't mind going here again....

Summertime Help

The whining and bickering and complaints of "I'm bored" that are now filling homes around the nation is akin to a summertime plague, like polio - only no one has developed a vaccine for it. Forget expensive day camps and pricey excursions to the movies. Instead, I offer you the following suggestions to survive the season:

Cheap Summer Activities For Kids

1. Inexpensive toys - my 3 youngest spent over an hour yesterday watching foam capsules in a bowl of water expand into animal shapes. I found it in the dollar aisle in Target. (Granted, my kids can be easily amused - but even I was surprised by this one.)
2. Water gun fights - you can buy decent SuperSoakers for 5 dollars each at Target or KMart, which toys will provide your kids with at least an hour of outdoor fun per use (just make sure to lock the door behind them so they can't sneak back inside too soon). Then they spend another half hour fighting over who puts the hose away.  Bonus!
3. Blanket tents and pillow fights - strip all the kids' beds and pile the comforters and pillows neatly on the floor of one of the bedrooms. Tell them not to mess it up (this step is important - it renders the pile irresistible). Leave. Knit for half an hour until someone bonks their head on the side of the dresser.
4. Food - McDonald's has one-dollar sundaes. Why not?
5. Walks - Yeah, it's hot, but it wears them out. By the time you get home from the trek, they lie around the living room, too tired to fight. Remember hydration.
6. Science experiments - Have each kid use a natural mosquito repellent on the right arm and DEET on the left arm. Send them outside for half an hour (again, lock door). When they come in, have them count the bites on each arm. Discuss your results.
7. Remember, if you don't wear them out, they will wear you out. If all else fails, keep the kids busy doing any chores you can think of, until they run away and hide. As always, the best defense is a good offense.

Closets of Darkness

[I'm also posting at MidCenturyModernMoms today. About...middle age...]

Wow. I didn't realize what a project I had taken on. The closets in the kids' rooms were a nightmare. The toys, and the clothes, and the assorted flotsam and jetsam of stray pencils, toys from the dentist, birthday party loot bags, and trash - the horror, oh the horror! During our move last year, I didn't organize the kids' possessions properly; and things have been getting worse ever since. Apparently, the trauma of relocating kept me from even attempting to stay on top of the kid chaos for the past 12 months or so - even with my bag of Flylady tricks, I felt unequal to the task. So, while I kept my kitchen sink shiny and my bathrooms wiped down, everything else in the house has devolved into utter rack and ruin.

I feel like Rip Van Winkle, waking up one year later, looking around and saying, "Where the heck did this mess come from?" I did manage to get everyone switched to their new rooms today, and the younger 4 are all excited, because it's fun to sleep in a different place. Listening to them, you'd think we had relocated to halfway around the planet. Then we went to Target - which, incidentally, has a wonderful air conditioning system - and bought Rachel an early b'day present from Grandma and Grandpa - matching twin patchwork quilts with pretty sheets for her and Susie's beds. So their room is looking pleasingly girly, which makes me feel a lot better. Just don't look in the closet...for the love of God, save yourselves.

Theo will be crashing on the sofa until we manage to haul the humongous filing cabinet out of his new room. (I don't really understand what is in it, as it certainly isn't holding our regular household files - those are overflowing a milk crate in our den, right next to the computer desk.) And then I will still have the pleasure of getting rid of/stashing all the boxes of crap we dumped in the family room. It's enough to make a girl contemplate arson.

Somehow, in between shoveling out closets and desk drawers, I found time today to tidy up and reorganize around here, too. I've been coveting what I call the "live" blog roll I've spotted on other people's blogs. So now (ta-da!) I have one! Check it out. Between that and my "Shared Items" widget, I am feeling positively tech-savvy these days.

Who knows? I may even get up the nerve to mess with my template. Ever since Memarie Lane mentioned that every time she reads my blog, she gets a craving for a Creamsicle, it's been making me sick. I hate Creamsicles.

