"Witch" Way to the Funny Farm?

In my Leave It To Beaver (NOT) upbringing, I watched a lot of inappropriate (for children) television. One of the weekly shows was Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman. Anyone remember that? (wait, is there even anyone here over 30?)
There was one episode where Louise Lasser (Mary Hartman) had a "nervous breakdown".
I don't remember specifics, my child eyes watched utterly confused at a woman reacting strangely to loud noises. I think there was a sound like a big jet was flying overhead and she had her hands over her ears trying to curl up into a little ball. I remember asking my Mom what was happening, and she explained, "She's having a nervous breakdown".

"Oh".
That image stuck in my mind, mostly because I didn't understand what the heck I had just watched.

I do now.

Tonight as I stood at the kitchen sink, opting for sticking my raw hands into hot, sudsy dishwater rather than listen to the kids bicker at the table for one more minute, the clarity roared over me like a 747.

7 pm is the "witching hour" in our house. It's the time of day when one more whiny voice begging for sweets/to stay up later/to skip bath/to sleep with Mommy, makes mommy a little "witchy".
Reminding her you don't like cheese as you pick apart your meal is too much.
The McDonald's rap, is too much.
"I Spy" is too much.
The cacophony that accompanies our dinner table is enough to send me running from the room with my hands over my ears.

I learned that 7:00 was my limit a few years ago and we moved dinner back from 6:30 to 5:30 or 6:00--for a nicer dining experience. The noise is still there, Mommy's just not jamming a fork into her eye or the kid sitting closest to her.

There are those nights though, like when there's a football match in Norwich, that we eat later. Tonight was one of those.
I had a hot dinner waiting for my family. The family that practically fell out of the car tripping over their sarcastic comments and insults.
I waited upstairs rather than enter their little fraternity of dislike. I figured 45 minutes in the car with each other would get wiped off at the mat as they took off their shoes and then we'd sit to have a nice, although late, dinner together.
They began bickering about whether or not I was upstairs asleep. Oh sweet children, don't you know Mommy gave up sleep when you came into the world?
I served up dinner... to a very reluctant crowd.

Five bites into my meal, I decided that washing dirty pots and pans would be more fun.

One child was begging for more beans even though there were already some on her plate (it's harder to throw single beans down than it is handfuls when your chubby little fist hasn't mastered the fine motor skills). One child was practically laying on his plate complaining he was full, having taken NO bites. One child was facing the toddler, with the table to his side talking full steam ahead. The one sitting closest to me was eating--well, at least he was eating.

All of them were annoyed to be at the table because there were kids outside that would self-destruct if my kids didn't get outside to play in the next 30 seconds. Attitude hung like a thick, musty tapestry over my table. Great times, friends.

It wasn't until the threats had been made to exile them to their friendless rooms for the remainder of their lives did I discover the culprit behind my less-than enthusiastic diners.

Dad had grabbed a burger for everyone AS THEY WERE LEAVING THE FOOTBALL STADIUM.

Who feed kids just before they go home to dinner?

So I did dishes.
I stood at the sink with my hands screaming from the heat of the water and held on tightly to each slippery plate, fantasizing about allowing a few to take flight.

I think we'll move dinnertime to 4 pm, find me some demerol, and take Hubby's wallet away for a while.

Do you have a "witching hour"?

Stand For Something

Labor Day weekend. A break from our labors (except for Moms. Somehow we missed the meeting and still continue to clean grubby faces and protect our homes from un-flushed toilets while others rest). Like Memorial weekend, many people will enjoy picnics, bbq's, family outings or finish those nagging DIY projects. Some will tune in to the Muscular Dystrophy Marathon, and have every year since 1966.
They are able to do those things because of people who came before, who proposed that American workers receive recognition for the contributions made "to the strength, prosperity, and well-being of our country willing."(U.S. Dept of Labor)
Americans are able to do those things because of others willing to lay their lives down for freedoms sometimes taken for granted. Freedom to complain about politics, war or other religions. We are all free to do that.

So tell me, in all of your freedom, what have you stood for recently?
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The following article was pinched from LDSLiving Magazine.

A Stand Up Kind of Guy
by Joseph Walker

---

Dad was, by nature, a “stand up” guy.

Whenever a card game got intense, he’d stand up to make his play. Whenever he watched me play basketball or football he never sat in the stands with the other parents; he always stood by the side of the bleachers—usually alone. Whenever I came home late from a date, I’d sit on the couch and he’d stand in front of me to lecture—usually with a little pacing thrown in for good measure.

That’s just the kind of a guy he was. Forthright. Direct. You know—stand up.

One Fourth of July we were on the front row for our town’s annual Independence Day Parade. Dad had gone down to Main Street early to set our folding chairs along the curb, so we had a great spot from which to watch the floats and bands and beauty queens pass by. We had just settled into our seats when a snare drum cadence signaled the start of the parade.

To our right, four men in ill-fitting World War II uniforms marched down the middle of Main Street, carrying the red, white, and blue of the United States of America. Their eyes were fixed forward and they marched with clear direction and purpose, apparently unaware that their tummies were hanging ponderously over their government-issue belts.

But we were aware. To tell the truth, it was hard to miss. Some of the folks were chuckling and chatting about the veterans, who were so clearly past their prime. A couple of teenagers in the back shouted out jeers and taunts—this was, after all, the Vietnam War era, and such disrespect for the flag and for those who fought under it was common. Patriotism was unpopular, and in some settings even risky.

