Celebrating--Our Style

Since Sexy Guy and I were first married,
there were Valentine Days with candle lit meals (which were
very hard to pull off since his work is always so unpredictable). There were surprise birthday parties, birthdays spent watching The Phantom in London, holidays in foreign countries...
but somehow we rarely get our anniversary right.
We did fine the first year and the third year when we were home and were able to eat in our favourite fine-dining place, but it's gone downhill from there.

We were married just four days after Christmas-- which is great for a young couple in love, but not so much so for a couple of tired people having just pulled off impossible Christmases for a house full of kids.

Last year we decided to use our one and only babysitting opportunity of the year to go out and see a movie together in Norwich. Unfortunately, no one called to tell the cinema of our plans and when we got there, we realized their website was incorrect and they weren't showing that movie that day. We went to Pizza Hut, had a dinner that could only be eaten in a family pizza place. Our babysitters were stunned to see us home so early.


This year we wanted to see Sherlock Holmes. It wasn't playing near us, so again we'd be driving into Norwich. We booked our babysitters for 6 pm, but then found out the movie started at 6 and we had a 30+ minute drive to get there.
I HATE walking into a movie late.
Hate it. Won't do it.

Remember Time Traveler's Wife? I escaped childless one evening and drove frantically into town only to have trouble parking the car which was going to put me walking into the cinema 15 minutes into the movie. I turned around and came home, discouraged and depressed. My husband can't understand it. I insisted that you don't enter a time traveling movie after it's started regardless if you've read the book.

Tuesday I was taking the kids to The Chipmunks and myself to Avatar and again had fifteen minutes of parking issues. When I went to pay the lady said, "The movies have already started"

"No previews? No adverts?"

"No."

Insane. Whenever we have Miss Ky, with her very limited attention span, there's at least 15-20 minutes of car advertisements, TV show plugs, mobile phone warnings and upcoming movie previews. NOT when I'm running late though.

SO,

Last night, in celebration of our happily wedded bliss, we were going to see Sherlock Holmes. The hubby convinced the babysitters to come earlier. We had difficulty getting out of the house because of demands of a certain toddler girl, but we got out with plenty of time left.

We drove efficiently.
We got to Norwich with ten minutes to spare.


We got stuck behind some buses. The clock ticked.

My husband's little car whipped quickly into the Mall's car park. We walked at only a pace a couple without children can walk... the ticket window?
They had combined it with the refreshment counter.
There was a queue! One minute until the movie (or previews) started.

Luckily, the queue moved quickly.

We paid for our show, rushed through corridors getting to our theater, #4. There was a queue waiting outside for #3 and I wondered which movie that might be since a lot of people were eagerly waiting to see it-- never mind, straight into Sherlock Holmes!

We entered and our eyes screamed for the ability to see.

Have you ever stood in a completely light-less room? I used to develop film and believe me your eyes never stop desperately trying to make sense of things. It's like trying to breathe quietly by limiting your breath-- suddenly your lungs require more oxygen and won't have it any other way.

The movie had started. I was disappointed to see Robert Downey Jr.'s face as big as my car when I had hoped it would be a preview playing.

There were no seats... we scanned the cinema for two seats together.

Sexy Guy finally plunged into the crowd, so I followed hoping he was leading us somewhere we'd be sitting where we could at least see each other.
We pushed through an aisle--"Excuse me. Sorry. Sorry. thank you. Excuse me." Poor people , it happened to be during an action scene.
We plopped into our seats after the guy I'd be next to moved his coat and drink out of my seat.

Oh my holy cow. We are sitting in the second row.

My head is craned back in a very uncomfortable position. The image is too big and moving too quickly for me to focus on anything. Fists are swinging, guns are popping, men are jumping and rolling and my stomach begins to roll in the feeling of vertigo.

I wanted to cry.
We've entered a movie late. I am too close to the screen to keep my eyes open without vomiting.
For the hubby, I soldier on.

