Art & Misc

I'll try to make this short. But I'm behind on updating life here and a lot has gone on. Easter and Cash's 4th birthday and a concert to name a few. And I'd like also to share what I've been thinking about lately-- creativity.

It seems as if I've been molded in life for creative things and pursuits. I began as a small child with music. I started taking photographs in high school. I got my college degree in art. I taught drama for a time after college. I write. I long to be good at just one of these things but find myself doing just a little of each and never mastering anything. Yet all of this together actually has made me good at one thing: cheering on the arts. (I was a cheerleader too, so it all comes together.)

I have always felt that one is closest to God, their own creator, when they create. Even the most "uncreative" (so they say) person can make something new. I never believe someone when they tell me they are not "artsy" or creative. I tell them, "You get dressed every day. You are wearing art. And if you don't wear clothes, that's an artistic statement itself." And what's more, we all listen to music and watch various kinds of media every day. Art is everywhere. You can't escape it.

Cash turned 4 this week and we went to a park to open some presents and have a little party with his Nana and Pop-Pop. All he wanted was a chocolate covered granola bar and an umbrella. He got both. He also got some presents. I had found a bunch of Star Wars figures at a garage sale so I snatched them up and wrapped them for Cash. One was Darth Vader. He looked down into the gift bag, saw who was coming next, and began to sing "dum dum dum, dum-da-dum, dum-da-dum" as he pulled if from the bag. Thank you, John Williams. Do you see how art just makes our life more fun? And presses in on us without our conscious consent.

Last night we helped put on a concert by Eric Peters, an independent musician from Nashville, TN. Jimmy and I have been wanting to bring him back to Tallahassee since we saw him here in college a couple times. He put on a great acoustic show and we played a few songs before he went on. Jackson got to go with us to watch. The last time we played a concert was March of 2003. Jackson was 18 months old. So he doesn't remember seeing us play. He video taped it and ran concessions and pretty much had a blast. We left the concert and he told me he wanted to see other bands live. Like U2. Eric or "Mr. Harry Peters" as Cash was calling him stayed with us overnight and Jackson enjoyed showing him his worlds he's drawn and cried when he left. I truly think Jackson felt inspired creatively by the whole experience. It was great to watch.

So I myself am encouraged anew to support art. Especially art done by artists that realize where their gift came from. Creative talents and gifts can only come from heaven itself. I always said I would have a wall in my house that my kids could draw on. I never did this, but my refusal to remove sharpies from the premises have afforded me enough permanent art. My kids are like little creative plants and I hope I can water them every single day. May I encourage them and other artists I meet to "Create, create, create. Produce, produce, produce." And as a result give back to God what was already His in the first place.
About the photos: Cash at his preschool party wearing his "4" crown. And also a good one of he and Libby, whom we now refer to as "the middles." Also some pictures from Easter, when we dyed eggs and ran in the grass in our Easter clothes. And one of Eric Peters, whom I did a photo shoot with this morning before he left.

The Daily Grind

I always worry my blog seems like I'm overwhelmed and tired all the time and that I complain too much, talk about poop too much, and generally sound strung out. Some really nice people recently told me that it's not so, that all moms can relate to my reality. Well, last night I was feeling pretty tired and didn't accomplish as much as I wanted but I just felt so spent. It's not lack of sleep, I just feel like the noise and busy-ness of my house sucks the life right out of me by the end of the day. I thought about it today, when I was feeling refreshed.

I was remembering a marathon I watched a long time ago. (I don't remember if it was the Olympics or what - I was a young girl.) It was a women's race. This runner was coming into the arena/track to run her final lap and finish the race. She was so exhausted that she became disoriented and for lack of a better word, loopy. Her coaches/teammates were desperate for her to finish but they could not touch her so they gathered around her, trying to use their voices to communicate what direction she needed to go to cross the finish line. After looking to me like a crazy person off their meds, she finally crossed the finish line and immediately collapsed.

This is often how I feel at the end of the day.

Like I've been running a marathon which has stripped me of all my physical and emotional energy. I no longer care what I look like, who is watching me, or how much sticky is on my person. I just cross the finish line and collapse. I am delirious and make no sense. I am in need of someone who can lead me to bed. Forget the victory lap, I'll use my extra time to sleep, thank you very much.

And this is how I often feel on a normal day. Doing the normal daily grind. Even without the "Dog eats dirty diaper and smears it on the rug" or "Wind blows through van and begins to litter the entire parking lot with mom-van trash" headlines of my life. (These things happened to me today. Aaah!) But somehow the spectacular is in the daily grind. It's on mile 17. Somewhere in the middle of all this running someone makes a memory. Gives a hug. Loves each other. And feeling like I have no brain cells left is worth it somehow. So to all the moms out there in the trenches, keep on running. Wipe a nose better than you ever have before. Read a book with commitment. And for heaven's sake, if you have a dog, keep your poopy diapers far away from them!

The Black Garbage Bag

I truly try to follow through when I say I'm going to do something. If I tell someone I'll call them, or let them borrow something, or promise something, I try to do it. But one thing I often fail to do is follow through with the terribly threatening punishments I announce to my children.

Like, "If you don't _________, I'm going to _______." Fill in the blanks yourself.

Sometimes I forget. I will send someone to their bed for a talking-to and forget they're there until much later. Usually I remember what I'm supposed to talk to them about but the moment has definitely passed.

But usually I don't follow through because, I admit it, the children are winning much of the time. I know if I really do take away such and such because they didn't do this or that, then the crying and wailing that will ensue requires of me a whole new set of procedures to deal with the new problem. Thus, I am giving them extra chances just to preserve my sanity and my ear drums.

I want to be one of those moms who is not affected by their pleas, yet also I do not want to be remembered as a big breasted Scandinavian nanny who is expressionless and six feet tall with a big ugly mole on her face. I'm going more for the Mary Poppins singing all the time and making cleaning a game persona. And love. I want to love them.

But a few days ago I had hit my limit and decided to see what would happen if I actually followed through with one of my empty threats. It was clean up time. And of course, no one was cleaning up. They sit on their bed, fiddle with a dirty sock, get distracted, leave the room for way longer than necessary to "go potty" while I work circles around them and try all the Barney tactics. "Clean up, clean up..." and "Who can make a basket with these toys?" and "Wow! Good job!" You know, all the things you try to muster up when really you are just wondering how they got so darn lazy. Anyway, I told them that if they didn't get busy I was going to get a black garbage bag and put everything on the floor in it.

The threat: THE BLACK GARBAGE BAG

The immediate response was "No! Don't do that!" but no actual cleaning to show me why I shouldn't do this. I gave them five minutes. They cleaned up for about 30 seconds. (This was mostly directed at my 3.5 and 5.5 year old.) I decided it was time. I got the bag, while saying loudly, "I'm getting the bag!" (I was actually enjoying myself and on a small power trip at this point.) I dramatically opened it up with a big swoosh through the air and loud plastic noise. I walked into the room, and put about 2 items in the bag and the crying and wailing began.

