Das Feid Baug

I am so excited to share with you all a new product I'm working on. I'm happy to report that the DisposAll-Vac, featured in Vacuum Therapy, will be on shelves in stores near you (with minor waivers to be signed at time of purchase) in early summer. My Sleep Erect standing frame, as discuss in Puffer, is unfortunately being held up in testing due to inability to find voluntary trial subjects. This new product is still in the brain storming phase but I just can't wait to tell you about it! It's called the...

How about I just tell you the story behind its development? By the way, I never learned German but it has never stopped me from "speaking it".

I have recently really been stepping it up with my dinner prep and meal execution at the table through completion. I've sauteed, broiled, baked, and Crock-Potted. I've shredded, diced, and I think julienned one time by mistake. I've beat, stirred, and folded more than just the laundry.

Thai Peanut Chicken Lettuce Wraps with cashews and green onions-just in case you though I might be lying!

However, like Haley, who is 3 and is suffering from a recent "Frozen" relapse, I have tendencies to backslide. I thought we had finally "Let It Go" but she just couldn't "hold it back anymore". Step 1: I am fully aware and finally admitting that I have a problem. I always underestimate how long it takes to get things accomplished and always try to do just one more thing before its time to get ready to leave the house. NOTE: If the next 11 steps of the recovery process are as challenging to complete as the first for this bull-headed Taurus, I'm doomed for a life of last minute rushing.

Sophia had to be at dance at 5:30 and Rick doesn't get off of work until 6:00. In his absence I was tempted to hit the drive-thru but I knew it would be the first step down the slippery slope into the grease pit of the fast-food world. I was aware that I had hit rock bottom one day when I found myself throwing away Burger King trash in the drive-thru at Wendy's. I was convicted and I couldn't handle the shame any longer. I was angry too, that I had been brainwashed into truly believing that alternating between oblong, round, and crown-shaped chicken nuggets was considered appropriate diet variation. With or without Rick, I was adamant that we were going to calmly eat our dinner together, at the table, and discuss our days, whether they liked it or not! Knowing Rick's seat at the table would be empty I did alter my menu and made a double batch of Horizon Organic macaroni and cheese and served it on mismatched flatware. Like usual, I did set a napkin to the left of each of their bowls, knowing I would pick them up again following the meal untouched. The mac and cheese streaks, along with their snot, always washes off their sleeves on laundry day. By the way, my children prefer Horizon Organic over Kraft 2:1. Plus it's often 10 for $10 at Kroger. I think Harrison votes for Kraft because he likes the way Red 40 makes him feel. How else could they get that unusually bright "cheddar" color? It has to be red 40.

Anyway, while our mac and cheese was cooling I told the younger two to get their shoes and jackets on. I was trying to stay on top of things. As I was braiding Sophia's hair I glanced up at the clock. It was 5:05! Who came into my house and turned my clocks forward! No time to eat "peacefully" at the table and "listen" intently about one another's days now! "Harrison, Haley... get in the car." I yelled as I finished my best braid. My stress was building when I saw no signs of Harrison or Haley. I ran to the back of the house and found them in Harrison's room playing with Mickey, the hamster. "I told you to get your jews and shackets on! Don't stare at me like that! I said move! Sophia is going to miss her dance cake! What is that stench in here? You're going to clean that camster hage before you go to bed tonight! Now get in the car and get tucked in. I'll bring you your dinner." (My subconscious mind obviously knew that cake and bedtime would make me feel better.)

***Can just one person please tell me that motherhood has caused them to suffer from expressive aphasia? And that it happens so often your family can translate your jumble and they rarely make fun of you anymore because they already know you worry about being crazy?!!!

Anyway, Haley ran by me with the toes of her shoes pointing out. If I worry about any of my kids having a gambling problem, it is Haley. Even with 50/50 odds, she is usually on the wrong foot. When she was almost passed me I hooked her neck with her rubber Tommee Tippee bib. Rick and I unfortunately did not discover these until Haley, our last one. I remember shopping for some new bibs when I was pregnant with her. There was a young, sweet couple next to us gently fondling the bibs for comfort and examining their aesthetics. I asked Rick what he thought of the rubber Tommee Tippee ones that had caught my eye, but was worried that he may think they were too cold and stiff. He said, "I don't know, give it a good jerk to see if she will be able to get it off."
"Same page", I said to myself!
It held tight to a good jerk so we threw two in the basket; 1 pink, 1 purple. We love them! When dinner is over you simply wash it just like a Tupperware. It also has this awesome trough. When you miss a bite, you can scoop it up again and go for round 2. They are the best, seriously. I'm not getting paid to say this.Tommee Tippee Bibs

