Just in case you forgot...

You cannot post on blogspot with Internet Explorer 9 -- you have to downgrade to IE 8. And now that I have my lovely, old laptop back, I'm back online!!

When suburban plants attack...

Ah, gardening weather. Time to get out and put some plants in the ground. You know, the ones I bought last summer and have been nursing in pots ever since. I went out, pulled back the weeds and sunk a few in the ground. That's when I ran into something I've never seen before. It's a short, fuzzy-looking, pale green weed with heart-shaped leaves. It's lovely. Until:

This stinging nettle plant, known as the “heartleaf nettle,” has a natural defense mechanism: When touched, tiny hairs deposit burning toxins into the skin.

There's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home...

Having a Black Christmas

Oh, do I have a revelation for you. Remember how I keep trying to figure out where I got my wacky, unrealistic goals for Christmas? I figured out where they came from. Ready? My husband! That poor man is trying to channel the year 1964. Yeah! His father used to make this fun, fun, fun time for the kids, and he's determined to do the same. Strange, sick little man. And by that, I mean my husband, not his father. It's strange the baggage we live with, isn't it?

Next year, it's store-bought cookies for me! They're better than mine anyway. But first I have to get Lewis Black's new book. ;)

So thankful...

So, so thankful.

I know what you're thinking -- she's thankful that it's over, right? No. I'm thankful for lots of things, most of them strange.

I'm thankful for food that's not made mostly of sugar. Lord knows I can't take anymore sugar. For at least three more hours. It's toast for dinner for me. Dry toast.

I'm thankful that I'm not my brother. In Iowa. Visiting his self-centered in-laws. "Let's schedule our 50th anniversary party over Christmas so we can make the kids all travel through the snow to visit us. And make sure they bring their spouses, so we can be free to do what we want when we're finished playing with the grandkids." I called their house this afternoon and told them strictly not to wake him up if he's napping. They yelled until he got up and answered the phone. *sigh* I told him not to stress as they'll be dead soon. If God is kind to us.

I'm thankful that my son didn't blow up suddenly at any point this Christmas. He almost melted down last night over a defective computer game he got for his birthday. As if Christmas doesn't overexcite him enough, his birthday is Christmas Eve. But he had a great Christmas. Even when my mom gave him a blue towel for Christmas. I think it was a gag gift to go with the $20 bill, but you never know with my mom.

I'm thankful for the dishwasher. Need I say more?

I'm thankful that I won't be cooking next year. No one eats the cookies or candies that I make, and I'm okay with that. We can do some Pepperidge Farms and Godiva next year, and no one will mind. I'll probably make some peanut brittle for my lovely husband, a pecan pie for my lovely dad, and a veggie cheese strata for my lovely mom. But that's all.

I'm thankful that my kids' brains didn't collapse, even though I left them to their own dietary devices this year. And they ate peanut M&M's all day. I realized with some chagrin this evening that I hadn't fed them all day and that they hadn't asked for anything. Oops. And I'm thankful that they didn't barf. Oh, and that they won't go bowlegged before tomorrow. Probably.

I'm thankful that my kids are growing up and I won't be going to the 5:00 children's church service next Christmas Eve. Enough is enough. Seriously, who has a "Happy Birthday Jesus" party and gives cake and punch to little kids at 5:15 on Christmas Eve? It's time for good music and candles again. The turning point is the year that the kids stay up later than you do. We're there, baby.

I'm thankful that no one was killed getting the 4x4 beam up into the attic to support the new cozy swing that hangs in my daughter's bedroom. What an ordeal! But my man and I pulled it off.

I'm thankful for my husband who helps me do the impossible. He's my counterweight, the Simon the my Garfunkel. Team Verge can take it down. "Tag me in! Tag me in!"

And I'm thankful for my internet buddies that help me when the husband doesn't get it. Thanks to you all! And merry Christmas!

And to all a good night...

Good news, bad news...

So, there's good news and there's bad news...

Good: My white-paper-bag Solstice luminaria in the driveway are lovely. I haven't set the neighborhood on fire yet or anything.
Bad: My husband put out the trash, directly in front of them. I love him so.

Good: The Boy put up the mistletoe in the hallway.
Bad: I'm going to be bumping my head on that danged jingle bell for the next three weeks.

Good: The lemon cookies turned out pretty well, despite my not having enough honey.
Bad: I'm single-handedly eating all of them.

And on it goes... :) I wonder if everyone else's good and bad mix together quite so consistently.

Like Martha freakin' Stewart!

Didja ever cook something complicated for dinner, just knowing that the kids were going to love it? No, me either. Every time I make meatballs, I think to myself, "Well, there's an hour I'll never see again!" Fortunately, I love them! (I cook the onions first, so they have a caramelized sort of flavor. Mmm.)