It was not the kind of crying I expected though. It was as if these children had been separated from an appendage. I expected anger and frustration when instead I got huge tears, hurt feelings, pain and suffering. These are the same toys, mind you, that they throw on the floor, step on, take outside and leave in the elements, draw on, you name it. Yet when they went into the black garbage bag it was as if my children were losing a piece of their soul.

It was hard for me not to laugh. But I kept it up. "I'm sorry, now that they're in the bag, you can't have them back for a week." They cleaned everything else up very quickly, while sniffling and whimpering. Lesson learned: Following through on your threats can actually be entertaining. And they really began to pick up their things after that. Even Jackson, who was just hanging out in his room, sat crying on his bed because I was putting his sister's toys in a big black garbage bag. Oh, the emotions. It was totally worth it.

I will sing songs. I'll get out a spoonful of sugar. I'll ride a carousel in the park with my children and dance with penguins. But when necessary, I will not be afraid to get out the big black garbage bag and make good on my threats. Because every once in a while the mean terrible nanny must rear her ugly head and remind these children who wears the ugly mole in this family.

Sweet Pea

"Where the heck is my pickle fork? I can't keep anything nice with you kids around here."

My college room mate had these cool party napkins with this quote on them. (Only it didn't say "heck" but I'm trying to censor the blog for obvious reasons...) We of course thought it was really funny with it's retro picture and the whole nine yards but I can truly relate to it now. Today I woke to the sound of breaking glass. I truly can't keep anything nice around here.

With the addition of the dog to our J train last summer, my home has gone from "can look somewhat like the residence of a white trash hoarder" on occasion to "can look somewhat like the residence of a white trash hoarder and smells like a dog". The dog doesn't really smell all that often, but when she does I fear becoming one of those homes that you want to hold your nose when you walk in. I'm pretty paranoid about it. I would not mind bathing the dog, except that it would involve getting wet and the children getting wet, which in my mind becomes something that eats up approximately 90 minutes of my day. (Oh, and the dog has chewed through the hose so it becomes even more difficult...) So I leave the dog bathing to Jimmy. And when he doesn't do it, I take her outside and dump baking soda on her. We should NOT be pet owners.

So in an attempt to make the house smell a little better, I bought one of those plug in air fresheners...the wall flowers. I fought masking the smell, but I figured maybe these people whose homes I go to that smell good...maybe they're masking something and I'm just assuming their house is clean and fragrant and that they've got it all together. They could have a bird cage full of poop in the back for all I know. So bring on the wall flower.

It works pretty good until your 2 year old unplugs it from the wall, and your 8 year old, trying to be helpful, plugs it back in upside down. It slowly drips into your basket of Christmas books and into your husband's bible, which had fallen off the chair and into the basket of books. I smelled something strong and just thought the thing was doing it's job. When really, it was just $ down the drain. Or into the books.

Now, every week when we sit in church my husband opens his Bible, which has now truly become a fragrant offering, and wafts the pages in my direction, and the "sweet pea" smell goes up my nostrils it reminds me that I really can't keep anything nice. And the saturated pages also remind me that I have been given a gift. The gift of lack of control. Pretty much everything I do gets undone. Anything I try to control becomes a loose cannon. And nothing makes your life more exciting and fun. You could never do a scientific experiment in my home because to start an experiment, you need a "control". There is none of that here. We are a runaway train full of dirty kids, dust, missing pickle forks, love, laughter, and the strong scent of a fragrance thingy gone bad. All aboard!

There's no place like home

I have been meaning to take a picture of the status of these figurines for quite some time. It is pretty funny but also quite morbid if you think about it too hard so I just avoid the whole situation. I love the figures and, when they're not headless, it fits our family perfectly. I just need to buy super glue and glue them together but I find that that one simple task isn't really simple at all. I mean, first of all, I have to actually remember that I need super glue when I am at the store. Or remember to put it on a list. And then find my list if I actually make one. Plus, people are getting hurt and falling down for real around here and that just seems to take priority. And the thought of getting out super glue seems to me to spell more disaster. Even if I do it when they're asleep. Somehow, they would find it and either glue themselves to each other or inhale it until they pass out. I mean, I already keep sharpies around. Sharpies and super glue? I can't even imagine. I know, excuses, excuses. Fix the decapitated family members already, Julie!

So what made me think of these figures today? When this happened:


Penelope had used the drawers as stairs (not her idea) and climbed to the top and brought the dresser down with her. Libby used Jackson's standby, "DANGER, DANGER, DOUBLE DANGER!" which he doesn't really say anymore and I knew she would only use it in true danger (I love my literal little girl) so I went to see what was wrong. Penelope sat crying on the floor next to the dresser. I scooped her up and asked what hurt. She held out her finger which appeared to be fine. Whew. I felt quite a bit of relief. The only visible injury appeared to be done to Raggedy Andy who lie underneath the dresser with his red striped socks sticking out very much like the Wicked Witch of the East. So this whole scene just made me think of my figurines and made me thankful for such supernatural protection against falling houses. I mean, dressers.

Our Adventure

I seriously need to record what we've done over the last week so I don't forget but I've felt too intimidated by all the events and I fear a blog that is so long no one will ever finish reading it.

And even longer will be my take on the whole experience. But I will try.

We borrowed my parents pop up camper and hauled it down to Jimmy's parents house in Brandon, set it up in their side yard, and "camped" in it for 5 days. We were visiting because Jimmy's brother Gary and family are there, plus Gary's wife Sharon's sister and her two kids were there, so there was limited space in the house. We thought it would be a good test to take the pop up camper there, to see if we could hack it at a real camp site some day. I think we passed the test, but we sure don't want to try it again any time soon.

Jimmy kept telling me it would be an adventure. I begged to go on a different day when Sharon's sister was almost gone and there would be no need for a pop up. No, it will be an adventure. I begged to drive my mini-van behind him in the pick-up truck so we wouldn't all have to cram in the extended cab truck and be so close to each other. No, it will be an adventure. So I kept reminding him of this adventure.

When Jackson woke up screaming the first morning at 5 a.m. and woke everyone up I said, "It's an adventure!" When an alarm in the pop up went off on the second morning and pierced our ears until Jimmy ventured all the way to the garage to retrieve a screw driver to fix it, I said, "It's an adventure!" On the third night, when we were freezing and sleeping in 40 degrees, totally unprepared for such weather I said, "It's an adventure!" On the fourth night, we crammed into the house. Still an adventure, but at least under normal temperatures.

So this is what I kept thinking. Under regular "non-adventurous" circumstances, my patience is put to the test every hour. I can barely hold it together sometimes on normal days. So being able to remain sane and just plain nice to those around me was a huge test under these "adventurous" circumstances. Because really, to me, now an "adventure" means, let's do everything we can to make our lives much more complicated and busy, let's be loud, let's encroach upon everyone's personal space, let's get sleep deprived, let's cram ourselves into tight spaces, and let's do all this with a dog. Add some cold temperatures and an allergy attack and hey, "It's an adventure!"