Haley and Harrison were strapped into their seats. My co-pilot, Sophia, served Harrison his mac and cheese in the third row and put our bowls in the cockpit while I served Haley. I looked at my 3 year old and said "you can do this right"? My words were accompanied by an encouraging head bob and raised eye brows. Time was ticking and Sophia's cake was about to start. Haley looked at me with a face that said, "I'm going to try my best Mommy, to hold this bowl with one hand and eat with a spoon in the other; a task that I can find challenging at best while sitting still at the kitchen table. Not to mention the difficultly of leaning forward to take a bit while strapped in a 5-point harness and weight shifting left and right trying to counteract your erratic driving."  I grabbed the bowl from her hand and before giving my inner voice "Common Sense" a chance to speak up, I listened to "Troublemaker" and dumped her mac and cheese in her trough. Before slamming the door I yelled, "try to keep a grip on that spoon Baby!" By the time we reached Sophia's dance studio, Haley's trough was empty, other than her spoon, which was neatly resting in the bottom. She was happy, full, and not a noodle on the floor!

So hopefully by fall, I, in conjunction with Tommee Tippee will make life for the mother on the go a little easier with Das Feid Baug. No more stress induced expressive aphasia. You'll simply yell, "Come on kids, let's strap on the old feed bags. It's time to go"! (I of course had to give it an awesome German sounding name so all the yuppie American parents will buy it.)

Das Feid Baug: on the way to AWANA at church!

Can't live without Das Feid Baug accessories:
(sold separately of course)

1. Velcro utensil attachment to make dropping impossible
2. Splash guard rims for cereal for the morning commuters
3. Sectioned dividers for the pickiest of eaters to allow for ketchup and hot dog separation

Das Feid Baug: on the way to dance!

But wait! There's more! To carry along with you in your Das Feid Baug bag:

1. Disposable sleeve protector slide on napkins, AND
2. The Original Das Fied Baug hand wipes, so your children don't have to eat their mac and cheese with hamster hands

Great for adults too! Creates a hand free eating environment for utensil requiring food in the car! You really only need one hand to drive after all don't you?

Das Feid Baug: for your hour alone on Wednesday nights!!!

Puffer

I hate when our going to bed routine gets altered...and last night it did.

Ignoring any good marriage counselor's advice, Rick and I usually go to bed at different times on purpose. I'm going to "man-up" for a moment and say it is basically my fault. Rick produces a very reasonable amount of noise while sleeping and has fulfilled his part in correcting our issues. I just have a difficult time getting to sleep with ANY noise. I can't help it. Therefore, Rick let's me know when he takes his Melatonin to induce sleepiness and I jump up and head to bed knowing I have about 20 minutes to get to sleep before he gets drowsy and comes in to join. By that time, I'm sound asleep and it works out just fine. Just in case you were wondering, we aren't 70.

Last night Rick sweetly said it was my turn to decide what we were going to watch. He then went on to report that WVU had a basketball game the next night and he was calling dibs on the TV. He also informed me not to expect any social interaction or parenting from him during that time. Don't get me wrong, he will still help with the kids, they may just have to eat dinner and get their baths by 4PM.

(My husband is such a fan, he didn't consider this, on the back of my kid's head, overdoing it! Thus, another reason I now cut his hair at home!)

(Heading off to a game! By the way, Rick wrote up a prenup that stated he was allowed to go to all home WVU football games. I obviously signed it.)

With this new bit of information, I chose a chick flick without any regards for him. I ended up watching it alone. Rick's interest was lost when no one got killed in the first 20 minutes. When it was over, I headed to bed tired and sleepy knowing I'd drift off into a beautiful sleep almost instantaneously. I tip toed past my husband, who sleeps like he is in a coffin without a blanket or duvet cover disrupted and hopped into my side of the bed. I lay there for a moment in utter relaxation but then quickly became highly irritated and wide awake, with no possibility of going to sleep in the upcoming future.