Eventually, my head adjusts for the closeness and I focus on the screen the way you focus on something in your blind spot-- looking but not really looking. The way you find hidden images in those eye-teasing posters.

As the movie romped on (impressive in the way this movie starts immediately in action and makes you try to piece together the connections between characters without all that silly "catch up" intro some have), I had one thing niggling at me.

Why did some people speak with American accents?
This isn't going to be like Robyn Hood all over again, is it?

Within an hour, Sherlock already began expounding on the different clues that had carried him to his conclusions. References were made to the scenes... we had missed.

A lot of scenes we had missed.

Sherlock even referenced the American Ambassador.
"Oh! Of course he would have an American accent..."

I whispered, "Wow, we must've missed quite a bit".

The credits began rolling.
AN hour and a half before we expected this 2 hour 8 minute movie to end!
Wha...?

I tell the hubby to check the tickets. He was the one who insisted we were in theater 4, "Check the tickets!".

You guessed it. Our movie was in #3.

Our anniversary date record remains intact.

You silly people that go out to dine by candle light or are swept off on a plane to New York City to catch a Broadway show, or frolic on a tropical beach while drinking colourful drinks wielding equally colourful paper umbrellas-- you haven't lived until you watch a movie starting at the end. Anyone can keep up with all of the facts presented nicely to begin, but it takes a real couple to piece everything together backwards.

Happy Anniversary, Husband. What do you want to not see next year?

Favouritism

Tonight I tread on the precipice of bad mothering.

I told child 4 of 5 (the 6 year-old) that yes, he could have a cookie.

His two older siblings began the full-on whine "What? Unfair!"

"How come he gets a cookie?!"


"um, because he's adorable and he's got this cute little lisp and big brown eyes and has burst into tears three times today just because you meanie boys have looked at him wrong or scolded him for being 6... "

NOT what I said.

I DID say, "Because he asked for one".

They continued to complain. To whinge. To declare the unfairness of it all and all I could think was, "You two are totally missing the point, he asked for one".

I finally caved
and pointed it out to them... silly, thick kids.
But it turns out that I'm the thick one.

Apparently that was the last sugar cookie. There's another left on the plate,
but it's Miss Ky's creation.

The one even she won't eat.

Christmas With a Girl

Remember the dress that I had to write an apology post for?


Oh yeah.







No regrets now. I take it back. I am NOT sorry.

Happy Birthday Eve

Let the miracles begin...

Remember two years ago when Miss Ky fell on the concrete font at the Christingle Service and required stitches on her forehead?

Yesterday while out shopping with Dad, her face got up close
and personal with an icy step.



We did an emergency run on terrible roads to the base dentist and I'm glad to report that she won't lose the tooth. I could gloat about how this would never happen on my watch, but it's Miss Ky.

It helped snap me out of my funk (nearly vomiting in the car while Dad retold the story of how her mouth hit the sidewalk will snap me out of just about anything).

Son # 1 and I spent nearly an hour on the phone while
shooting each other photos.

Here's one he sent me.





Just so you know, he does NOT have a zoom lens.

I asked him if the snake struck at him and he said, "Oh yeah, he really wanted me dead".

On the 8th, I mailed the kid a box filled with one small gift to open per day for the week leading up to Christmas.
The package STILL hasn't made it to him.
His sister, who drew his name this year, had an Amazon gift shipped directly to him (she's amazing for a three-year old). I told him it was safe to open it since Miss Ky had paid extra to have it wrapped with a gift card... can you guess?
Amazon must've been really busy to have messed that one up.

BUT

I'm not going to let it get me down.

The gift miracles didn't happen (no bike, no gifts to the oldest who is alone), but the main gift did, 2000 years ago and that's what it's all about--the real reason we run ourselves ragged in terrible weather (and far into debt) is to show how much we love someone, how much we want to celebrate the birth of Christ.

My children are happy, healthy and not carrying snake venom in their bloodstream. Life is good.

I hope your homes are filled with the love and happiness you each deserve. Thank you for your kind words, your friendship and for letting me into your lives with your wonderful stories and comments.