So the whole thing for me culminated in the ride from Brandon back to my parent's house to return the pop up. We were all crammed in the cab of the truck and travelling at nap time. (Nap time is slowly becoming meaningless for me since I only have one child who naps. This is currently one of the saddest parts of my existence, but that's another topic.) I was desperate for everyone to be quiet so that Penelope could sleep and I could catch a few minutes of sleep myself. I knew I had reached the end of my adventure when I turned around and said in some monstrous (but quiet) voice, "If you do not stop talking and be quiet some sort of fire is going to shoot out of my face!" I knew I had reached my limit. We arrived at my parents house and I grabbed my bag and headed straight for the shower. Because sometimes, the adventure is over and you just have to wash it all down the drain.

We really did have fun visiting with family and each other. We took the kids to Disney World on free "volunteer" tickets. We got to see friends we haven't seen in two years. So it was totally worth the "adventurous" circumstances. But Jimmy has said more than once he's not going anywhere for a long time. And I all but kissed my bed when I got into it last night. And the kids actually didn't awake before 7 a.m. this morning. Glorious sleep! I'll consider it hibernation in preparation for the next adventure!

"I wub you"

Lately lots of things seem to threaten the state of my mental health...potty training, sand in my sheets, inches of rain that have turned my backyard into a bog and my house into a sandbox...but luckily all these stressors are all washed away by the beauty and wonder of my family. Someone is always saying something you wish you could put in a bottle and save for a day when you're feeling blue. A couple weeks ago Penelope and I were sitting next to each other at dinner. I have a bench on one side of the table and we were sharing it. She stands up most of the time to reach her food better. Thus, she is at the same level as me. She kept leaning on me and putting her arm around me, sliming me with dinner goo and crumbs. I was trying to take it like a mom but your personal space while you're eating is pretty important when you're me. Just as I was about to reach the level of annoyed she put her arm around me and said, "I wub (love) you." Is there a greater reward than this? I haven't found one on earth. I hope my children grow up and remember how much I love them, not how stressed I can get at times. These stressors really pale in comparison to how things could be. I could not just have sand in my sheets, I could have no sheets at all. I could have a dirt floor instead of dirt on my floor. But I have even more. I have people who love me, and really, this gift is enough to fuel me to overcome whatever stress threatens my sanity. The stress actually keeps me sane. It makes me appreciate those around me that, though they may cause my stress, help me get through the day. This is getting really cheesy. Like, I'm rolling my eyes at myself.

So on to something else. A week or two ago I dropped a yogurt cup at Publix and it opened and spilled everywhere. I said under my breath, "What the crap!" and immediately regretted it. But you move on. A couple days later Libby spilled her drink and Cash said, "Libby, what the crap!" and then, after I told him we don't say that, proceeded to remind me that I said it at Publix when I dropped the yogurt. How does he remember these things yet he runs around naked and can't remember to go put on a pair of underwear when I ask him to? What the crap?! Just didn't want to forget that one. I love my Cashy-Boy. He's going to be 4 in April! Everyone is growing up around here and it's freaking me out. But I take it one day at a time.

And one more thing, the kids are really enjoying the swing set and have played out there a lot for the last 3 days since it's been up. They swing and sing at the top of their lungs and eat lunch out there and just have fun in general. The dog lays around out there and watches them and I feel a little bit like Bella (the dog) is like the nurse dog in Peter Pan. Like, I need to get her a little barrel that goes around her neck and I can fill it with snacks and baby wipes and maybe a first aid kit? I could probably have the house to myself for a few hours at least! If only I could get the dog to teach Math and Language...but I'm pretty sure the only subjects she could teach are eating poop, rolling around in poop, and knocking over the neighbors trash. Not really subjects I want my children to excel in, so I guess I'll have to teach them myself. One day at a time.

We got a swingset.

New swingset!

The Alley's got a new swingset. See more on Facebook.



Jimmy

Band-aids and Library Monsters

Well, we are back into the swing of things. I've determined that vacation is like ripping off a band-aid. You're feeling a little bruised and beat up. You need a band-aid. Aka, vacation. Yet eventually you have to take the band-aid off. And you cringe a little. Then, you just rip it off. Then, you scream in horror at the pain that ensues. This is how it is when you get back from vacation. A little shock and surprise at how much it burns to be back to the daily grind.

Ironically, I couldn't wait to be back anyway. You want the band-aid off and even though it hurts, your bruises have healed and you're ready to accumulate whatever life may throw you next. This is why people go on vacation. To get away from daily life, get totally exhausted and over stimulated. So they appreciate daily life. I used to collect band-aids.

Speaking of ripping off a band-aid, I took apart Penelope's crib a couple days after we got back. It was time. She had been crawling out of her crib a lot. Anyway, it was weird and sad and different but I just had to do it. Wah, wah, Julie. Back to real life. Just do it quickly. Rip it off fast and it won't hurt, right? Not really. It hurt a little!

And on the way to the library today I had one of those Mom moments where everything seems to go your way. It was a moment of genius if I do say so myself. I was excited to get books with them but at the same time was somewhat dreading taking all four of my children to the library by myself, since they usually exceed the decibel level by 200%, according to my standards. So as we pull into the parking lot I felt inspired.

"Guys, remember you have to be really quiet in the library, so if you're having trouble, just pretend there's a monster who lives in the library, and you have to be really quiet or you'll wake him up."

And then I really got going.

"And if you wake him up, he'll come out and start eating all the books, and we don't want him to eat all the books, because then there won't be any books for us to check out! Okay?"

The older two enjoyed playing the game and the younger ones bought it hook, line, and sinker. Score! Cash, whom I believed was born without the ability to whisper, talked in a whisper the entire time and at one point came up to me and asked me where the monster lived in the library. I brilliantly answered (in a whisper of course), "You can't see him, but don't worry, he won't come out because you're being really quiet!" Penelope stood playing in the water fountain (someone usually does this but at least this time she was doing it silently) and turned to ask me, "Mom, where's the monster?" She's only 2 and a couple months...she's smart, that one.

They were still talking about it in the bathtub tonight. I've always taught my kids that Santa and the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny are not real. Yet today I crossed over when I allowed my 3.5 year old to believe in a monster that lives behind the library. What have I become?

One more thing. Just because. Our dog is having trouble getting back to normal too. She is breaking all kinds of rules like lying on the rug and such. Tonight she went into the laundry room to drink from the toilet (she doesn't do this often, only when she's really thirsty because we haven't put enough water out or something) and I listened to her drink for a long time, thinking she must be thirsty. Yes, you know what's coming. I said, "Jimmy, please tell me there's not pee or poop in there." And of course, there was. Number one. So gross. I'm just sitting here staring at her lying totally content trying not to think about what's in her stomach. A monster who eats books, a dog who drinks pee...I'm in really good company these days. At least I don't need a band-aid! I'm ready to be home for a while. It's a good place to be.

