Haircuts

Bill had been needing a haircut for some days.  Two boys had been needing haircuts for some weeks.  One boy had been needing a haircut since his last haircut.  I had hoped haircuts could be accomplished in a joint session, one that did not involve me, at Bill's favorite local barber.  Instead, I found myself driving my shaggy husband to the airport for a trip with my shaggy boys riding along behind.

The dog decided to come along too.

And I happened to realize on the way that I had left my cell phone behind.

After dropping my husband off amidst so many tears you might have thought he was heading off to war, I returned to our little town and went to the barber shop.  Mary and Peter had fallen asleep, so I left Katie and Jenny in the car, parked right out front, to monitor them.  I got the boys in line.  Jenny kept going from the car to the shop and in no time at all, Peter was awake and playing in the corner with the toys.  A few minutes later, Katie comes in with Mary on her hip.

Fortunately, it's a pretty big shop.

After Katie deposits Mary on my lap, she says she's going back to the car for the keys.  It was a warm day, and I had left the car running with the air on.  A second later, she returns to tearfully tell me she had hit the automatic lock on the way out.  So, the keys are in the car, which is running and keeping the dog cool.

And my cell phone is at home.

I have several friends who would happily respond to my need for help, but I don't know their phone numbers.  That's what the cell phone is for, right?

Right.

The barber shop had a phone book, but a quick flip through it did not reveal the names I sought.  That's the problem with having transient military friends.

While Fritz had his head shaved and Billy had his hair trimmed, I sat and thought.  I estimated I was 3 miles from home, and the road, which I have biked and run, is not a good one to walk with children.  I have AAA, but that would have taken up to another hour of my day which was rapidly approaching dinnertime.  Fortunately, I do live in a small town, and my dentist is also my neighbor's dentist and was located about 200 yards down the street.  After Fritz was done, I sent him to the dentist's office to ask them to call our friend who was able to get spare keys from our house and drive them over with very little waiting on our part. 

I really hope my husband can take the boys to get their haircuts from now on. 

*******

Meanwhile, my husband, visiting Texas, has some free time.  He finds a barber shop which bills itself as a man's barber shop.  When he tells me this, I immediately think of pinups on the wall, but he describes the pool table in the corner and the strong smell of aftershave.  As he takes a seat, someone asks him if he'd like a beer while he waited.  And not just any beer, no, a bottled local brew.

"And it was free!" he tells me.

"How much was the haircut?" I ask.

"Twenty-six dollars," he responds somewhat sheepishly.  That's about double our local barber.

"Then it wasn't free," I tell him.

Fortunately, we're not moving there any time soon, so it won't be a habit.

*******

Back to Fritz: when he got his ** "high and tight, skin on the sides" ** the barber finished him up with a good dousing of aftershave.  He smelled so good and reminded me of his dad every time he passed near me that afternoon and evening. 

Of course, he hated it, and happily took a shower at his first opportunity just to rid himself of the stench.

** For those of you unfamiliar with the terminology of a military haircut, a high and tight is when the sides and back are very short and most of the hair is on top.  Skin on the sides means that you shave it all the way down.  Fritz got this cut nearly a week ago, so you can see it's growing back already.

A Man Experiencing Childbirth

It's a long video, but I laughed through the whole thing. I suspect my husband wouldn't be stupid enough to sign up for this experiment.

H/T Jennifer Hartline

Stations of the Cross for Children

I'm getting lots of pings regarding Stations of the Cross for children...is Lent approaching or what?

The link on my original post was defunct but is now fixed.  You can get the pdf here as well.

School Day

On the way home from a visit to our favorite local ice cream place...

...and I have to stop right here and gloat mention that I've had my heater turned off for more days than I can remember and the windows open wide, even at night...

...a visit which commenced at a time at least one hour prior to the end of the local elementary schools' day, Jenny asked me if my mother had made me do schoolwork all.day.long.

I told her no, that my mother made me GO to school all.day.long.  And then I came home and did homework all.night.long.

She was surprised that I hadn't been homeschooled.  My mother worked, I explained. 

"What did your dad do then?" she wondered. 

They have no idea how lucky they are.

*******

These guys paid us a visit on Valentine's Day.  I don't know what they are.  My bird experts are all unavailable right now.  We love living in this part of the country partly because of all the different birds we get to see.

Note that this was taken during school hours and all the children saw them.  I never got to see interesting birds while I was at school all.day.long.

*******

And then this morning, Katie came running in from the backyard where she was reading her history book in the sunshine (note: I did not get to read history books outdoors on beautiful mornings while I was in school all.day.long) to announce that there was a wounded bird in our yard.

"Leave it alone!"  That was the first thing I shouted.  "Get back to your math!"  That was the next thing, directed at the boys who had sprung from their seats.  Unfortunately, there was someone at the door, and in my absence, they all ignored me.

