10 Minutes

I ordered an exercise tape from an infomercial that promised I would loose weight, feel great and have rock hard abs in just 10 minutes a day. In just 10 minutes a day, you can get a full body workout. Work out every major muscle group in just 10 minutes! You get the idea, you can do it all in just 10 minutes a day. I thought, "I got 10 minutes." I was so excited when it came in the mail that I ran (well, okay, walked) to the DVD player and put my new workout video in. That's when I discovered that each workout session was only 10 minutes, but you needed to do multiple sessions to achieve the rock hard abs and great body they promised. So I figured if doing 3 sessions a day can make me look good, doing 5 sessions would make me look great. My husband said, "take it slow."
"Puhh!"
. . . later that day . . .
I met my husband for coffee. As I walked into the diner he asked, "Are you limping?"
"Puhh!"

Note to self: 3 sessions a day is a good start.

God's Got Flair

So far today, I made muffins, had tea and muffins with a friend, wrote a letter to a teacher, spoke to the leader of CAP, strategized a court hearing for a friend, read a psychology report (good job honey), made plans with a friend to get cheap apples (can't wait J), called a friend's counselor on her behalf, agreed to take on another Seeing Eye puppy, washed the dishes, made the beds, cleaned the bathroom and kitchen sinks, put the shoes away in the front hall (how many shoes do 2 feet really need sweetie?), typed up an updated resume for my husband and am now blogging. It's only 1:35 p.m. But, wait, something is missing . . . too early to do the piano lesson run, too early for choir practice, too early to make dinner . . . what did I miss?? Don't you hate that feeling that you missed something, that something will fall through the cracks . . . .??? Oh yeah, I forgot to give Praise to God for all my blessings. Praise You, Lord, for the many blessings you have poured out onto my family. Thank you for the beautiful fall colors all around us, thank you that we don't live in a black and white world, but a world of color. And thank you for the snow. (Snow!!!!!?????) God, You got flair!

The Intricate Workings Of My Children's Minds - Title by Clever Daughter Number 2

So, I asked my children (the 2 at home) what I should blog about. This is what they said.

"About how I wrote an article for the school newspaper and got censored!"
"The incompetence of our health care system."
"How I want a Bass guitar." Side note: He already owns 2 acoustic guitars (named Chick Magnet and Lindsey), and 2 electric guitars (one named Black Beauty and the other named Baby Cakes) and a trumpet (named Brassy).
"How giant my muscles are."
"The Air Force rocks."
"The lack of patriotism in America."
"My level of coolness."
"My brother is gross."

Folks, pray for me.....................

Please Don't Work

When my oldest daughter was 3 I figured it was good to teach her to say thank you. I hadn't, however, taught her to say please yet. After all, she was only 3. So one day I had some ladies over from the neighborhood. They were all stay-at-home mom's with young children. My 3 year old came over and interrupted my conversation (with a certain "proper" mother) and asked for something without saying please. I was so worried that I would look like I was lacking in my parenting skills that I said, "Honey, what is the magic word?" An expression that I had never particularly liked. Why on earth was I saying this to her? She looked at me puzzled (of course) and for 4 - 5 painful seconds I wondered how she would answer such a ridiculous question. She looked at me so serious and finally answered in a questioning voice, "Abracadabra?" I laughed, gave her what she asked for and made sure I taught her to say please later that night. I said, "Honey, it's proper to say please when you ask for something."

She asked, "Please may I have a pony?"

I said, "No."

She said, "Please don't work."

Pumpkin Soup

I don't like to give too much advice (that's a lie and you know it, but humor me). But, here is a piece of advice everyone should heed. If you ever feel the urge to make pumpkin soup for a soup kitchen - DON'T. These are some of the comments I received regarding the gourmet pumpkin soup I made and served at a local soup kitchen.

"Who made this, Mr. Jack O. Lantern?"
"Is this baby food?"
"I don't eat orange food."
"This looks like baby s***."
"Who puked?"
"What else you got?"
"Thanks lady, but no thanks."
And my personal favorite.
"I'm a vegetarian . . . oh, this is pumpkin? I'm fasting."

No Rejects Here

Here is a picture of the puppy my son raised for 18 months for the Seeing Eye. This is him on his "town walk" with his trainer. We got to watch our puppy (from 20 feet away) while he navigated busy city streets, guiding his trainer with confidence and poise. It was amazing to see this goofy puppy, who we nick-named Reject, ready to do what he was born to do. His parents, grandparents, great-grandparents (and so on) were all Seeing Eye dogs. He comes from a long line of servants to the blind. My son did a fantastic job raising him and training him. He followed all the rules and went to all the meetings. He took his puppy to church and to ball games. He gave his time to teach him all he needed to know. And, now, there is success. The puppy may be matched as soon as next week with a blind person. I'm so proud of my son and the puppy. What an example they are to me. I, too, have a great lineage. I, too, can learn by following the rules. And I, too can have success. God is my ultimate Trainer. And even though most people would call me goofy and nick-name me Reject, there is still hope for me.