Vacation--all I ever wanted

2009 is leaving me and I feel the need for a final post. Our schedule has been extremely full since leaving Tallahassee for our Christmas road trip on the 20th. We dropped off Bella (our dog) at my parents house, then went on to Brandon to spend time with Jimmy's parents. On the way into town we went to the Museum of Science and Industry in Tampa. The next day we finished our shopping while Granny and Grandad made cookies with the kids. The next day we took Jackson and Libby on a surprise date to see the Nutcracker. We didn't tell them where we were going until we were in the car. Those of you who know Jackson know that this was killing him. The kids enjoyed it and so did we despite our nervousness about them falling over the side of the balcony which had a barrier of only like 24 inches or so. It was a long drop into the abyss since we were in the nosebleed section. But we escaped with no one falling and I liked the snowflake dance the best.

We led worship at our old church, Calvary Chapel Brandon on Christmas Eve, and then spent the evening at Jimmy's parents annual party. Christmas morning was full of stockings, presents, and a big breakfast, then it was off to my parents house by lunch to see all the cousins and family. We ate a large Christmas dinner as soon as we got there at which I declared that no one else in the entire world has a Christmas dinner as good as ours was that day. Seriously. We should sell tickets. Later we opened presents...this year was the "$3 Christmas" meaning we could only spend $3 on a gift (or re-gift something you already had or give something you got for free, etc.). It turned out to be quite impressive and Jimmy received two identical Mountain Dew hats from each of my sisters. They both got them for $2.99 at Ross. They didn't know they had bought him the same thing until he opened them. Poor Jimmy. But hey, he did it to himself. He likes to flaunt his Mt. Dew obsession. Just a few days earlier he had bought himself Mt. Dew flavored chap stick. (I'm doing him a masculine favor and not calling it lip gloss.) The next day the women went on a day after Christmas shopping trip treated by the Queen for our Christmas (she exempted herself from the $3 rule) and were successful in shopping and escaping the noise for half a day.

The next day was church and that afternoon we spent prepping for Monday, which was a trip to Disney's Hollywood Studios! Yes, you read correctly. We took 8 adults and 10 children to a Disney theme park during one of the busiest weeks of the year! Are we crazy? No! Why? Because we all got in free! My sister Becky's family has year passes, my sister Susan had 9 free tickets, it was Susan's birthday, so we were only short 2 tickets, since Penelope gets in free. My sister Becky scored two more tickets because her husband Jim chaperoned a trip to the Candlelight program last week with their youth choir. So there you go. AND we packed our lunches and ate dinner after we left so the only money we spent was for the kids on some trinkets as we left. It was crazy and tiring and fun and awesome and we didn't lose anyone and Susan got to ride a roller coaster for her birthday! It will probably never happen again and we were all glad we did it.

So that brings us to the last couple days which have involved thrift store shopping, more shopping, shooting, skinning, and eating squirrel, building a bonfire and roasting marshmallows, playing outside, playing the Wii inside, eating really good food, playing games, and watching football. Does anyone else want to come on vacation with us? Yes, it is all I ever wanted. While I am dreading the detox/damage control I have before me when I go home in a couple days, I am thankful for family and the holidays.

I wish I had lots of cool pictures to show but we haven't really had the camera out that much. I didn't want to take my work camera into a theme park. There is the annual "silly picture" of my family which came out great as usual. There are some things you can always count on. And that's partial insanity from your relatives.

Art Class Houses

Wednesday during my Home's Cool Art Class, we made gingerbread houses. It was lots of fun. I was determined to take photos instead of build a house because I knew capturing my little artists at work would make great pictures. They worked hard at creating and then put their entire selves into devouring every piece of their work. At least my kids did. There was this extreme uproar at dinner. It's like they were going to die right there if they didn't get to eat it. Once we just let them at it, all was peaceful. I can hear the oompa loompas singing in my head...Augustus Gloop, Augustus Gloop, great big greedy nincompoop... The entire photo shoot is on my Julie Alley Photography Facebook page. No, Julie Alley does NOT have a Facebook account. But Julie Alley Photography does. I don't want any friends. Just fans. Ha ha.

Mom on the move

Shame on me for not blogging in a while! It seems there have been no big events by which to spin my tales. Yet a lot goes on around here. So much, it seems like there's nothing exciting really happening. But when I stop and think about it, even ordinary days can be exciting.

Like today, I had exactly 45 minutes until I had to leave with the family for the mall. We were meeting some friends there for kid's eat free at Chick Fil-A. (I talk about kid's night at Chick Fil-A so much on here I'm beginning to think I should have named my blog "Kid's night at Chick Fil-A!") I was really sweaty and overdue a shower (I won't reveal how long "overdue" means in my world) but I wanted to exercise before I showered because naturally, I can't exercise within 18 hours after showering because that would be a total waste of a shower and thus my time. So I wanted to shower, exercise, and get everyone out the door in 45 minutes. I knew I'd be cutting it close. But it's these little challenges I give myself as a mom that make my life interesting.

I grabbed the dog's leash, hooked her up, told Jimmy what I was doing, and took off at a power walk. The dog was so excited that I was semi-running she dragged me all the way down our hill. I round the corner. She sees dogs. She drags me some more. We make it past. Then encounter some other dogs. I let the leash get away from me. She runs to the fence. They literally bare their teeth at me and I'm a little freaked. I make it home. Penelope and Cash are painting black streaks on their cheeks with my eye liner. My compact is missing. I can't take a shower yet because a kid is on the potty. Cash has to go too. The other potty is clogged. I send him to pee off the back deck. I'm telling Libby to hurry up. Searching for my compact. Walking through the house half-naked looking for my jeans in the laundry. Find the foam circle for my compact on the floor next to the toilet. (In prime little boy missing the mark pee territory.) I jump in the shower. Get out, get dressed, brush hair, don't apply any make-up since it's been you know where (I'll wash it out later), put shoes on kids, fool around with Jackson's shin guards (he had soccer later on), and help Jimmy get everyone in the car. Run back inside to get something for Penelope's hair because she looks like a sheep dog. I was on about 51 minutes. Not bad. I had allowed for some cusion.

We're driving two cars because of the soccer practice afterwards. Jimmy lays down a challenge to see who can get to the mall first. Why not? He pulls out first. A total advantage because we have the shortest way to the mall down to a science. But I'm up for it. The kids get into it. I pull a gamble of a move right at the end and beat him with time to spare. Victory! Sometimes, things do go right for a mom on the move. At the mall I get a steal of a deal with a gift card and take three kids home, bathe and bed them with no poop incidents or major melt downs. I even tended to the clogged toilet. Sometimes, you have good days. You exercise, shower, escape cooking dinner and purchase something fun at the mall all in the scope of two hours.

I'm not really sure if it's sad or weird that these things are what constitute a "good" day for me. But this is my life. And although my compact is still missing, I have my years of toddler experience to assure myself that it will turn up. Unless it got flushed down the toilet. In which case I've got experience in that department as well. Don't think I'd be able to reuse it though...

The Mom Fairy?

Things have been eventful and busy around here since my last post. So, normal. There's been some potty training, some sickness, a week of reorganizing/cleaning, a toddler sitting in an ant pile, home school, some Christmas decorating, and a three year old who decided to stick his index finger in the pencil sharpener and sharpen it. I guess his quick wit wasn't enough, he needed a backup secret weapon.