Happy Christmas!! See you on boxing Day.

Waterlogged

Leave it to me to be the wet blanket on the day before the night before Christmas...

Rain came one night and took most of my white Christmas away. I love rain, but that night I stood at the window and cried.

It's probably not the rain.
It's not hormones either... at least I don't think it is,
but there's a sadness I can't shake.

It could be that I was burned out the last two months by the demands made on me at church.
Can I just say, if you think someone is not doing what you would do in a job or church calling, that you offer to do it for him/her for a month instead of calling to give her your "advice"? I gave up a lot of my Christmas preparation time, children time, and certainly husband time to meet others needs and in return I was chastised for not doing more. By people who have been doing nothing. Doesn't help my struggles with feeling charitable at the moment.

It could be that I desperately miss our Christmas Cantata that we participated in every year. I miss doing my soprano descants. I miss our choir director looking like he would burst with pride when we got something right.

It could be that this year there will be no 3-day New Year's Risk game with the oldest son--oh! that could be it because I just sprung a leak.

It's a good year for him not to be here.
With the snow, ice and wind, our airports, trains and busses have been crippled-- he would have been stranded.



So the game sits in the closet.
With all of the others.
At least they'll stay dry.

Luckily for me, instead of journaling, I photograph. As I was telling my mother that I have let my family down and haven't been able to capture the magic this year, I realized I hadn't emailed pictures in a while. So I compiled a photostory of the last month...



The kids at the Norwich Football Party where they met and chatted with the first team (and one day I will look back and laugh at the moment my child had me wishing the ground would swallow me whole-- a first for me-- but right now I'm still not laughing).


A2's Christmas Nativity.


He giggled through the last song as he and his friend kept elbowing each other.
He told me later it was because the kid had given him a wedgy.
I missed that part.

There's the Thursford Christmas Spectacular we drove forever to get to...

and drove "forever" back home not speaking to each other.
It looked like we were having fun anyway.


Our annual Christmas Sugar Cookie day...

with Miss Ky as the resident artist and crafty girl that somehow managed to get a bottle of my sprinkles NOT intended for the Christmas cookies... "I'll have a (Red White and) Blue Christmas..."

In my mother's eyes,who is not decorating or celebrating after paying a 3 grand vet bill, it looks like we're having the time of our lives.

Maybe it's like that theory, "smile until you feel it"?
Shoot photos of everything until you believe you're doing something right...or at least so your kids will look back and think you did.

More Angels Forecasted

One white Christmas, coming up.

"It doesn't show signs of stopping..."

Our drive to the Norwich Football match today
(yes, we are THAT stupid. it may look warm and cozy, but it was -5c)

We won 3-0 though. Definitely worth the frostbitten toes.

"Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow..."

Our weather forecast says SNOW for the next five days!!



I am NOT complaining (despite the fact that the bike is still not in our possession, I believe in miracles).
We have wood, we have food and the hubby is on leave. There's four very excited kids --one is a toddler who has never really experienced this before.
Perfect.


The first snowy morning at 6.45 am, Miss Ky and Mr. A2 couldn't wait another moment. On went the wellies and out they went. Those red lips are from all the snow they were eating. Yes, Miss Ky IS in a summer nightgown. with wellington boots. and a cardigan sweater.

We have discovered something very important... the girl doesn't seem to be wired for pain. The other kid came in crying because his feet got so cold, but we had to physically pull her in with her hands glowing red and her legs like Popsicles and she never even noticed there was a problem...

This one managed to find a village snowball fight.

our back garden this morning from Miss Ky's window

Our back garden after the first four inches fell. Two days ago
My camera lens cap is out there somewhere...
it's still snowing.

Sometime around bedtime yesterday, when the snow was still falling and the garden was enveloped in darkness, Her Highness informs us that we "hafta go find (her) money".
It was in the tea kettle she was holding when she made a snow angel. The sad thing is, this girl is a klepto. No telling whose money it was or how much.