You see, Rick doesn't fall into the category of a traditional "snorer". My dentist brother fit Rick with a snore guard as a wedding present. That was one heck of a gift from my brother for many reasons. My money conscious husband would say that the number one reason was that we only had to pay shipping costs for a marriage saving device that would usually run about $800. Knowing that % x W(whole)=P(part) you can perform some simple algebraic conversions to determine that shipping/$800= thank you best brother ever for the nominal percentage saved. While I told you that Rick is not a snorer, I didn't say that he wasn't, what I like to call, a "puffer". I lay there listening to long, deep, relaxed inhales followed by a short pause. Then, after the pressure of the exhale builds up, it's through heavy, relaxed lips, that it puffs out. That's it, very mild rhythmic puffing. I however, absolutely can't take it. I want to sit up and yell, "for all that is good and right in this world...JUST BREATH!!!" I resist, knowing he has lovingly gotten used to sleeping with his lower jaw attached to his upper for my benefit. There's nothing like hearing "good night Sue" through clenched teeth. Its hot.

I dig through my top nightstand drawer to find my ear plugs. I could only find one. I believe I have discussed earlier about having my things regularly stolen and broken and even one time soaked with saliva undiscovered until I put it in my ear. Talk about a Wet Willie. I then began kicking myself for not getting up in the middle of the night last time this happened to write 'ear plugs' on the grocery list.

(Note: One would think you could find these in the Women's Sleepwear department at WalMart but you can't. Don't waist your time, listen to me and head to the Hunting department.)

I lay there on my side with my top ear plugged, trying to tune it out and get to sleep but I couldn't stop wondering how a man, who walks around all day, inoffensively breathing, so quickly becomes an irritant when lying supine. I consider this a universal problem for most marriages from what I understand. A couple of my friends' husbands use CPAP machines at night. (Continuous Positive Airway Pressure) I've seen them at the hospital in the ICU. I could imagine the machine's humming being somewhat soothing. However, just one wrong head turn and the seal of the mask on the face is broken and a loud, flapping fart noise slips out.  I could just imagine myself jumping from the bed, awakened from a deep sleep in fight or flight mode thinking someone had replaced my husband with a 400 pound man passing gas.

I lay there, wide awake, thinking about Harrison in his full bed and Sophia and Haley in their own rooms in their queen sized beds. I then wonder why we, who both work hard to pay for our house, decide it's reasonable to sleep in the equivalent of a twin bed beside each other sharing a room. Don't get me wrong, if you read Cold Cuts you know that I'm happily married. It just seems regressive and I like to move forward. I also can't stop thinking about how I could design a standing frame for people who suffer from snoring.  I imagine that standing while sleeping like you're a horse and with the proper head position maintained by straps, the problem could be easily solved. With a few minor details in my design left to be resolved, I decide I should get up and find another sleeping partner.

Haley has the nicest bed but her internal compass, with pillow pointing North, is not yet properly functioning being only 3 years old. She has a tendency to sleep dew East which means her sweet little feet jab you in the ribs all night. She is quite however. I contemplate my other options. Harrison's compass, being 6 years old, is correctly working so I headed across the hall and knew I quickly fall asleep with my quietly sleeping son.

I was reaching maximal relaxation and I knew sleep was right around the bend when I heard him. How could I have forgotten that Harrison had a new nocturnal roommate. You can meet Mickey in Warm Blooded Love. I laid there for a moment hoping Mickey simply needed a little drink and would soon return to his nest. He then however hopped on his squeaky wheel and began blazing a trail toward nowhere. I imagined his inner hamster voice repeating as he ran, "I've gotta get outta here, I've gotta get outta here". The pitter patter of his feet and squeaking wheel were almost tolerable. It was the intermittent gnawing of hamster enamel on the metal cage bars that made my skin crawl. The gnawing was followed by what I believe sounded like hamster "hands" shaking at the door in an attempt to avoid playing with Harrison tomorrow. I listened to a couple cycles of: drink, run, gnaw, and shake before I moved on to my next sleeping partner Sophia.

Sophia's room was warm and cozy and most importantly QUIET. I drifted off to a beautiful sleep but what seemed like minutes later, I heard Haley, in a cheery voice state, "it's time to get up time"!

So instead of taking a nap on this beautiful Sunday afternoon, I enjoyed telling you a story. Sitting in the sunlight and watching birds at my feeder, my heart can't help but sing a childhood song. "This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it." Psalm 118:24

Warm Blooded Love

It is funny when something happens that makes you realize you have changed.