I've also been taking tons of pictures, of which I feel very privileged to do. I look at these and I think about how exciting it is to get a good picture of your family and I'm excited for them. I know how relieved I am when I feel like I capture one of my kids personalities.

Speaking of personality, we've got plenty of it around here. I am so thankful for my vibrant little offspring. Even though they like to raise the level of demand on me as a mother to a new (never thought possible) level on a daily basis, I welcome it. I just hope they remember the times when I'm laughing and having fun and not the times when I go into my room and lock the door.

And while we're on the subject of locking the door, this is what I must resort to do if I have to talk on the phone. I have a complete and total deficiency as a parent. I have neglected to teach my kids phone manners. They in fact seem to do the exact opposite of everything I have ever asked of them in this area. Mom is on the phone? Time to yell at her, pull off her clothes and generally act as if the world will end if she doesn't talk to you this very second. I need to practice with them and get some kind of reward system going and the whole nine yards but for some reason I just can't get there. Where is my sticker chart to remind me to do a sticker chart with my kids? Where is my candy when I successfully teach something to them? Can I please get some sort of positive reinforcement from the Mom Fairy of the skies? Because I sure could use a piece of chocolate when I do something good as a Mom. A sticker? A reward? A check on my Mom Fairy chart? Anything!

What I really need is to sharpen my index finger so it will be much more effective when I wave it at them when I'm on the phone...

Birthday Suit Poop

Well, I wanted to post on Penelope's birthday but it was met with a few activities I'd rather not remember. (Yet here I go anyway...) I have refrained from writing about our dog, Bella, because she is a dog. Not a human being, no matter how much she and everyone else in the family believes her to be human. Do you hear me, kids? Bella is NOT a human because humans don't do the following...

Penelope, on her birthday, decided to strip down naked (How could I not let her wear her birthday suit on her birthday??) and play outside in the sandbox. She yells for me, "Oh no Mom, poop!" (NOT words you like to hear when you're me) and I run out there to see that she's pooped outside on our deck. Not a major disaster, except that her index finger was poised and ready to play with it. Luckily, I called to Jimmy for help and caught her just in time. Now, I love Jimmy, and he's a huge help around here. But when it comes to times like this, he seems to think I've called to him so that he can come and watch me deal with the mess. So he came, and stood there. But at least I had moral support. I dragged Penelope over to the hose, sprayed her little bottom clean, while he watched, and then turned around, and, to my horror, witnessed the dog eat Penelope's poop off the deck.

I screamed and declared the dog could not come inside for at least 24 hours and of course blamed Jimmy for letting it happen. He was just laughing because, he is the true saint who cleans up after the dog, feeds the dog, deals with the trash the dog drags all over the yard, so he knows what the dog puts in her mouth on a regular basis. Penelope's poop is probably pretty clean. But having to watch the dog actually do it...I prefer to live by the policy "If you don't see it, it didn't happen." For someone who has resorted to rubber gloves to deal with excrement, I do not want the image of my dog eating it going through my head when I hit the pillow at night.

I put Penelope in the bath. Guess what? She pooped in the tub. Contamination! Had to go through getting everyone out, scrubbing the tub, washing the toys, washing the kids...aahhh!

Later that night Jackson slept walked into the hallway and lifted the lid of the clothes hamper as if it was the toilet seat and was in position and ready to let it loose. Luckily I caught him and did some redirecting. I dodged a bullet. So, I'm wondering, will I ever get used to this part of the job? Because I've acclimated to many things being a mother. But do they ever run out of different ways to pee or poop on something? And will I ever stop freaking out about it?

So here I've gone and written a birthday blog about poop. I better wrap it up before I think of more to say. Luckily we didn't celebrate on her birthday, so I can remember tonight's celebration instead of the poop fiascoes. Tonight we had cake and presents. Happy Birthday Penelope!

Here's a pic of one of her cupcakes and also a few I took in the yard yesterday of she and Libby. Dressing my girls in matching clothes will never get old to me. They love it now so I'll enjoy it while I can. They had some fun with my glasses. They're like my mini-me's in them!

Good Times

Tonight Jimmy and I had a total lapse in judgement when we took our kids to the worst Wal-Mart in town, two days before Halloween. It was a zoo. What were we thinking? And isn't it funny how when one parent is totally freaking out (me) the other parent is laughing and enjoying themselves even though their children are in everybody's way and are slinging around plastic pumpkins and making WAY too much noise (Jimmy). You seem to always balance each other out that way. He was right. No one really noticed or cared. To end the trip I took the kids to the car while Jimmy stood in a ridiculously long line, and Cash peed all over his (and part of my) foot. Yes, I was letting him pee in the Wal-Mart parking lot against our tire. We don't refer to it as "the ghetto Wal-Mart" without doing our part to contribute to its reputation.

So it was a crazy ride home and another zoo trying to get everyone washed up and in bed. Libby can be extremely loud but at the same time quite sensitive to the noise. While we were out running our errands, she was crying (loudly, I might add) in the car because Cash would not talk to her. Then, while they were eating a quick snack before bed, she says to me..."I don't like how everyone talks. I wish this house was calm and no one had any mouths except me."

Well, she's right that we're not always calm. Yet still we seem to escape without too much injury. We had our first stitches this week though, when Cash fell off a chair and hit his head just right on some brick steps we have in our closed in carport. He was a good sport about it and Jimmy said he bonded with him, since he brought him to the doctor and afterward took him to Taco Bell to eat. If you want to bond with Jimmy, eat at Taco Bell with him. Even my dad has done it. They still tell the story. Crazy shopping...plastic pumpkins...peeing...stitches...Taco Bell... Good times.

Another Quote and a Naked Kid

Since I recently brought up movie quotes...one of my favorites is from Runaway Bride. Joan Cusak's character says to Julia Robert's character, as she is about to marry and is nervous..."Your veil is not attacking you!"

This week I kept hearing in my head, "Your house is not attacking you!" It was just really busy and I felt like I couldn't stop handing out snacks and picking up random stuff. I've already blogged about the impossibility to stay ahead of housework before, so I won't revisit it, but I needed that voice in my head to tell me that my house was NOT attacking me and it was just one of those weeks.

The kids, with the change of weather (yes!) have started riding their bikes in the driveway. I have been asked to move the van multiple times this week so they can have full use of the downhill slope. Our downhill actually goes towards the house so it is impossible for them to roll into the street. This is fortunate because I'm sure someone would have rolled into the street by now if that were not the case.

Cash is having a little trouble making it to the toilet recently and I'm getting tired of the laundry. When it gets to the end of the day sometimes he just runs around naked. It is quite interesting the way a three year old's nakedness turns it up a notch. Somehow when they are naked they think it is okay to run at full speed, yell at full volume, and totally ignore you.