One kettle of British coins, could be several pounds

Pint-sized snow angel? Priceless.

You can't buy that with MasterCard.

In case we lose power again or better yet, I get too caught up in the Norman Rockwell-ness of it all,
I want to wish you all a very Merry Christmas, Happy (belated) Hanukkah, joyous Kwanzaa, etc...

Celebrate!

Someone Didn't Get The Memo

After 14 hours computer-less without heat due to heavy snow fall and gale-force winds, we're back-- with semi-healthy kids and a relatively short-lived illness through the house.

Touch wood.

Someone else that lives here isn't quite so happy though...

The Weather Outside

It's snowing. (Yay)

Some of the decorations are up (all that are going up I'm afraid--boo), some of the gifts are safely stuck into various nooks and crannies all over the house and tomorrow is the last day of school before the holiday break.

Sound ideal?

I have a cold, Hubby is sick, one kid stayed home from school after praying to the porcelain gods in the middle of the night and while I made the mad dash to get some groceries, a school phoned to say another kid would be joining him. One key gift for one middle kid has not been purchased. It is the make or break gift-- you know how it is. The gift is for one of the children now firmly attached to my side. Huge emphasis on the "Boo!"

Weather report for this household:

Chances are good that school holidays will begin early with little or no chance of finishing up important preparations (see above). Teacher gifts may be stranded until further notice as are holiday treats meant for parties scheduled to take place. There may be a slight possibility of laundry letting up with kids all living in their pj's, but not if a barf fest is to ensue. If that storm blows in, a blizzard of sheets and comforters could clog up all washers and dryers.
Stay tuned for further holiday developments via the mental institute channel, with J, the unluckiest holiday planner in the world.



Tell me what new movies you're watching, it'll will give me something to strive to get out for in the new year...

please.

Eight Minutes

If you have reasonable internet service,
on average it probably takes you about 4-5 minutes to read
and comment
on one of my posts.

If you don't comment today
and don't need to come by tomorrow
because the same post sits here

then you might just have eight minutes to watch this...



I can't imagine you'll regret the time.

What if...

Let's just say the Mayans were right...

the world does end in 2012.

Is it all that important that I take my tree down after Christmas? It took a lot of time to decorate.


For that matter...

do I really need to reduce clutter?

And food?

I hate to be the "eat, drink and be merry" cliche, but a box of Thorton's Chocolate calls.

In the grand scheme of everything ending in 2 years,

do I need to worry that Son # 1 is back in contact with the cheating girlfriend that devastated him a while ago?

A Bedtime Story for My Hubby

If you buy the wife a new pair of black boots,

she's going to need some skinny jeans to go with them.

If you buy her skinny jeans,

she will realize that her green tatty coat is looking even more tatty now,

so,

you will need to take her out to buy a new black coat.

The new black coat against her snow-white hair will remind her that she needs a trim,

so,

she will pay someone to style her hair.

With newly styled hair, the over-grown brows will need re-shaping.

As she leaves the hairdresser,

the red patches above her eyes will remind her that if she had been able to see clearly,

she may have kept up with her brows on her own...


You make her an appointment with your own eye doctor,

who feels that 9 years is a little long to have gone without glasses,

so,

he'll write her a new prescription.

When she has a new prescription, she will need to find frames that are hip and cheeky...

and if her new hip and cheeky glasses are green,






she's going to need new pair of green boots to go with them.




Now aren't you glad that I decided NOT to buy the black boots--despite how you nagged me because I always back out of purchases like that at the last minute? Sleep well, Hubby. Your money is safe with me...

It's The Thought That Counts

Who hoot! Nearly finished with the shopping-- you know, the in-laws and such.

I've packed and shipped the #1 Son's gifts for him to OPEN ALL ALONE on his first Christmas away from us... sniff....