Beginning, Middle and . . .End?

I love telling stories (could you guess?). I always try to tell them in order; beginning, middle and end. I have friends that are very sweet, but are bad story tellers. They tell me their stories all mixed up. Sometimes they tell me the end first and mix up all details. "I want details!" I tell them. "Tell me from the beginning and was it raining? What were you wearing? What time was it? What'd you have for lunch?" My husband is horrible at details, too. When I ask him about his day, I really want to know. If his day was 8 hours long, I figure it should take at least an hour to retell it to me. Uh-uh. In 3 minutes flat he could tell me everything. Why am I telling you all this? Because I told you a story and titled the last piece, "The Rest Of The Story - It's all she wrote. . ." buuuut. . . it's not the end. Isn't it just like God to re-write a story? So, here's the thing. Pop-Pop is coming back! I don't know all details yet. It seems he woke up one morning in the nursing home and thought, "I made a BIG mistake." He'll be here next week and he'll be splitting his time between here and the nursing home. The sun is shining, it's about 75 degrees, the wind is blowing just enough to stir the brilliant yellow leaves off my birch tree. I hear people in the neighborhood mowing their lawns and the washing machine running (my daughter is home from college this weekend). We had pork chops and baked sweet potatoes with pumpkin muffins for lunch, and all is right in the world. The . . . End????

Teaching Moments

I'm a mom, a mom of teenagers. Time is short. I feel almost breathless thinking of how much I want to teach my children before they leave home. Did I teach them enough? Did my husband and I prepare them enough to go out into the world?? Will they know all they need to know??? So, is it any wonder I try to use every moment as a teaching moment? This is a typical conversation with my teenagers.

"Honey, if you wash your fork as soon as you are done eating, things won't pile up in the sink and really, it saves time because when you have a sink full of things it actually takes longer to wash everything up."
"Mom, in case you haven't noticed, I am still eating!! Do you not see the food still on my plate?"
"I know, honey, but I just wanted to use this moment as a teaching moment, while you were still sitting still."
"You mean, you wanted to ruin my peaceful meal?"
"No, I mean I wanted to teach you so that when you leave home you won't live like a slob."
"I was going to wash my fork and plate when I was done. But now I don't want to because you told me to."
"See, total rebellion. Is that what I can expect from you?"
"Yes, Mom, I am going to leave my dirty fork on the table, rebel against your rules and run out and try illegal drugs."
"I'm not amused."
"Mom, can I have some water?"
"No, all the glasses are dirty."

Change of Scenery

Kate is a good cat. I'm sorry I misrepresented her in my last blog posting. Really, those things I said were more applicable to Nina. Kate has more instinct than a log. Though Kate really did kill the stink bug, I would never call her a waste of cat flesh and fur. (Are we good now, honey?) But Kate does have her issues. She has CLD or Compulsive Licking Disorder (sorry, honey, we've been hiding this secret for long enough - it's good to talk about it). She licks . . . compulsively. It started with her paws. She licked them raw. Then she started to lick the house (I can't make this stuff up). And finally, she began to lick my husband's arms. Now, you've got to be a really sick cat if you're going to lick a 200 pound man. That's when I took her to the vet. The vet wanted to put Kate on Kitty Prozac. I kid you not. "Uh-uh!" said the 200 pound man. So we changed her diet, gave her more attention and talked very gently to her, even when she was licking 200 pound husband. Poor Kate. Maybe a change of scenery would be good for her. Like . . . a college dormitory? Like . . . the one my daughter is at? Hmmm. Sounds like a plan to me ................

Those Little Stinkers

They're baaaaaaaaaaack. Those little stinkers (no, not my teenagers). Those beady eyed, shield carrying, sticky legged, flying stink bugs. They are the skunk of the insect world and they are in my house. They only smell when you crush them. How very clever of them. If you wash them down your drain or run them through the washing machine, they crawl back out in an hour. First, we had Pop-Pop (oh, how I miss that man) and then we had the unfortunate incident with the mole that died in the wall behind our closet and now we have those stupid stink bugs. We also have a really dumb cat. She isn't a mouser, doesn't know her hat from her glove (don't you love how I cleaned that one up?), doesn't even know she's a cat. She's like a log with fur. I know she can't help it, but when I saw her about to pounce on a stink bug in my kitchen I ran down the hallway, like in slow motion - I couldn't get to her fast enough - I yelled, "Noooooooooooo, Kate, you dumb, stupid, idiotic, moronic, waste of cat flesh and fur, don't kill that stink bug!!!" Guess what? She killed the stink bug. Now my house has a lingering Pop-Pop smell, intermingled with Lysol, dead mole and stink bugs . . . does it get any better than this folks???????????