I don’t know exactly when my father stood up and took his hat from his head and placed it over his heart. He did it quietly, almost unobtrusively. But Dad wasn’t a small man, and it didn’t take long for the rowdies in the back to notice.

“Down in front!” one of them shouted.

“Yeah,” another chimed in. “Down in front!”

Suddenly I realized they were yelling at my father, who continued to stand at attention, his eyes riveted on the stars and stripes. Nervously, I looked at Dad, willing him with all my heart and soul to sit down and not draw any more attention to himself—and to me, who wouldn’t stand a chance against any of those high school boys.

“Hey, Mr. Hawk,” came another shout. “Find a place to perch!”

I had no idea why they called Dad “Mr. Hawk.” I didn’t know anything about the hawk-dove designations that were being used all around the country to characterize pro-war and anti-war sentiments. I just knew my father’s propensity for standing was attracting some undesirable attention, and I was feeling embarrassed—and a little threatened.

But then an interesting thing happened. Another man about Dad’s age stood up a few feet away. He looked at the boys, then turned and faced the flag and put his hand over his heart. Then a woman to Dad’s right did the same thing, and she tugged her husband to stand up with her. Then another couple, then an elderly woman, then an entire family right in front of the rowdies. Before the color guard had passed, the entire section of parade-goers—with the exception of a few high school boys—was standing at attention with their hands over their hearts.

Not a word was spoken, but a message was sent to those teenagers—and to me. Patriotism isn’t just something you feel. Sometimes, it’s something you do.

Whether or not you are, by nature, a stand up guy.

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HAPPY LABOR DAY WEEKEND everyone!

Hell Hath No Fury Like an Insulted Woman

I'm ticked off.
Angry.
I'm offended.
I resent what the news programs are shoving down our throats today.

For a couple of weeks, I have been diligently flipping on the two news channels that give me a little bit of U.S. information, to see who John McCain would be choosing (just in case he caved and told us early). It mattered to me. I'm afraid it REALLY mattered to me.
Knowing that today was the big day, I was up before the roosters. I don't know why, U.S. roosters had just gone to bed-- I knew I wasn't going to hear anything.

But I did. I heard lots of speculation. And it went on through the day.

Then I heard this (I may not quote it exactly because I began seething afterwards and may have shorted out some of my wiring):
(one newswoman to news anchor-dude) "There were women who, when I told them 'Romney is NOT the choice, responded, 'Ohhh..." (disappointed), but when I told them it may be a woman, they lit right up".

What the..?

Is this what America believes?

That we, the feeble-minded weak sexed citizens run out and vote for who we think looks most like us?!
I had no intention of voting for Hilary even though she is a woman. I couldn't fathom voting for Obama just because he's young. I wouldn't vote for McCain because he's white. I wasn't racing to the polls to cast my ballot for Romney because he was Mormon.

I was choosing my candidate based on what he's (he/she/it) accomplished as a servant of The People, his track record for doing what he says he's going to do and his stand on things I believe strongly in.
I know nothing about Governor Sarah Palin, but you can bet I will learn everything I can before I lick my absentee ballot envelope.

Believe it or not, I do have a brain, FOX & CNN NEWS, and a temper when you infer that all women are incompetently shouting for joy because McCain picked someone of our gender.

ok. I feel better now.

... and Deliver me from Terrorist...

As a military family, especially one who has lived overseas, we have had a few OPSEC education courses. It's mandatory for us to learn what risks there are to our sponsors (the military member) and to our family. We're taught to be more aware, never at rest. Let's face it, people who would wish us harm are never at rest. I trust no one.
Remember my Pub Crawl? I was always scouting my exits and watching people around me. I am too much fun to go out with.

So imagine my concern one hot day (apparently this story is NOT set in England since we just skipped our second summer in a row) as I was weeding my garden, when in my peripheral vision, I saw two UPS guys walking towards my house. They were coming down the street that came perpendicular to ours. Since they were far away, I couldn't really get a detailed look at them -- not with trying to look like I wasn't aware of them and my yes-I-skipped-my-carrots-as-a-child eyesight.
I did watch them though. I watched them come closer and closer to my home.

How many times have you seen TWO UPS men together?
As for me, never.
How often do you see a UPS man without his big brown truck close enough to be framed with him in a photo?
Yeah, doesn't happen. These guys work with speed, so leaving a truck a few blocks away is not considered.

It wasn't until they stepped up on my sidewalk and I could see they really were coming TO MY HOUSE that I dared to look them in the eye and show them I had no fear. Bring it on, terrorist dressed like a UPS guy!

Then I laughed. hard. and ran to get my camera, while UPS man number one went for my water hose.
Son number one with friend. Don't ask.


Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Ten Years and Counting

Ten years ago, you changed my world.

After a few scares through the pregnancy and lots of prayers, you entered our lives-- a miracle considering you weren't connected properly.

You're delivery was such a beautiful time that bonded your Dad and I closer than we could imagine. It was such a great experience, we decided we would do it again --good thing you came before you sister. If we had had her first, the rest of you wouldn't be here.

You were the joy and entertainment for all of us, especially for your older brother who adored you.

We thought all 18-month old children spoke in full sentences.

We thought all two-year olds could sing the entire first verse of the Star Spangled Banner.

Your artwork at age four surpassed what some of my adult friends could do.

You excel at everything you try.

You're a great example to your younger siblings

You're generous, loving and it's been ten terrific years. We're so proud of you. Enjoy this day big guy, we love you!!