About 2 weeks ago, I went to bat for the kids and convinced Rick that our children would grow up to be weird adults if they didn't have a warm blooded pet to love and nurture. We go through cycles of fish, as you have read in Little Lou, and recently purchased some Sea Monkeys in an attempt to quench their thirst. The Sea Monkeys surprisingly hatched just like they were supposed to after adding Pouch 1 and Pouch 2 to tap water and waiting 4-5 days. The time required for the hatching to occur increased the anticipation of their arrival. After watching them for a few days we discovered that they are almost as exciting to watch as dust particles floating in the sunlight. Today however, Harrison noticed one of them giving another one a piggyback ride and explained that they must be good friends. Sophia chimed in quickly but got cut off short by her mother who wasn't in the mood to give a sex-ed talk induced by Sea Monkey behavior. So after Rick explained to me that he was against the idea and would have nothing to do with them, he reluctantly agreed.

Last week we made it a snow day activity to buy some hamsters at the local pet store. It was an awesome day.  1 point for Mom! The three kids and I drove over to my Mom and Dad's house in questionable road conditions with a great need to treat our cabin fever and to pick up my and my brother's old hamster cages. Rick and I had decided that we were going to make the kids use their own money to buy the hamsters and all their supplies in addition to caring for and cleaning up after them. The total came to $30 each. Sophia offered to clean up the playroom if I knocked her payback price down to $20. I agreed. I offered Harrison some chores to lessen his cost as well but he replied, "No, I'm just going to play on the iPad and pay you". I knew this would be his answer before I asked anyway, I've heard him offer his sister a dollar to make is bed. I wont be surprised at all one day if he somehow figures out how to pay his friend to cut his grass and remove his snow.

(Meet Mickey)

We adopted Mickey and Daisy on a Wednesday. On Friday morning, Rick calmly yelled for me and Harrison to come to Harrison's room where he was waiting on us. We walked quickly down the hall together. Harrison looked up at me with an anxious look on his face. I could have offered him a look of reassurance but I'm pretty sure my face yelled "get in the game son"! We walked in the room and Mickey, who was tired from wheel running all night, was luckily curled up sleeping with his hamster cage door wide open. I repeat wide open!

As a little girl I grew up loving anything my mom would let me keep in a shoe-box. In addition to a baby bird, a mole, and turtles, I regularly had hamsters. One of them, Heidi, was my favorite. She loved me. I really know she did. I could put my hand inside her cage and she would run right up my arm and sit on my shoulder. In the summer, I'd tie a piece of yarn around her neck and take her for "walks" in the yard, pausing to let her eat clover. I used to take one of my dads perfectly ironed handkerchiefs and tie it to the underside of my Rose Thunder bike's banana seat. I'd drive Heidi all over the neighborhood in her little hammock over potholes and mole burrowed grass. As an adult, I now know that when she spread her arms and strangely human like fingers out wide as I was trying to put her in her hammock, that this wasn't a sign of overwhelming excitement but more of an attempt to save her already rodently short life span of two years.

(Don't worry. One day I will blog about all my bad hair-dos growing up. Sure to be a favorite of many!)

A couple days later than we should have, I showed the kids the cage cleaning technique that I expected them to follow for the next time and every time after that when they did it on their OWN. They were to...
1. Carry their cage into the kids' bathroom and place their hamsters, one at a time, in the bathtub where they couldn't get away. (I stressed the importance of only one hamster in the bathtub at a time due to the chance that Mickey and Daisy might become good friends just like the Sea Monkeys, who may be suffering from an over population situation soon due to their "friendliness".
They were to then...
2. Simply dump the old bedding into a kitchen size trash bag,
3. Wipe the cage out with a paper towel and non-toxic cleaner, then
4. Return the hamster to the cage and lastly to their room.

About a week later, which was also a few days later than recommended, I told the kids to go clean their  hamster cages as I previously instructed. I was determined not to get involved, as Rick and I had planned, in order to build our children's responsibility. I won't say that I didn't listen intently however, and imagined what was going on. I could hear that Sophia's hamster, Daisy, was put in the bathtub first. Within about 10 minutes, I heard Sophia carrying Daisy upstairs to her room. I waited for a while but never heard her come back down to help Harrison like she had promised me she would do if I let her buy a hamster. I waited for a few minutes, listening to Harrison and his 3 year old assistant, before I couldn't take it any longer and went in to check on their progress.

\

(Harrison's "helper")

Haley was in the bathtub with Mickey, who was impatiently waiting on his room and check in time to arrive. He would climb up the side of the porcelain bathtub, trying to escape, but would then slide back down the wall to Haley who would proclaimed, "yuk Mommy, he yikes me." Harrison had apparently missed the tall kitchen size trash bag when dumping the dirty cage. I know he was trying hard to sweep it up with a dust broom and pan but he was rolling on the floor and sliding on his knees, like his name had been drawn to "Dash for Cash".