It was a goldfinch.

Here are my children doing schoolwork all.day.long.

Yes, that's a bird in Katie's hand.

He is pretty cute.  But his eyes kept closing.  I don't know what was wrong with him. 

Normally a bird would be wide eyed and shaking like a leaf.  And not in a child's hand.  Even a cute one.

I made Katie put him down by the back fence.  He blends in really well.

I zoomed in so you could spot him.

I love my camera.

Thank you, honey.

Anyway, I shooed him through the fence so the dog couldn't get him.  Or the children.  There is overhead cover at that spot, so I thought he'd be protected from the hawks we often see.  A short while later, Katie said he was gone, but she felt that a particular goldfinch she saw flying around was him.  Perhaps.  I hope so.  He may just have been dazed, perhaps he flew into a window and needed a rest to recover.

Or maybe somebody's cat got him.  Don't want to know.

Don't you just pity my children their oppressive school conditions?

Better living through Apps

During the summer months, I'm a pretty good housekeeper.  But when school is in session, that necessary work takes priority, and cleaning house takes the back seat.  Oh, the basics get done...the kitchen gets cleaned and the toilets get scrubbed...but the detail work like fingerprints on walls or chaos under the bathroom sinks does not.

And it makes me grumpy.  I go about my day noticing all these things that I should be cleaning...would be cleaning...if only my darling children were off at school freeing me to polish the chandeliers and take a toothbrush to the gunk around the sink faucets.

If you've read Sink Reflections by FlyLady (a good book, by the way), she breaks the home into zones and every week you work on just a little bit in that zone.  Instead of getting annoyed, frustrated and upset at the fingerprints on every wall in the house, you only worry about the ones in that week's zone.  In 15 minutes a day - only 15 minutes - your home will begin to look better, one zone at a time.  I read Sink Reflections years and years ago (after failing to make heads or tails of the website), and made a Control Journal - a checklist of things to do throughout the day or week.  I copied her detailed cleaning lists for the various zones off her website and for some time used the FlyLady program to organize my cleaning.

Then, in 2003, my husband deployed, I began homeschooling, and my 4th child was born.  I quickly realized that FlyLady wasn't going to help me survive the year, so I took a very practical approach to housework:  I hired a cleaning lady.

And for 7 years, in 3 different states, I continued to support the local economy and my personal sanity by outsourcing the grunge work.  These fabulous women didn't do fingerprints any more than I did, but every now and then, instead of finally tackling that sticky kitchen floor (which wasn't sticky because it had been mopped recently by someone else), I would spend a few minutes vacuuming the couch or decluttering a closet.  Life was good.

Then we moved here, and I weaned myself off my domestic help, cold turkey.  It's been a year.  I've survived.

I don't have an infant.  I now don't even have a toddler.  I now have capable helpers, not just mess-making helpers. 

But I still have 6 children at home 24/7.  And I still have fingerprints on the wall.

And after a year, and especially after half a school year, I have clutter build-up and a disorganized pantry and a thick layer of dust on the ceiling fans.

And I'm grumpy and I start thinking of sending my children off to school just for a month, just so I can clean.

However, a few weeks ago, I actually made it onto Facebook, an infrequent occurrence, but the timing was perfect.  One friend mentioned an iPhone / iTouch / iPad app to another friend.  The app is HomeRoutines which is basically FlyLady for your personal handheld device.  No more Control Journal.  No more spinning your wheels and not having any idea where to even start on cleaning your house.  The app is fully customizable...I even have a to-do list for glasses of water per day (I am very bad about drinking enough water).  It's exactly what I needed to prioritize my cleaning and inspire me to do just a little bit at a time.

Now, once again, I am not getting annoyed, frustrated and upset at the fingerprints on every wall in the house.  Now I am only annoyed, frustrated and upset at the fingerprints in that week's zone.  I've been using the app for 2 weeks now, and I have to admit that I haven't done much additional cleaning - it really shouldn't be that hard to find 15 minutes a day, right?  But at least, I am letting go of most of the mess and just focusing on one area of the home.  It feels better, even if it doesn't look much better.  Over time, I expect improvements. 

And when summer comes, I'll know exactly where to start.

Neo-Pharisees

I can not fully describe my emotions a few nights ago when I should have been in bed sleeping, but was instead surfing the Catholic blogosphere.

Flabbergasted.

Outraged.

Nauseated.

I won't even link to the pages that so inspired these strong reactions.  However, I will link to these posts which are like a bright light cutting through murky waters.  He makes every point that I shouted at my poor husband who got the full brunt of my ranting.

Lila: Is it moral to lie?

The Lila Enigma: Selective Outrage?


Common sense, people.
 
BTW, if you, gentle reader, are ever fleeing an unjust law, come to me.  I will aid and abet.