Everything that was supposed to ship from here, has-- except Christmas cards, which apparently I am not doing this year. Again.
I have to remember to quit buying cards (and addressing them) if I'm never going to actually get them mailed.
Oh and this year, several people were going to be so surprised that I thought of them.
***Happy Christmas, Blogger friends I had addresses for...***

We have a family tradition. As the Thanksgiving skeleton of a picked-clean turkey rests on the middle of a pillaged table, we draw names for gift-giving. Each person gets $20.00 (which has turned to £20.00 since moving to England) and must spend every penny (pence) of it on the name they draw. It's been so fun watching how the kids think.

This year, I was drawing for myself, Miss Ky and #1 Son. That gave me 3 of 7 that I am privvy to. Each year, I know EVERYONE's recipient and usually have my other gifts guessed as well. It's not like I try, my family is just NOT sneaky.

There was the year the Hubby threw his receipts in the bathroom garbage can... it was a time before I had a million children and could actually sit while urinating and my eyes had time to wander around my surroundings. "Oooh, nice, he's bought me and Oil of Olay gift pack, I'll like that-- oh, and hey, I needed one of those pans..."

About an hour after dinner, I found Miss Ky's card on the floor and someone's card with MY NAME on it. I announced, "Someone's card is in here on the floor" to which the Hubby responded, "Not mine, I ripped mine up and threw it away". Well done, 2 to go.

Shortly after that, A1 comes to show me who he's drawn... and following is A2. Ok, I have eliminated 6 of 7 people as the person who drew my name.

The next night at dinner, J2 (comedian child that draws trouble to him) says, "I know, let's play a game. Let's have everyone list what they'd like to get for Christmas-- we can start with you, Mum".
Bless his heart.



This past weekend, we went shopping.
At Carrow Road.
Where they have everything Norwich City Football (Simon Lappin).
J2 was very excited to find a computer desktop cd
with Simon Lappin on it.

He bought it.

When we got home, he quietly slipped away.





20 minutes later he showed up in my room with several rolls of balled up wrapping paper and angrily plopped this big cardboard box down on the floor, "I can't do anything right!"
I proceeded to show him how to wrap...
as he watched me, arms folded across his chest with a huge Grinchy scowl.

The child had me wrap my own present that he worked so hard to disguise with a big box.

I am practicing my surprised expression as we speak...

New Angry

So I'm still spitting nails, but new reason. This seems to be my December theme:
Rage at the world.

Let's say you have a son. Say your son is a smarty-pants-- maybe that term is an understatement. Say your son lives to be in the spotlight and could be considered a clown.

Let's go as far to say that people either love your son or hate him.

You choose to love him, but secretly, deep down have dreams of duct-taping his mouth until he reaches adulthood.

Now, said Son would probably just draw trouble to him I would suppose. What if one day he just pushes one kid on the bus too far and that kid cold cocks him as he's getting off the bus, sending blood flying out of son's nose and all over his school uniform?

Your Hubby might go to speak to the other kids' parents, wouldn't he?
And since your Hubby is so mild mannered, he goes over there perfectly aware that chances are good HIS own kid probably deserved the punch, but even so should be discussed.

Poor aggravated kid from the bus is probably aggravated because he comes from the epitome of a white trash home, so the father spews obscenities and threatens to whomp on your Hubby. Unfortunately he has to do with his neck craned back since the Hubby is so much bigger than him.
Maybe his equally trashy wife starts screaming obscenities as well. Chances are, your mild mannered Hubby is just going to turn around and go home since these people are Neanderthals and can't carry on a rational discussion.

Here's where the anger part comes in.

The next day at school, your son's "Form Teacher" (head of his school year) pulls him out of class, embarrasses him and asks him to explain himself about an incident that happened on a friday evening, OFF SCHOOL GROUNDS and when son explains, she says "I don't believe you, you are lying". She then pulls the witnesses out of class and when they ALL confirm that your son was NOT at fault, she drops it. NEVER apologizing.

Say you choose to let it slide. Because you're like that. You pick your battles.

Oh, but that son can draw trouble...

Imagine that yesterday your clown-boy comes home with reports that "kicking girl" (so named because she has kicked him every day since she moved here a year and a half ago) spit on him.