"SOOOOO....PPPHHHHHIIIII....AAAA" I yelled.

When she arrived I said, "just what is going on in here?", insinuating her absence in the bathroom and thus the complete disarray. In that moment I saw that Harrison was no longer using a dust broom and pan to clean up but was using a pincer grip to pick up what I was pretending to be grains of black rice in order to maintain my sanity.

"What mom?" "Haley is helping him", said with a head bob and an understood duuuhhhh.

So I ended up helping... but the entire time swearing that I would never help again or I would take their hamsters back to the pet store. Yes, it did get ugly for a few minutes. If you would have asked me at that moment, I would have agreed with Rick. However, knowing that he reads my blog, I didn't admit it and I still won't. I think the hamsters were a fair (+) to good (-) idea.

I supervised Harrison's hand washing to a very slow, mournful happy birthday tempo knowing he likes to sing quickly and move on to the cake or whatever activity might be more exciting than proper hygiene. I then handed him a Clorox wipe, to remove any "rice" that the soap had missed. I purposely didn't read the "Safe Usage" instructions on the Clorox wipes because I did not want to read "not safe to use on children".

I occasionally look at Mickey or Daisy and begin to get a slight warm and fuzzy feeling, but most of the time I wonder why I invited 2 rodents to live with us and basically take over one of our bathrooms.  I haven't Google'd, "do hamsters carry diseases?", I know it won't help me desensitize to their presence. I wish I didn't see thier mess, or smell the stink that peaks at about day 8, or thought about germs.....but I do. I've changed. I tolerate them because I remember what I learned from Heidi and other animals I loved.

I think love needs to be taught just like manners, through words and by example. Children need to hear and see it, over and over again, for it to become a natural part of their everyday thoughts and actions. So while Mickey and Daisy will help our kids learn about financial responsibility as well as being independent with chores, I hope they will be a tool for them to learn about LOVE, COMPASSION, and to be a GIVER to those who need them.

While I know that time and life changes me, hopefully most of the time for the better, I find comfort in knowing that my God is "the same yesterday, today, and forever". (Hebrews 13:8) I pray that I can be an example to my children to "love your neighbor as yourself" (Mark 12:31) even if they never learn to chew with their mouths closed.

Muck Boots

"Mom, Mom, Mom," Haley said in rapid fire mode.
"What Haley?" I answered.
"Can I have some oatmeal?" "I want my kind," she said. Haley's favorite kind is Maple Brown Sugar with EXTRA FIBER. As discussed in my Snow Day post, we are trying to decrease the fiber in Haley's diet. She can barely bend down to pick up a toy without letting a flapper slip by.
"How about almond and honey?" I asked.
"I don't yike dat kind." She reminded me.
"Sure you do it's going to be great!" I said as I moved on. "Sophia do you want ham or turkey in your lunch?" "Actually we're out of ham, how's turkey sound?"
"Turkey's disgusting, I hate Turkey." said with a teenagerish attitude.
"How was your turkey yesterday?" I questioned, knowing she was just trying to irritate me.
"Awful, I just ate it because I was STAAARRRVVING!" said with a dramatic head bob that she's working on so it will be perfect by the time she is 16.

I hated Rick had already left for work: 1. because he usually packs their lunches and 2. this is when we usually cup our hands around our mouths and start yelling back and forth like we're in a busy restaurant kitchen... "Turkeys off the list, 86 the turkey, no more turkey EVEEEERRR! Turkeys for losers..."

"Haley, your oatmeal is ready! You're going to love it!" I said with enthusiastic optimism. Haley climbed up into her booster seat "all by myself" and I noticed she saw no need to re- apply her underpants under her nightgown after pottying this morning. Her happy little face quickly changed to disappointment when she didn't see her high fiber oats. 
"Harrison, what did you put in your mouth?" I said accusingly. "We don't eat off the floor." "Here, I made you some oats" and inconspicuously slid Haley's oats to his seat. 
"I don't like this kind Mom." he wined. 
"Just one bite Harrison, that's the rule." "Try it." I demanded.
He stuck his tongue out and licked the tip of the spoon. "Nope mom, don't like it."
"Harrison, go get your coat and shoes on." "The bus will be here in 30 minutes and we all know it could quite possibly take you that long to accomplish those two tasks." "Remember guys, the Smith twins are walking down from their Mimi's to catch the bus with you." The Smith twins are two of Sophia's 5th grade best friends.