On a brighter note, I actually mailed a hand-knitted scarf to a dear old friend today, and included some catnip mice that I made from baby socks. I even wrapped it in an old Hickory Farms box that I re-covered with wrapping paper using spray adhesive. I felt like Martha freakin' Stewart!

Then I took the kids to Target. AND didn't get a mint mocha. Hmph. Next time I fly solo!

The house is still a mess, but I don't care anymore. My Amazon boxes arrived. The house is adequately decorated. The Husband had bought The Boy's presents, and I've taken care of everyone else. The Boy has decorated the gingerbread house. The Thanksgiving cranberries have been made into orange-cranberry bread and put in the freezer.

So, tomorrow morning I'm taking a few hours off -- and getting a mamogram. Oh, I am a wild and crazy woman on the loose!

Christmas in Dixie (Part 3)

You know it's almost Christmas when the maple trees start to turn. Yeah. Not that it's anything like Vermont -- the leaves turn a rusty dark red, while the vines turn yellow. The live oaks only turn a slightly darker green. The elm tree in my yard just goes brown and then naked. It's a lovely time of year!

On a related note, it is not redundant to decorate an orange tree. Just as the fruit becomes orange, blue balls can be added to show your allegiance to Gator Nation. Yayyyy...

Of all the Charlie Browns in the world...

So, we're well on out way toward that Most Wonderful Time Of the Year. Oh yay... And as usual, it feels like we've bought twice as many presents for the kids as they can possibly ever use. And as usual, half of those are birthday presents -- because life is just unfair for Christmas babies.

Oddly enough, this Holiday Season we've spent a boatload of cash on adult, household things. Over Thanksgiving, we put down cash for a freezer and a laptop. Then came the 32" TV for the man cave for The Husband's 50th birthday. Now, we're getting a lawn mower so we can fire the lawn service. And not just any lawn mower either. We're getting a cordless, lithium-ion battery operated mower. You have to understand that we haven't spent even close to retail on any of them, but they all averaged about $350 each. Plus the TV Armor, which wasn't on sale. Anyway, I'm feeling tapped-out. And a little stressed.

Naturally, my laptop has crapped out, so in addition to my annual physical at the GP, my annual OB/GYN appointment, my mammogram, and the 75K mile checkup on the car before the new semester starts, I now have to get the computer's graphic card replaced. My dermatologist appointment isn't until mid-January.

The Husband is finished with his semester and graduation, and the kids are officially finished for two weeks. He's already making it clear that, well, I'm not doing a very good job at gaining their cooperation. Yeah. But we're too old for arts-n-crafts history and baking-soda-and-vinegar science. We can't make cookies as math. And, yes, occasionally, they have to do something they don't particularly like. They may have to read a few pages and answer questions, infer, and draw conclusions. They may have to learn why and when the Puritans moved to the New World. (It was for religious freedom in 1630, but it only took six years for them to banish their first dissenter.) And they may have to understand why we don't really want to go back to our early American religious roots. (Sure, they were in favor of religious freedom, but only for their religion.)

Anyway, we're a week and counting to That Magical Time. The tree is up, the decorations are up outside, some of the useless tchotkes are strewn around, the gingerbread house is made but not decorated. The Boy has been fairly useful. He helped make the Advent chain, supervised the making of the gingerbread house, etc. He's actually more helpful in seeing that things get done than he is at helping do them. I'm not saying he's actually a butt head, but he has a managerial bent. ;)

Next week, I have to catch up on the housework, figure out if the presents are "even" and who I've forgotten. I have The Girl's usual activities, with maybe a token of affection for the teachers. I just pulled the trigger on my Amazon shopping cart, and all that stuff should get here Wednesday. I have to produce presents for my dad to give the kids. I have some of my cooking done and in the new freezer, but I have more to do. I usually make the candy on the 23rd. The 24th is pretty much shot, between the birthday party (around noon), chapel (at 5pm), and Chinese food (around 7pm). Then I have to put a cheese strata and overnight cinnamon buns in the fridge. (I think I can do some of that in the morning.) Then The Husband and I have to anaesthetise the kids, put out the loot, and go to bed.

Why do I hate the Christmas season so much? Maybe Lucy is right. Of all the Charlie Browns, I'm the Charlie Browniest. Maybe I need involvement. Or a real live Christmas tree. Maybe my shoes are too tight. But I suspect that my heart is two sizes too small. What do you think?

Say whaaaaaat?

I should feel inspired by the generosity of others, but somehow...