I imagine you probably are a little bit of a germaphobe and went ballistic.
I'm just guessing, because I myself would never act that way.

Maybe you calmed down enough to send a letter stating that the abuse your child has been receiving could be considered school yard bullying (huge emphasis on Anti-bullying here) which is bad enough but now that the bully has resorted to spitting, you are not going to tolerate it. You may have asked for a meeting with the Kicking Girl and her parents. You may have threatened further action if this was not seriously considered.

You might end up being in serious need of therapy and therefore begin ranting on your blog when your beloved, perfect, little smarty-trousers son comes home with a report that he was once again pulled out of class to face a crying Kicking Girl and Form Teacher asking what his side of the story was and THEN accusing him of lying about it-- not only to the Form Teacher, but to the Mother (you) that wrote the letter. With testimonies of ALL his classmates that Kicking Girl does indeed kick daily and did most certainly spit on him as they watched.

I'm thinking you're probably pretty wound up right now.

Hypothetically speaking of course-- this all only IF you have a son, who thinks he's funnier than he really is with a Form Teacher who could teach "Ways to Warp a Child's Esteem for Life 101".

Harry Potter Fans, Soapboxes Unite!

WARNING:

I am spitting nails.

I've had it with movie makers determined to turn everything sexual and for Harry Potter?! That nice little kid who only wants to save the world? I am willing to fight this one.

Tell me how you feel about THIS.

or THIS.

Is that the most moronic statement you have ever read? (Just in case you're skipping my link session, here it is): "If you had to pick one fault in the Harry Potter films, it would probably be their lack of sexual content".
Are they insane? When will they learn that a good movie will do well at a box office without a gratuitous nude or sex scene?

They've just assured that this family of seven won't be attending their usual two theater viewings followed by the DVD purchase if they proceed as planned.

Look, I don't care if the world calls me a prude or out of touch-- I don't go to sex-filled, nudity laced movies and I don't really care everyone else in the world does, but when it creeps into my children's movies, I figure it's time to speak up.

Anyone with me on this?


(crickets)



If you feel the same way as I do, can you make your voice heard? Blog about it, Face Book it, write David Yates personally. Please.

Just Say Yes to Playing Hookie

I had a girl's day out. It wasn't planned.

The day started with me running around like a crazy mother, buying things required before the boy child went to Rugby. There were phone calls to make, people to check in on and a dinner to get in the slow cooker.
It was tipping down rain, making it difficult to see for any great distance-- which is the perfect moment to get on a busy A road (kind of like a highway but there's roundabouts every few miles) so, required purchases made, I swam my American beast onto one of those A roads and headed for Norwich.

As the rain pelted the windows, Miss Ky and I had a lovely Micky D's lunch before shopping at Crafts-R-Us*. Which reminds me--

I haven't been in the States for awhile.
Does your golden arches have Deli Sandwiches there?
We have a Thai Sweet Chili Chicken sandwich that I always get and curry sauce for the fries. Do you have that yet?
Miss Ky got a Yoda Star Wars box with her happy burger meal and a black currant fruit shoot (I know you don't have those). The toy included was an R2D2 light that shines an image when the button is pushed. As she was happily aiming her little light on the table, one image came up and she shouted, "Look! It's Jesus".
It was actually princess Leia, but who am I to correct a budding genius?

A quick mention to the young adult children of the man that kept talking to me. I know you were embarrassed and dying of humiliation because he was so bold to talk to me about toilets in America, but I found him thoroughly charming.

Miss Ky and I then went shopping for some finishing touches for our tree with the promise of a new bag of chocolate coins (since the Princess had spilled her bag in the McBurger's* car park --that was before her balloon floated away, she's still whinging about that)

It was nice being unavailable for anyone but my toddler for a few hours. Nice that she didn't have to plant herself down in front of a cartoon character determined to make her fluent in Spanish while I had phone attached to one ear.
I'm going to schedule in more girl days out from now on.

When's the last time you spontaneously took a day off from your normal routine?