I started digging through Harrison's backpack to clean out his folder and sign his daily planner which I should have done the night before. "Harrison!" I yelled. "Why didn't you get a star sticker in your planner the past two days?!" 
"Mom, we didn't have school." 
"Oh yeah, good job buddy." Harrison has done so great this year in kindergarten. A sticker everyday except for once and it was a mild offense if you ask me. We have been so proud of him and actually a little shocked. I've checked all his personal belongings looking for a sheet of star stickers that he could be applying himself on days that his teacher "forgot" to give him one. I know my son well. For example, I wasn't shocked a bit to turn around and find Harrison showing off his mad Jaguar interpretation in front of Sophia's 2 pretty friends. He helps us ruin Sophia's life.

Sophia pulled me aside quietly and asked, "Mom, could you please not wear Dad's Muck Boots out to the bus this morning?"
"It's too late!", I yelled. "It's 9: 23". "Who misses the bus on a two-hour delay!" "I said to get your coat Harrison!" I jumped out of my house slippers at the back door and into Rick's boots and off I went. Haley yelled out the door at me and said, "Mom can I have this?" 
"Yeah, sure I answered back". 
I caught up with the kids right before Sophia and her friends got on the bus. I couldn't help myself and yelled, "haaaayyyy girls!" while bopping my hips and posing in my boots. They all laughed but I'll probably hear about how "your ruining my life Mom" later.

I trekked back up to the house to find Haley eating a Swiss cake roll. "What are you doing Haley?" "You know we don't eat cake for breakfast." ( well at least the kids don't eat cake for breakfast I find it delightful with my coffee). 
"But you said I could have it Mom?", she said in a surprised manor. 
"Go ahead, whatever!"

I put a little water in Haley's, then Harrison's, and now my oatmeal, so it wouldn't feel like wall spackle in my mouth and had breakfast with Haley, my pantyless, precious, pup.

Going to TRY and have a day worthy of a GOLD star sticker. "For nothing is impossible with God." Luke 1:37

Every Drop

Depending on where or when you grew up, what you may refer to as your purse, your neighbor next door may lovingly call her pocketbook or hand bag. From the utilitarian, functional look, to the status symbol, fashion statement, this item, carried around with us everywhere we go, contains our everyday personal items.

My first memories of carrying a purse was when I was a little girl on Easter morning. In addition to my frilly dress, gloves, white hat, and patent leather white shoes...I carried a purse. I remember thinking it was an awesome way to smuggle my Easter candy to church. In addition, I would meticulously fill it with my red, cherry Chapstick and of course a pack of tissues.

We definitely didn't live in the "Forget the Frock" age.

I remember being dropped off in middle school at Seneca Showcase, our local, two feature movie theater.  I would run in and find my friends who were also carrying their little purses around their neck and across their chest. It was a sign of growing up and learning to take care of yourself, even if it was only carrying enough cash to pay for your ticket, popcorn, and a drink. Unlike girls today, I didn't have a phone in my purse. However, in its place I had at a quarter, given to me by my dad, along with a quick "call me and I'll be there". I kept it safe right beside my pack of tissue.

When Sophia, my oldest and now 11 yr. old, was a wee little girl, I would regularly hand her my purse and let her dig through it to keep her quiet when necessary. She would find random papers to write on or an old snack to enjoy from days before. Her favorite however, was lining up her tiny Polly Pockets then putting each one of them to "bed" using my tissues to cover each one of them with a "blanket".

One day in church, Harrison, my only son and now 6 yr. old, was having a difficult time holding still and behaving.  Since it had always worked with Sophia, I handed him my purse to explore. He quieted down and I began to enjoy the message...UNTIL...the woman sitting behind me gently tapped me on the shoulder and nodded her head in the direction of my son. I turned his way and immediately felt my face flush with embarrassment. He was swinging, above his head, an unwrapped tampon, by the string. He looked as if he was doing a Mexican Hat dance and my tampon was his festive dancing prop. I jump up to grab it just a moment AFTER he released his pinching grip on the string. It went catapulting through the air directly toward the back of a bald man's head. Due to my cat like reflexes, that I have developed since raising an active boy, I caught that SUPER sized torpedo! I gave a small curtsy to my audience behind and sat down, having learned a lesson.

My purse still manages the role of pantry, filled with a variety of snacks, as well as my family's trash can on the go. It isn't however, used any more as a babysitter. For this reason, I often tell my little Haley, who is 3, to pack a bag or purse before we leave so she will have something to quietly entertain herself. There have been times I have been tempted to question her packing and the need for a plate or one random sock but I then remember the universal rule.  Don't question what I consider an everyday personal item and I won't question you. A girl just needs her stuff. Like my mother did, I do remind her, "don't forget your tissues"!