Same old same old

My almost 11 year old son was showing off his pinewood derby car to the almost 12 year old girl down the street.  Since these two are normally at each other's throats, I was surprised to hear their conversation be rather pleasant.  The girl was suitably impressed with his artwork and asked if he had done any other painting.  It was all very polite and almost adult...and I began to wonder if my son had turned into a different creature.  Should I begin to worry about how he spends his free time?  Might he be beginning to see girls in a different light that would require closer supervision?  Is this the start of him mooning around moping after girls and wondering why they never pay him any attention?

Then the girl asked, "Want to go jump on the trampoline?"

And his response: "With you?  No."  And they went outside.

No supervision required.

Another week ending

Mary had a thermometer in her mouth.  When it beeped she pulled it out and announced, "48 inches!"

*******

It would be much easier to be a saint if people would stop irritating me.  Billy's Cub Scout Pack has been promising for several weeks that potluck assignments for the Blue and Gold Banquet would be given out by den.  The banquet is tomorrow.  I got the email this morning, sent late last night.  I wasn't planning on going to the store today. 

*******

Mary really wants me to go and watch Barney with her.  Yeah, me.  This is the best I can do for a blog post today.

Homemade Valentines

Fritz, my boy
You are half a man
Omelets you make
In a pan
Soon you will be
Taller than me
Fi fi fiddle dum
Fiddle dum dee.

*******

Oh my Billy
My sweet, my sweet
When you walk by
The birds do tweet
The sun does shine
And life seems grand
Especially when you
Hold my hand

*******

O Kate
You do so rate
High in my esteem.
You help me cook
You help me bake
And you help me clean.

*******

My daughter Jenny
Doesn't cluck like a hen-ny
We didn't name her Benny
'Cause she's a girl.
She has big green eyes
She is quite a prize
But she doesn't wear ties
'Cause she's a girl.

*******

Peter Peter
Gumbo spice
Come over here
And kiss me twice
Once on this cheek
Once on that
Now I'm happy
How 'bout that!

*******

Mary, my little cutie pie
If you were sad, then I would cry
Usually, though, you're very happy
Especially when you've had a nap-py.

Harmonicas on Aisle 8

I was really excited about the 6 pack of hard cider in my cart, but when I got to the checkout lane, the lady reminded me it was Sunday.

Now I know why they are called blue laws.

How my husband spends his work day

My husband in the news:  Fort Stewart's Warrior Transition Battalion soldiers learn from U.S. Paralympic Team.



And if you go to this FB page, you can see him particpating in a spin class.  He's mortified.

Just rambling

Despite having taught 3 children the poem, The Duel, it is only on my fourth child that I really "get" the line The Chinese Plate looked very blue.

Maybe I'm just feeling punchy, but that line has me LOLing.

*******

I was trying to help a friend out by watching her baby so she could have a break.  When I started mentioning weekend times, she hemmed and hawed and finally said that another friend was trying to help my husband out by watching my kids so we could have a date.  She made me promise to act surprised.

Then the babysitting friend complains that my husband hasn't called her to arrange the date, but I'm supposed to be surprised.

Last night, talking to my husband, I mentioned that my friend told me to tell him to call her.

"Do you know why?" he asked.

I paused to think how best to answer that question.

"Why?" I responded.

He then told me all about the possible date. 

I wondered if he was going to ask me to act surprised.

*******

I found a great way to save money at the grocery store: get there 10 minutes before closing time.  You will only buy what you absolutely have to.

Unfortunately, milk, butter, flour, sugar, a few boxes of cereal (with coupons), and canned tomatoes for Saturday's chili will still cost you nearly $75.

*******

Speaking of grocery stores, several weeks ago, I was in the produce section of our local store at the same time that they were having some sort of meeting.  As the meeting was wrapping up, someone said "Gimme a K!" and the employees said "K!"

"Gimme a R!"

"R!"

"Gimme a O!"

"O!"

I thought I would die of embarrassment on behalf of these adults.  But the worst was yet to come as they concluded their cheer:

"Gimme a GRRRRRR!"

I don't think adults should have to growl like a wild animal in public, do you?

*******

I'm so glad the weekend is here.

Not ready to take on the day

Lying in bed in an early morning haze, I ask myself, "Is it Friday or Saturday?"

Saturday?  Please, oh, please, oh please?  Please let it be Saturday.

It's too early to think, but I force myself:  "Was yesterday Thursday or Friday?"

It had to be Friday if today is Saturday.

"What did I do yesterday?  School..."

You do school on Fridays!

"Isn't that noise Bill's alarm clock?"

No, no, you're only dreaming...

"If that's his alarm clock, it can't be Saturday.  It must be Friday."

NOOOOOO!

"Bummer."

Love hurts

Amazing how happy a man can be when his favorite team wins.