*seriously, I have to mention that these are not the real names?

Friendship Fluctuations

Dear Sally H.,

Remember before we came here, the lines and lines of people waiting for different attributes to bring along with them?
Remember how you wanted to stand in the pink, girly queue and I scoffed at you and then skipped merrily over to where all the cute guys were standing?

Joke was on me, wasn't it? I never stood a chance at that testosterone stall and have suffered the neanderthal look because of it.

But you were a true friend... you created products that could hide my unwanted masculinity and I have happily handed my money over to your company since.

However, I am having a little bit of a problem with the wax removal strips.

It's ok that I have paid you the equivalent of one child's college fund (be forewarned mini-people living in my house, one of you is out of an education), it's only money, right?
It's ok that I scream in pain with every beautifying rip now that you've stopped including the little bottle of "NumbYoFace" in my treasure box of smoothness.

What is NOT ok is that you've also removed the little bottle that takes the remaining wax off of my chin.
Do you know anyone needing a female Santa Claus?
Because that's what I look like with half of my towel stuck to my chin and upper lip.

Why am I paying more but getting less? Is that how you treat your loyal friends?

Please respond soon or I may have to make a date with some thread...



Addendum: This post was typed in the morning. Imagine my consternation when I made a mad dash to the toilet at 10 pm (during another viewing of New Moon) and the face staring back at me in the mirror had a huge red square spot right across her chin. Sally, don't even bother responding...

I am posh/class personified, don't you think?

My Bin's Been Hijacked

We received this notice:

"This December _______ Council will be rewarding your recycling efforts.
On every recycling collection day in December, we will pick at random a bin and if all the items in the bin can be collected through our kerbside collection scheme, the lucky householder will receive a £20 shopping voucher."

Now,

did you think, "Wow, that's cool"?

or were you like me,

"Hey, that's an invasion of privacy, get the heck out of my bin!"

The evil me wants to put prank items in my bin all month, like the biggest pair of granny panties I can find.

Oh a Ranting We Will Go....

It's foggy in England

and in my head.

I am being pulled in every direction by people who have not earned a piece of me and the result is a very numb and foggy person.

I may have mentioned before (once a week) that my calling at church is sucking the life out of me. It's because I have such a different opinion than those who I report to. I'm coming to you now for your opinion.

Tell me if you think I'm cold and heartless:

I fully believe in the "teach a person to fish" way of thinking. I fully believe that if one has lived one's life as such that everyone close was driven away and one has not attempted to build friendships, it kind of sucks to be you now that one is housebound.
Ok, that sounded harsh--I mean, I will come visit and bring you a meal or a card and listen to your woes, but you better not demand what day and what time I should show up and ring the Bishop with a list of expectations of someone who just wants to be home with her family (that she hasn't driven away yet). Also, it's best not to shoot down all of the ideas I bring to you for ways we can help you help yourself, it actually makes me less sympathetic to your dilemma.

I truly believe that if you are a sweet lady who has been handed an unbelievable amount of illness and trials in the last couple of months, you deserve to be taken care of by others in your church. However, the fact that you are adored doesn't change that many people are home sick or their children have Hand, Foot and Mouth or "Slap Cheek" or the lack the petrol funds to drive you 30 minutes into the city twice a day.

I honestly feel that petty arguments between women about how they rear their children (or don't is the current issue) should be kept within the group of women involved. I don't need to be brought into it. I am not an arbitrator, I am not a mediator, I should not receive phone calls at 10 pm because someones wife had her feelings hurt (unless of course it was my mouth that did the hurting).

The thing is, this is just the tip of what I am dealing with every day and I wake up wondering when the Turrets will override what little patience I have. My husband is tired of living with a zombie, my children are tired of telling me things they need for school only to receive a blank look when they ask in the morning where it is so they can get it in their backpack.