Last night Cash was naked after dinner (it was almost bath time) and Jackson went out front to ride his bike. Cash followed and I just didn't have the energy, after three days of my house attacking me, to stop him. I went out in a few minutes to find him riding the little plastic football with the base of the handles quite strategically placed. I got the camera. I couldn't resist. I got some shots. Then he got on the tricycle, same story. (Meanwhile, cars are driving by, the neighbor is outside, people are walking their dogs, and I'm way too over the "look at us we're white trash" line to care.) So I just wanted to get one more shot, of his naked little booty while riding the tricycle. But of course, he stood up and turned the trike around. I said, "Cash, I wanted to see your booty." So he says, "Okay!" and takes both his hands and spreads his cheeks apart. I guess he wanted me to check and see if he'd wiped good enough. It was totally obscene. I snapped a picture. Jimmy said, without even seeing the picture, "DELETE THAT!" It really was over the top and inappropriate. I didn't delete it. Yes, I'm admitting to disobeying my husband right here for the whole world to see. I'm sure I'll delete it eventually, but it was just too funny to erase immediately. I will of course not post it here but let me tell you it is just as "I can't believe he did that" as it sounds. With him smiling over his shoulder and everything.

Why, when I ask this child to "Go wash your hands and face" do I have to remind him 3,000 times, but when I ask for a picture of his rear end he goes way above and beyond the call of duty? Nakedness, I guess. It is his super power. It heightens his senses and gives him super specific obedience. I wish. If this were true, he'd be naked all the time! When it was time for him to come inside I literally had to stop his wheels and raise my voice he was enjoying his naked joy ride so much. I've got a new quote for the bulletin board in my brain..."Your naked three year old is not attacking you!"

sol•i•tude

*I'm copying this definition from a dictionary. A paperback Oxford I can hold in my hand and smell with my nose. I'm not getting the definition online. On purpose. Get out a book once in while all you techies out there.

sol•i•tude n. 1 state of being solitary. 2 lonely place. 1) aloneness, isolation, seclusion; loneliness, remoteness. 2) emptiness, wilderness, desert island.

This definition sounds pretty depressing, right? Who wants to be in a lonely place? Who wants to feel remoteness and emptiness? Who wants to be by themselves on a desert island?

I DO!!

All day I couldn't get this word out of my head. Solitude. Solitude. Solitude. It must be around here somewhere, I'm thinking. I've just got to find it! It's not in the junk drawer, it's not under the couch, it hasn't been put through the washing machine, and I'm pretty sure Penelope hasn't eaten it. I just can't seem to grab hold of this simple noun. Solitude.

In my world it just doesn't exist. Or maybe Penelope put it in the trash.

BUT. Can you imagine solitude with no escape? Never having to wait in line for the bathroom or learn patience as you serve everyone shorter than you first? Watching a funny movie with no one to laugh with? Not having a fuzzy baby head to kiss? True solitude would suck.

It's all or nothing for me. Solitude, or so much togetherness you think you might die of too many loud and sticky people touching you. So I'll take the loud sticky togetherness. Goodbye solitude. Into the recycling bin you go. Turn yourself into raw life. It's much more fun. At least that's what I keep telling myself.

When Dad's away

I'm long overdue on a blog and plenty has happened to write about but the time has passed and I'm not in the mood to look back. Jimmy is out of town and I'm braving the home front by myself which, so far, isn't as bad as I'd feared. Don't freak out babe, but I'm sort of afraid I'll like it when you're gone. Like, I can sleep in the middle of the bed, I have one less person to take care of, I have "sole possession of the remote control--very important" (what movie is that from, anyone know? don't look it up!) and here's the big one, I can kick that whole submission thing to the curb for a couple of days. Just joking. I could never survive without Jimmy...proven to me by the feeling I get in my gut when I hear his voice on the phone or when he gets home after being out for a while. I'm truly blessed.

My friend Carey's husband is out of town too and tonight we braved Chick-Fil-A with our 8 children and no husbands. Carey and I can talk till the cows come home but we barely even spoke. We just sat there with mutual feelings. Like, we were both just waiting for it all to be over so we could go home and put everyone to bed and watch TV and forget about life for a couple hours. She wins the prize for the most battle scars from the experience though since she got lemonade poured all over her feet and flip flops. Chick-Fil-A brings me back every time even though it can be crazy on kids eat free nights. I just like feeding the whole family for less than 15 bucks and being served by an eager high schooler in a tie. For someone who is always serving other people food, I'll brave the germs, sticky-ness and mess to just put it all in the trash can and come home to a clean kitchen, letting my tie-wearing friend mop up the lemonade.

The kids have been really cute missing their dad. They keep asking when he is coming home and they want to talk to him on the phone or computer. Today Jackson wrote an email to Jimmy asking him how he was. Then at the end he wrote, "P.S. Send Money!" (Double points to anyone who can tell me where he got this from!)

Angel Baby

Your baby is not a baby anymore when:
-they bail out of your arms when they want to walk like a big kid
-they yell "turn it up!" from their car seat
-they crack jokes
-they remove their diaper (full of poop) and bring it to you
-they grab your face and tell you (very specifically) what they want
-they climb down from their high chair with no help
-they can sing tracks from the "Slumdog Millionaire" soundtrack

You guessed it, Penelope has done all these things recently. My baby is no longer. Just wanted to make sure I put on the blog, on the record, that Penelope has been an angelic baby, a gift from heaven. Before she hits 2 in November I am taking the opportunity to tell her (when she can one day read this) that she is my Angel Baby and I love her very much. But she is really a little girl now and I'm not saying that she will cease to be an angel, but the baby has left the house. She dances, eats, and communicates like only a little woman can. Her toddlerhood has begun to rear it's ugly head but I'm hoping to do it up right. You know..."unspare" the rod and "gratefulize" the child.

Here are some pictures from this past week. Jackson had fun making her a little royal bed, Libby had fun dressing her up, and she danced (whasup homey?) with Cash like crazy in the bathtub. (He was in the bath pics too but was naked and Cash's physique is not for the faint of heart.) I caught her reading books in her crib after nap. And I snuck a photo of her sleeping. I hate to seem like I'm bragging about my kids, so if you've made it this far, thanks for loving Penelope too!

Cheering in the Rain

Last night we went to the Florida State/Jacksonville State football game. My parents were given tickets and my Dad wanted to take Jackson for his birthday (which is in 2 weeks). I agreed to go, even though I have been on a football game fast for quite some time. It was nice to return to my cheerleading roots and cheer on the Seminoles. They needed it, seeing as how they were losing pretty much the entire game. They managed to squeeze out a win, literally, because it was extremely wet; it rained the entire first half.

Our friends the Mitchell's and Walworth's were able to go as well, and we attended the Janek's long standing tailgate party and sat with them too. Jackson had a great time and I had de ja vu with my Dad as we used our trusty free and excellent parking space and walked into the game on the same path we walked on many times my freshman and sophomore years. Score!

F-L-O-R-I-D-A S-T-A-T-E....Florida State, Florida State, Florida State, WHOOOOOO! Go Seminoles!

Wife of the Year

WIFE OF THE YEAR!