*******

When doing our Saturday cleaning, I finally threw away a branch of old shriveled mistletoe my husband had plucked from a tree in our yard.  He had mounted it above the kitchen sink.

When I saw it there, I asked, "Do you really need that as an excuse?"

*******

Two years ago, I bought my husband a shotgun.

Back in November, he bought me ear protection.  We never did go out shooting, though.  I think he got sick.

Finally, yesterday morning, we went to a shooting range and fired that gun for the first time.  He shot skeet, and used up most of the one box of ammo we brought.  Fritz had baseball tryouts in the early afternoon, so we had only a bit of time left.  My husband offered to buy more ammo, but I thought the two shots left would be enough for this time.  I just wanted to know how to load and fire the gun.

If you've never shot before, the people showing you how to load the gun, chamber a round, keep your finger on the side until you're ready to fire, place the butt in the pocket between your arm and torso, keep both eyes open and your cheek against the stock, and line the target up with the sight, might fail to mention that you have to put most of your weight on your front foot.

Just so you know, if you don't do that, you might fall over backwards.

I managed to catch myself, but, boy, what a kick.

And, that pocket between the arm and the torso where you placed the butt of the gun?  The same force that wants to throw you backward is also exerted on your shoulder there.  I only shot two rounds, but I can feel them today.  Not sure I want to shoot an entire box.  Ouch.

*******

Is it Monday again already?  I'm trying to figure out what time I should make my happy Packers fans get out of bed.  It's events like these that make me want to live on the West Coast.

Humble Cake

My yellow food dye turned out rather...orange-y.

Oh, the humiliation.  What will my husband say when he sees it?  I am confident he will be chuckling at me for...ever.

And Mary would like you to know that food dye tastes yucky.

Just in case you were ever tempted to eat some.

Who's playing today?

The bakery at the supermarket had decorated cupcakes for the big game.

You could buy a half dozen where half (that's three, for those of you not into higher math) had black frosting and the other half had yellow frosting.

OK.

Then there were other half dozen packages.  Half were green.

The other half were...orange.

Um.  Hum.

I bought eggs to make our own. 

We'll be using green and yellow frosting.

Pilots of Penzance

I read Mary a bedtime story and she pointed to a picture of Prairie Dawn dressed like a pirate.

"I want to be a pilot," she said.

I'm sure she pronounced it that way because she's three. 

And not because we had been watching any Gilbert and Sullivan.

Crazy love

Last night, my husband happened to climb into bed at the exact same time as I did.  We usually go to bed around the same time, but one of us is still brushing teeth or checking on the kids or something, so we don't physically get into the bed together.

As I often do, I reached down and pulled the comforter closer to the head of the bed. 

"Oh, thank you," my husband gushed, "I always feel like I have to curl up at the bottom of the bed to keep warm."

Ahem.

My husband generally makes the bed.  I almost always change the sheets, and sometimes I make the bed if my husband isn't home or if there was still a warm body in it when he left for work.  But most mornings, making the bed is a little act of service that my husband does for me, and I love him for it.

Now, if you have ever done something nice for somebody and had them criticize you for it, perhaps you did your lazy, filthy sweet boyfriend's laundry for no reason other than because he had been wearing the same outfit for 2 weeks you were trying to be nice and he then told you that you folded all the clothes wrong and even the method by which you paired the socks was incorrect, you might recognize that a gift of service is a gift and should not be received in any way other than with supreme gratitude.

And Heaven forbid you should marry this young punk man, I guarantee that he will make you change the way you fold your towels.

{This, of course, happened to a friend of a friend and not me (oh, no), and I am merely relating what I learned from her experience.}

So, even though, every night, the comforter would slip a bit down toward the foot of the bed, and every morning, my husband would neatly make the bed with the comforter a bit lower, I did not point this out to him.  I thanked him graciously, and every few nights, I would haul the comforter closer to the top with, I assure you, no malice or irritation at all.  I am truly grateful for my husband's act of service.

But then he caught me pulling the comforter up, and I pointed out to him that when I change the sheets, the comforter is at the top of the bed.  I gently reminded him that he makes the bed, usually, and pointed out that the comforter slips lower every night.

He did not know that, and promised me he would do a better job making the bed.  He was so contrite, that I wonder for how long he had been irritated at how I placed the comforter toward the foot of the bed, but had been suppressing his irritation out of love.  Old married couples do that, you know.  Each offers up annoyance at how things are done, thinking that the other person likes it that way...but meanwhile the spouse thinks you like it that way and is equally annoyed. 

My husband will laugh when he reads this post and I tell him that we have been living an Abilene paradox.

This morning, Mary was curled up in our bed when he left for work.  I pulled the covers up with one hand while holding her with my other arm, so the bed is not well made.  Later I will fix it.  And I'm looking forward to an agreeably well made bed from here on out.