What do you think? Am I so far off that I can't see the path? Is it me-- have I forgotten charity, compassion?
Am I too proud? I KNOW how to fish. I have been a pretty good fisherman in the past... I have lived in low income housing, while working long hours. I have received food stamps at one point in my life, after the fire devastated us. We were on WIC at a time as well, and went off long before we were ineligible. One year, I had one illness on top of another where I received care and kindness from church, so I think I'm coming from a place where I know the situations that knock us down (and I understand that if depression is involved, it's really tough to get back up again).

Give it to me. I can take it. Constructive criticism welcome here and an opinion asked for can't be rejected.


The fog is heavy today. I can barely see the trees in the back of my garden. It should make an interesting drive into town to get that mouth guard the kid needs before Rugby today.

Life Lessons

We got the idea from a Cosby show. Theo wanted to spread his wings and live on his own, so Bill and Claire turned their home into an apartment for rent. They removed the furniture and he had to buy pieces to get by with and he had to pay for his food. He got a rude awakening when it came to dealing with greedy landlords and cheeky cafe owners.
We didn't have the energy to pull it off the way the Huxtables did, but we did spend many Family Home Evenings role-playing financial Independence for Son #1.

Apparently, we failed.

The man-boy has had a rough year. The break up was enough to knock him flat for awhile, but then he began having financial difficulties. He was just having a hard time understanding how the world works and would call regularly to ask "How come...?" "Why does...?"
It's hard to give advice from so many miles away, especially when someone really doesn't want to hear what you have to say.

He has been struggling with his electric company for months.

He would go online to see what he owed and then would do a "one time payment". The next month, he would go out there again and he discovered that his payment hadn't appeared so he paid again.

Finally I had him check his bank, to make sure everything was debited correctly on that side. He rang me later and explained that he once did a transfer into his savings and discovered that he had actually clicked on something so that it was happening monthly. He was sure he had probably been trying to pay his electricity with a checking account that didn't have enough funds.

Today I got a phone call and on the other end was hysterical laughter.

Hysterical laughter isn't always good, my stomach sank.

The man-child, feeling a little euphoric to be having four days off during the NM's biggest snow in a decade, decided to take control of things and marched into the electric company to ascertain what was happening with his account. He carried cash to rectify whatever was going wrong.

The very nice lady behind the counter...bless her... managed to keep a straight face as she explained to him that his account has been carrying a CREDIT and he keeps paying them. He has OVERPAID his electric by $600.00.

Back in the training period we stressed how to be respectful of credit cards, how NOT to spend more than one makes, always pay more than the minimum balance and never, ever be late. I never thought to teach the kid how to read a statement.

Well, there's still four others I can teach...

I'm Back

Whew, what a great break I had from blogging. I'll tell you, I really needed that rest from 30 days of straight posting...

oh, that was only yesterday?

Seriously, Jill, you read EVERY post? You deserve an award, I don't even think I read everyone of my posts. Shoot me an addy and I will send you my very own personal thank you. Seriously.

I thought before I fell off into blogger oblivion, I should show you how beautiful my turkeys looked with their rustic rub and golden crackled skin. They were perfect...


But I forgot to take a photo.

I also didn't take a photo of my table laid out with a centerpiece of multi-coloured Chrysanthemums, gold textiles and red, orange and gold leaves scattered among the china and Murano glassware. It really was pretty.
(My guests reminded me of photos after the carnage and the last bit of pie was consumed).

Miss Ky likes eggnog. This photo is the before picture. Just seconds after it was snapped, she let that mouthful of drink dribble down her front onto the white (yes, I know!) chair and onto the carpet.

One piece of post-Turkey Day advice:

If you have ever spent a decent amount of money on something you know you would use for the rest of your life, and you enjoy cooking--or not, but like eating-- you must beg, plead and consider desperate measures to acquire an Aga.

Wow.

A 13 lb turkey cooked for under 2 hours and and the meat was incredibly tender and moist.

I'm sold.

If we have to, we'll build a house around an aga and since it costs just about as much, I'll even settle for an outhouse and use the indoor plumbing budget on my cooker.

I'm that convinced.

Happy December everyone!