There is the quite frequent occasion that I asked my sweet husband, Rick, to hold my purse for a moment. He's not the kind of man who holds it out away from himself with one finger, so anyone wondering, would know that it wasn't his. He is also not the type that swings it onto his shoulder and wears it like it is his own. He just carries it by his side only one time questioning the reason it was so heavy. He is now educated on the universal rule that I follow with Haley.

You see, we all need a little help sometimes. It may be holding our purse so we can shop a little more effectively, but other times it may be something significantly more. Where there are women, there will be purses.  And with our help through the United Way's Power of the Purse, more women will be digging through their purses looking for tissues to soak up tears induced by success, relief, laughter, gratefulness,  joy, and hope for their children's and their futures.

So come on March 18th to Harmony Ridge Gallery...and bring your purse...filled with plans to carry it home lighter. I guarantee that the money you leave will give you something it never could have bought.

"We know only too well that what we are doing is nothing more than a drop in the ocean. But if the drop were not there, the ocean would be missing something." Mother Teresa

Scissors

It's that stressful time of day between 5 and 6:30 PM when everyone is hungry, Rick will be home from work at anytime, the house is a mess despite working all day, and the kids are laying on the couch watching some absurd, brain rotting show on Nickelodeon. I'm however in the kitchen, kickin' it in high gear, trying to keep it together. I reach into my junk drawer to get my scissors and.....THEY'RE GONE!!!

That's it, the last straw fell..."WHERE ARE MY SCISSORS!!!!" The kids look this way. I repeat the same phrase, this time banging both fists on the counter for more emphasis. "GET UP, GET UP, GET UP, FIND MY SCISSORS NOW!" My 3 precious offspring jump up in fear and begin scurrying. I grip the counter and try to "breath it down" like I learned in child birthing classes. It was too late for my essential oils. I could tell my breathing techniques were going to fail me today as they did in the labor room each time. There was no epidural for this pain however! Beyond my control I needed release. It needed out. I tried to hold back but it was going to win. I grabbed the underside of my chin and tore back my "sweet gentle mother" mask. I rolled my head around backwards and side to side morphing into this creature I've yet to tame. " I..... NEED...... MY......SCISSOOOOOOORS!" said in an echoing low voice. Then the rant began... 

"How am I supposed to make you all a healthy dinner without scissors? The Dinner Creations package clearly states that I am supposed to cut the package open with a tiny pair of scissors. I am not to tear it, or cut it with a knife, and unlike other people around here I try to follow the rules. Do you see me taking your important things and breaking or hiding them? Of course not, you leave all your stuff everywhere for me to pick up and put away. All I do all day is carry your junk from one end of the house to the other like a rented mule. I can't take it anymore. ( that's one of my favorites) I can't believe Santa brought you all anything this year. I'm going to get that elf on the shelf some glasses for his birthday. Then maybe he'll tell Santa the truth. You know you're supposed to keep your grubby hooks off those scissors. They are MINE, MINE, MINE!!!! ( I stomp my feet sometimes too for added affect). I think I could buy scissors at Walmart every week and I still don't think you could find a pair around this pig sty. Actually, right now I'm going to go and write "scissors" on the top line of every page of the grocery list. So help me (another one of my favorites) when I find those scissors I'm going to... ( thinking about what I'm going to do) I'm going to...(still thinking) I'm going to cut that package open then do something so bad you're going to hate it. Then I, unlike YOU, am going to put the scissors back in the drawer. Yeah, that's what I'm going to do." (I use hand motions too)."

Moments later I saw a shadow toss the scissors on the counter and runoff. Since I don't live in a convenience store and don't have a tape measure extending vertically from floor to ceiling at my back door, I couldn't be positive but I believe the image stood at the approximate height of my middle child. I found them all cowering in the playroom, huddled together gently pushing Haley forward. We are all aware that she gets off a little easy with my tendency to blame her acts of blatant defiance on mere childhood innocence. After-all, she is my third and final. I tell them "I am going to buy my own pair of scissors and keep them hidden and so help me ( see, there again) if you even ask to use them, you'll wish you hadn't". "I don't even care if it is for a school project." "I'll even deny that I own my own, secretly hidden scissors to cut your gauze during a major emergency." (I head Bob too for added effect) "Are you picking up what I'm puttin' down?"

As you see, I did get some new scissors...