And with this terrible face, Julie Elizabeth Alley wins Wife of the Year. In this shot, Julie was yelling at her husband to put away her expensive camera because it was beginning to pour down rain. At the same time, Julie was trying to get on her rain jacket so as not to get completely drenched. Sorry, Jimmy. Thanks for asking me to bring the camera. And for carrying it for me. And for flirting with me at the game. I love you!

Home's Cool

Well, I have survived the first week back of "Alley Home's Cool." I'm pretty pooped. But I need to share some pics from the week, especially of Cash's first day of preschool. The morning of his first day my mom called to wish him a good day. I called him to the phone: "Cash, there's someone on the phone for you!" Cash: "Is it Mrs. F.?" (his teacher) How cute that he thought his preschool teacher would call him an hour before school just to make sure he was on the ball. He sure was. He was Mr. Happy that's for sure.

That same morning he took his breakfast smoothie to his room and declared he was going to have "a drinking party." I sometimes write these things I don't want to forget down and also as fuel for the blog. I jotted down "a drinking party in my room" on an index card and put it next to the toaster, for I knew there would be other one liners that day. Later in the day Jackson found the card and sought me out to ask what it meant. (Anything involving the word "party" Jackson must be informed of.) I explained it to him and so he decided to find Cash and tell him he was ready to organize the "drinking party" in their room. So a sign was made for the door and Jackson gathered the necessary refreshments and cups. I was invited. (My first drinking party--YES!) I came in to the red solo cups and everything. I took a drink of my brew (H2O) and stood there with Jackson as we drank. I couldn't resist. I said, "So, come here often?" and he says, matter of factly, "Yeah. Cash has this party every day from (pauses to glance at the clock) 1:24 to about 1:40." So there you go. What better way to kick off your first days of homeschool than with a drinking party?

Sometimes people ask me how I get anything done with my older student when I have little ones running around. I don't really stress about it because I just think about all the other home school moms who have gone before me. I figure if they made it through somehow I can too. But it is definitely a challenge and causes many many many interruptions. Penelope spends most of the day doing this like this:



So, there you go. That's how I get things done. I allow my toddler to tattoo herself with markers. After Jackson, they've all done it. It's a rite of passage. She also eats them, though, which is unique to Penelope. I'm not going to analyze why this is. I've also been trying to get a shot of Penelope on top of the dog for a while. Our dog Bella lies around a lot and Penelope will go over to her and plop down right on top of her like she's a pillow and the dog doesn't even bat an eye. It's like nothing happened. She's a very tolerant dog and I think has a soft spot for Penelope because she's the same height and I do catch Penelope sharing her snacks with the dog sometimes.

Today I taught an art class for some home school friends of mine and we had fun and got dirty. I didn't get any pictures because it was too busy! Afterward Jackson made a movie with some of his buddies and this is how I caught him reviewing it later in the day. I think Jackson's current hairdo (he's begging us not to cut it) looks like Jim from The Office. That's what I said.

We wrapped up the week tonight when Libby got to get her first library card. I let them get it when they are in Kindergarten. She wrote her name on the back like a big girl and was so proud. She got a free bag and filled that thing up to where it was so heavy she could barely carry it. She reminded me of myself. You can only get 50 items, Libby!

And one last pic: Cash and Penelope--the new school. Stay out of trouble kids, and you just might learn something around here. If you're not down with the educational route, there will be a drinking party every afternoon...

Septomom vs. Dracula

Well, today was one of those days that I feel the need to take a shower when it's over in an attempt to wash it all down the drain. It's only 7:27 and I'm already out, because Jimmy saw the need and put everyone to bed at 7:00. Thanks, babe.

This morning I watched a friend of mine's kids, three girls. So I had my time of being a mom of seven. It was fun and pretty uneventful. I realized what having a big family must be like when I was assembling turkey sandwiches en mass at 10:30 a.m. in anticipation of "the lunch rush". It's really great when the kids have friends over because they're not constantly asking me to be their playmate. And I can enjoy watching them. I really only felt a little like Octomom once when I had the fussy baby strapped to my chest while wiping a bottom. It was short lived and at least the poop was in the toilet.

Later after nap time the whole family went to the library and I was feeling pretty rough (coming down with a cold) and felt like I was shush-ing children left and right. Especially Cash who goes from quietly playing in the water fountain to reading to running around and screaming all in the space of three minutes while we are at the library. But this wonderful angelic woman said, after I had shushed someone, "I think their voices sound really cute. You're not bothering anyone." God bless this wonderful human being. They are cute. Above the decibel level for the library by my standards, but cute.

At dinner I hit a new level of chaos/misrule when Cash was walking around the kitchen twirling a string over his head like a lasso. Not a good idea, but even more so when he had found the string on the kitchen table fresh from the rotisserie chicken Jimmy was cutting up. It had been tying the legs together. And I wonder how my walls get so dirty so fast.

In the bath tonight there was high pitched screaming made by Libby and Cash as they were pretending with their toy fish. I tried to get their attention but to no avail. It's like I wasn't even in the room. Jimmy came in to see what was going on and I complained to him that I could say anything and they wouldn't hear me. I tried, "Hey, tomorrow we're going to Disney World" and miraculously they got quiet and said, "We are?" No kids, I just want to wash your hair!!

And finally, what put us over the top on the early bedtime...Cash fell in the hallway after getting out of the bath and not drying off enough. He cried pretty hard but I was busy in Libby's room behind him and just gave the perfunctory, "Cash, are you ok?" and left him lying there. (Hey, people fall down and cry all the time around here!) Libby walked up a few seconds later and said, "Mom, Cash is bleeding!" and I felt pretty bad and came around to help him. What I found was a three year old that looked a bit like Dracula after quite a feast. I mean, really, like more blood than I think I've ever bled at once (childbirth excluded). He was fine, just a bad busted lip. Bedtime for all! And that's when I hit the shower. Washed all that Septomom, Dracula, and chicken residue down the drain for the night. I start over tomorrow. And willingly. This is my life. And it's full of life. And I love it. It just makes my blog a little better to sound like I'm going a little crazy.

Sally Julie Raphael

Today on the way to church Jackson asked me (again!) about the restaurant I went to last night. It's called Bella Bella and he's very interested in it because our dog's name is Bella. He wanted to know why we never go there to eat. I told him because it was "fancy" and it costs a lot of money. (That and because every eating establishment which we give the honor of serving us a meal, we leave them a small beach of crumbs, spilled drinks, and sticky tables while we are being really loud and impatient during the entire meal.) Last night he was very concerned because I was all "fancy". All I had done was take a shower, braid my hair, put on a cotton dress (with flip-flops) and was wearing a necklace. He wanted to know why I was getting so dressed up. I guess since my usual attire is jeans and a t-shirt, yoga pants, or paint clothes, I looked pretty good.

So anyway, he asked me again this morning about it. "Mom, does the chicken at Bella Bella have curls on it?" I asked him what he meant by curls. He said, "You know, like curls and lace on it, since it's fancy." I said no, and thought it was quite Amelia Bedelia-ish of him to think so. But really, if the restaurant is fancy, shouldn't the chicken come out wearing lace and curls? (Amelia Bedelia actually does "dress" the chicken in one of her books.)