A Willy Wonka Nightmare

[Oh, how embarrassing. I forgot, completely forgot, that people would be coming over today from Derfwad Manor for a house tour. I didn't even get any snacks. Stop by tomorrow, and I can show you some fun photos of our upstairs in complete disarray as I try to relocate 6 children into different bedrooms. It will be fun, I promise. In the meantime, feel free to make yourselves at home and look around a bit. There's a little something for everyone here. And who knows? You might even find my chocolate stash.]

Regular readers know that I am a head-in-the-sand sort of person, preferring to focus on inconsequential, non-earth-shaking occurrences from my tiny, sheltered life in this blog of mine. But today, I spotted a news article that shook me out of my know-nothing complacency. Is it any wonder? Wouldn't the words "potential candy bar shortage" rock your world, too? I thought so.

Lucky for us, the CEO's at Mars candy company aren't equally complacent. They are working hard to keep our chocolate supply steady and secure, despite the ravages of weather and disease. While I waste my time nattering on and on about kids, and vomit, and (yes) mice, these forward-thinking execs at Mars are leaving no stone unturned in their search for the elusive cacao genome.

My favorite line in the article was this:

Cocoa futures fell nearly 1 percent yesterday.

Who knew? Who knew that anyone traded in cocoa futures? Not me. If I saw a cocoa future, I would probably eat it by mistake. Let us thank our lucky stars that the future of the world's chocolate has not been left in my entirely incapable hands.

************

And that's it, folks...have a great weekend! I'm busy re-arranging all the bedrooms, because - as it turns out - when we moved last year, I managed to put all the kids in the wrong places. It's a talent of mine.

So, Theo is moving downstairs to the guest bedroom that we finally managed to paint and repair; Susie is leaving my room (I hope) to move with Rachel into the bedroom where I had originally (erroneously) deposited David and Brian. I'm moving David and Brian to Theo's old room, because it has a bigger closet where David can hide all his duct-tape-craft-stick creations from his mean mommy. Anna will remain in the room she had heretofore been sharing with Rachel.

Will I experience an outpouring of gratitude from Anna when she comes home to discover that she has her very own room? Don't be silly. She will consider her new solitary splendor as merely her due, her royal birthright. I am hoping she secludes herself in it until she decides to like me again. Which will be, say, 4 years from now. If I'm lucky.

Square-Futile Gardening

I haven't talked about our garden much lately. Mostly because I'm embarrassed. I just managed to kill a zucchini plant. You know how hard it is to do that?

Meanwhile, I've been hacking away at the weeds in the fourth garden box in order to plant some cucumber plant seedlings that David has nurtured on our back deck. Nurtured, just to hand them over to me so that I can kill them, too.

I know, it's a special talent of mine.

I read Square-Foot Gardening years ago; and I persist in the delusion that this method will work for me. All around me are plots which are now sporting rows of lush vegetation of the non-weed variety. Thick bushy tomato plants staked to poles, crowded beds of lettuce, stands of basil - it looks like the Garden of Eden before the Fall. In the midst of it all is my anal-looking Square-Foot demo garden, with 6 4-foot by 4-foot regulation garden boxes, 2 of which are filled with weeds that are growing with a frightening velocity toward the sky (think Jack and the Beanstalk). The 4 cultivated (barely) boxes look pathetic, with their dying basil, the already dead zucchini plant, and a bunch of tomato seedlings which, while not dying, are not exactly thriving either. It all looks like a botanical practical joke. In fact, I feel like the class clown of the community gardens.

And, yet, I can't give up. I have young children who do not realize that the visions of copious amounts of produce that dance through their heads will never be realized. Who do not understand that, merely by suggesting we grow things in the garden this year, their mother has essentially lied to them. Because she knew that success would be a chimera, a tantalizing pot of gold at the end of a blood, sweat, and tears rainbow. These trusting innocents still believe, gosh darn it, despite all evidence to the contrary, that we will end up with market baskets full of edibles; and who am I to destroy their dream? No, as long as they believe, I must continue this charade of horticultural competence. I'm just praying for an act of God (earthquake, twister, whatever) to come along and destroy our work before the kids realize it was all for nought anyway.

But, I swear, if I read one more blog with people showing off photos of their gardening successes (Barb), I may have to quit the blogosphere until the first frost. Talk about salt in my wounds...