They are so sweet I almost wish they came with a holster so I could wear them around, always prepared and ready to cut. They are designed with a comfort grip and a razor edge so sharp it needs a protective sheath. Kudos to the iridescent packaging marketing strategy that grabbed my eye that day. The scissors will be hidden but were clearly marked first. Hopefully, they will be reminded of what went down and how they barely made it out alive, on that cold December day.

Moments after a scenario like the actually benign one described above, my kids seem fine and back to their normal business. It is me however, who stands at the pantry door eating Little Debbie's, filled with guilt and disappointed in my inability to control my anger. After a while, I tell them I'm sorry and remorsefully ask for forgiveness, which they always happily give me. Their unasked for hugs and smiles for me let me know they've moved on.

You AGAIN have compassion on me(us); you will tread my(our) sins underfoot and will hurl all my(our) iniquities into the depths of the sea. Micah 7:19  Just like my children, who also know my heart's desire, You let me start over again, like a new fresh day, even if it is 8 PM. I hesitantly reached out to take the gift I undeservingly came seeking. A fresh slate, a gift, knowing that otherwise I'll be stuck in my shame, unable to move on....to be better for them....where I'm the worst....in the walls we surround ourselves with....called home.

A Turkey's Life

I told you I had poultry on the brain...

One day at work, I was evaluating a new patient. I was skimming over his history and somewhere below age and height he was to fill out his occupation. There it was: Turkey Turner. Initially I thought he may work in a restaurant with a high demand for turkey burgers and I would be treating him for an overuse injury of his wrist. However, considering his dress and the fact that we live in West Virginia, I felt I needed to investigate this further. He went on to explain to me that he worked on a turkey farm not far from here. He told me nonchalantly that he walked around all day and picked up turkeys that had fallen over. Unaware that turkeys were such clumsy animals, I continued probing. He went on to tell me that the Toms, or male turkeys, were so genetically and hormonally altered, that they could weigh 60 to 80 pounds sometimes! That would be like Harrison (6) and Sophia (11) running around on muscle-less, scaly, three-pronged legs! No wonder they would give out and fall! I couldn't believe that they needed help to get up or they would suffocate under the weight of their own breasts!!! What a terrible way to go!

"So how many turkeys do you help up in a shift?", I asked. I assumed he would report a small number and that he was there to mostly supervise the birds, providing a "just in case" scenario. He went on to tell me that he could turn up to a hundred turkeys in a shift!!! He also reported that he wasn't the only Turkey Turner per shift, that it could take 4 or 5 of them to keep those birds on their legs all day! "WOW", I said and shook my head in amazement. I couldn't help but to compared these big breasted birds to their wild turkey counterparts who can fly and like to sleep in trees. "Geez", I thought to myself, "just one bad day of Turkey Turner "call offs" and you'd have a 5th Grade Science Fair Project on your hands." "Evidence for Darwin: Survival of the Fittest". Blue ribbon for sure.

To pass time I imagined them playing games like, "All Up", where the object of the game would be to get all the birds standing at the same time. I also imagined harmless, low-bidding gambling going on throughout the day as well. "I'll buy you a Coke if 'Crooked Beak' falls on his face first." "Deal!" "And I get your break if 'ol Knock Knees' falls more than 3 times before lunch."

I asked him if the turkeys seemed thankful and gracious when he returned them to their feet. He said, "heck no, they come running and peckin' at ya "! I was thinking then, maybe he had an ankle injury from running or even possibly a finger laceration with tendon repair.  Maybe it was his back? I can't quite remember. He provided too much other more interesting information. I asked him, "do you look at them differently during the month of November"?  "Do you feel sorry for them or do you check them out to find the one that looks the most delicious?

You know, now that I start thinking about it, I was treating him for back pain. I specifically remember both of us practicing turkey turning body mechanics in the middle of the busy physical therapy clinic. "Deep squat, bend with your knees, pivot, and RUN!" I'm pretty sure we looked like we were doing Cross Fit. After 3 sets of 10 turkey turns, however, it was evident that my job was a piece of cake, chocolate even, in comparison to my patient's.

I wondered if the turkey Toms had breast envy? Or maybe they just felt less preyed upon if they were smaller chested.  I worried about how some of the older Toms may feel. I'm sure some of them were really smart and wise and knew exactly where and how to peck on the feeder to give extra grain between feedings. However, because of their scrawny or limp breasts they were less valued.

I can't imagine being a turkey and living in a world where the size and quality of my breasts played such a role in determining my value and worth as a whole. That would be absurd, now wouldn't it?