Having this discussion about fancy restaurants and lacy chickens are just some of the things I have to talk about around here. Someone always seems to want to talk to me about what is going on with them, no matter how big or small the problem. I feel loved and appreciated, but lately I've felt pretty overwhelmed. I can't tell you how many times someone will be talking to me and someone else breaks in. Who am I, Sally Jesse Raphael? Is it the glasses? Because sometimes I feel like a talk show host.

On our panel today we have Libby and Cash. Libby feels hurt because Cash messed up her doll house and Cash seems unrepentant and aloof. Audience, let's welcome Libby and Cash!

Julie: Libby, can you tell me why you've come today?
Libby: Cash messed up my dollhouse!
Cash: It was an accident!
Libby: No it wasn't! He did it on purpose!
Julie: Cash, did you mess up Libby's dollhouse?
Cash: Don't spank me!
Julie: Let's bring in our expert, Jackson.
Jackson: Thanks for having me.
Julie: Jackson, did you see what happened?
Jackson: Yes, Cash pushed over Libby's dollhouse toys.
Julie: Cash, look at me. Cash...Cash...look in my eyes.
Cash: I won't do it anymore.
Julie: You need to tell Libby you're sorry...

And so it goes. My life is really just like a Jerry Springer episode without the mullets and microphones. I am a problem solver, an exploiter of people's mistakes, and I make a spectacle out of people's bad behavior in hopes to get... ratings? Well, it breaks down there, but I do feel sometimes like I need a microphone and cue cards to 1) be loud enough to be heard over the screams and frustration and 2) remember what I'm supposed to say that is patient, loving, Godly, yet still just and firm. Can I get some scripted mommy-isms to get me out of a bind? And while we're at it, how about an arsenal of good-loving-supportive wife comments to utter when I'm feeling overwhelmed by all my husbands crazy ideas? Thanks. Just drop them off at my trailer. I'll be hanging out at the food table, since I seem to not be able to get through the day anymore without chocolate.

Ooh, even now I hear a fight breaking out in the back of the house. Here I go. JER-RY, JER-Y, JULIE, JULIE...

Winning the War

Sometimes I am afraid that one day my friends and family will realize they haven't heard from me lately and that I'm not answering any one's phone calls and they will come to my house only to find that me and my entire family have died of messiness. We will all be buried under a mound of toys, dishes, laundry, shoes, and books. They will pull me out last, only to find me breathing my last breaths, as I listlessly utter, "Clean up, clean up, everybody everywhere..."

Why is it so hard for me to accept the fact that there are six people living here and that we live here, thus we use things, make messes, and there is always putting away and cleaning up to be done. If my house was neat all the time, we wouldn't be living here. But does that mean that we can't put our shoes away when we take them off? Because I'm believing the impossible---I think we can!

I'm pretty tired of fighting this battle, if you haven't noticed. But we home makers are silent warriors, fighting the war of messiness and disorganization but determined, no matter how many battles we lose, to win the overall war. It is a thankless job with no recognition or praise for our work. Who's to see when we conquer and reorganize our linen closet? But we know. Somehow we can rest a little easier knowing the sheets and towels do not have control over us, but that we can still show them who is boss.

And to encourage all of you out there like me, just keep going. Keep preaching "a place for everything and everything in it's place" even if it only happens 10 percent of the time. Last night before bed Jackson was allowed to read books on my bed until bed time. When I came to bed, my bed was covered with various piles of books, adding up to 20. I was so happy to see my son enjoying books and so I did not mind cleaning up after him. THEN, he apologized this morning for leaving them on my bed in my way. THEN he told me he had organized them and that the "other" pile had the most books in it.

A small battle won by those who like to put things away. My son organized his books! Yes! So I am inspired to keep teaching cleanliness even though from my very spot at this computer I can see unidentified sludge on the floor, a dirty diaper wad, and enough dog hair to knit a sweater. I will march on! I will win the war against messiness! It will not dominate me! Now off I go to fight another day of messiness battles. Charge!

Warning: Fresh Paint

Well, we've been doing major home improvement stuff this week and I'm really tired but wanted to get it down for posterity. We hung dry wall a couple weeks ago and this week finished it, primed, and painted our entire living room from floor to ceiling. Plus all the baseboards and molding. So everything has been in total upheaval... not totally out of the norm but still disconcerting and hard for the kids and even the dog. Plus, I kept finding little black dog hairs in my paint so she was not on my good list this week. All of us, dog included, did strange behavioral things because everything was just so crazy around here.

On Friday morning I found dog poop, complete with flies, on the deck. I did not touch it. I take care of the majority of the poop inside the house made by the children; I leave the outside and the dog to Jimmy. He also gets up with the dog in the middle of the night. It's actually kind of nice to be on the other side of "someone's crying (or barking) go take care of it." I refuse to get up for a dog. I have actual humans who need me here.

So then, later, we got home from swimming at a friend's house and I took off Penelope's suit and she said she had to go potty. I let her. She peed. Got a treat. Woo hoo big girl blah blah blah. She then comes to me a few minutes later (still naked I just hadn't gotten to her yet) and told me she pooped on the floor. I asked her to show it to me. She did. I cleaned this one up, after assigning Cash the job of making sure the dog did not go near it, as I knew she would probably either roll in it or eat it or stand next to it and pee. Luckily Cash did his job and it was just a normal clean-up job.

I have been so focused on painting and just wanting to get it done I've let a lot of things go and have ignored a lot of things that would usually cause alarm. This afternoon Jimmy found some unidentifiable substance on the ground that we thought might be vomit but it didn't really look like it, but we just couldn't tell. The only kid it could have been from would be Penelope so I called her over and asked her if she did it but her communication is not quite ready for this kind of exchange so I couldn't determine if was hers. All she smelled like was graham crackers. It didn't look like anything she'd eaten today, and she didn't have anything on her shirt or mouth, so...that leaves the dog? I still don't know who did it but I did actually get my nose down there and smell it (what was I thinking?) while holding my paint brush, then went right back to my painting and let Jimmy deal with that one. He does have a cleaning business and all.

All day today, Jackson was working on an elaborate drawing of "Jackson's World" in which Jimmy cleans and I cook. We work three days a week for $20 an hour. I am talking to Jackson about all this while painting. Asking him where he's getting the money for this lavish house. In a round about way, he basically said he prints his own money. And there is a rocket ship parked in his yard. It is tiring to keep up with all this while painting and making sure no one touches it. Later on, Libby peed her pants. Cash came in with his underwear on inside out. Are those the ones with a skid mark from earlier? I thought. Oh well I'm just not going to look. I just kept painting. Put on a video. Get your own drink, grab a cheese stick, I just kept rolling. I am glad to say I am done for a while and hopefully everything will get back to semi-normal and I can keep the house under control.

What am I saying? DO I EVER HAVE THE HOUSE UNDER CONTROL? No! But maybe my chaos will seem a little better with freshly painted walls and clean baseboards.