Exsqueeze me? What's next? Caroling for the clerks at the 7-11? Must be nice to be that crazy... :)

It reminds me of Sylvia's "The Woman Who Does Everything Better Than You", as she takes snacks to the postal workers on April 15 midnight. And yet, part of me thinks, "That's so nice. Why didn't I think of that?"

Christmas in Dixie (Part 2)

Darn, it's going to rain... sometime next week. ;)

Quick question (And a not-so-quick one, too)

Is it really an apology when they wake you from a nap to tell you?


And what can I do with a child who has no sense of shame? Guilt, he has, but shame? Not so much.

Now, I'm not talking about long-term debilitating shame. I'm talking about ordinary social shame -- the kind that keeps you from acting like an ass in public. Seriously. Stomping around and whining about being bored while waiting for church. Flopping around and groaning with exhaustion while sprawled lengthwise in the church pew. Generally acting like an ass. "Look, there are 85-year-olds and toddlers here who sit upright for the entire service. I really expect you to do a little better than this."

Have you no shame? Apparently not. I keep waiting for the epiphany, but it never comes. I can't decide if he's an ass or if he is autistic. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference.

Christmas in Dixie (part 1)

Anyone else get bitten by a fire ant while putting up outdoor Christmas decorations? Just asking...

Not that you'd admit it to anyone...

... but do you ever wonder if your kids are stupid or just lazy? Seriously? Daily. And what gives them the idea that if they say "I dunno" enough times, I'll give up? And why don't the homeschool supply stores sell cattle prods?

And on a related note, is it normal to want to curl up in the fetal position and let the kids do whatever they want for a few hours? Or days? And can I blame this urge on a virus? The ostrich flu or something?

According to the San Diego Zoo:

Actually, that’s a myth: ostriches do not bury their heads in the sand! When an ostrich senses danger and cannot run away, it flops to the ground and remains still, with its head and neck flat on the ground in front of it.

That sounds just about right.

Aha!

I had several revelations about The Christmas Season this weekend -- mostly about why I hate it so much. So, I thought I'd share. 'Cause my mother always taught me to share. ;)

You have to understand that I didn't grow up hating The Christmas Season. I liked it well enough as a kid. When I was a single gal, I didn't hate it. I pretty much did what I wanted, bought cute presents for my niece and nephew, and got good invites for Christmas dinner. I liked it after I was married. I decorated the house with long garlands of pine, made Christmas for me and The Husband, cooked outrageous foods for the IT Christmas Feeding Trough at work. Gee, that takes me right up to... the day I had kids. Oops.

So that's what it's about, is it? Why?

At The Christmas Season, we're supposed to go all out for out kids, making their life as exciting and magical as we can, so they'll remember it for the rest of their lives and tell their children about in glowing terms. Sorry, but as a homeschooling mother of autistic children, that's what I have to do each and every day. I'm working flat-out to get these kids as much enrichment and education as will fit into our schedule. I pour my entire heart and soul into these kids every day of the year, and I have to kick it up a notch for The Christmas Season? That's SO not happening. Like I'm not running on fumes the other 50 weeks of the year...

So let's look back at the people who invented The Christmas Season: the Victorians. (You thought I was going somewhere else, didn't you?) The Victorians made Christmas for their kids by loosening up a little and indulging them in improper and uncharacteristic ways. They'd let the kids eat cookies and candy, stay up late, decorate trees in the house. They invented a ficitonal character in a red suit that would bring them a present, so the kids wouldn't get any ideas about their parents being too, too indulgent. And I honestly think the adults had fun doing it.

So, I've decided that my mission this year is to be a little more indulgent and laid back. I'm gonna let them pick things to do and help them do it. I'm gonna let them decorate every flat surface in the house. I'm gonna let them make and eat red and green foods. I'm putting The Boy in charge of instigating any and all Christmas Cheer he wants. And I'll gladly join in. I just can't give any more.

Peel, chop, repeat...

We had dinner at my mother's today. She made the turkey, stuffing, gravy, green beans, corn, cranberry jelly (with the can marks!) and rolls. I was supposed to bring pumpkin pie, apple crisp, baked potatoes, mashed potatoes, and rutabagas.



Naturally, I got up late and got all my food cooked in 45 minutes.

I set the oven for 425 degrees, scrubbed some potatoes, nuked them for five minutes, then threw them in the hot oven. I scrubbed the rest of the potatoes, peeled them. chopped them, and put them on to boil. I peeled the rutabaga, chopped it, and put it on to boil. I peeled the apples, whacked them with the apple chopper, mixed them with a little sugar, a handful of cranberries and a little lemon juice, and threw them in a casserole. I mixed up the oatmeal crisp stuff in the same bowl and threw it on top of the apples. (We always cook the apple crisp after the turkey comes out of the oven, hence the lemon.)

By then, the potatoes were soft, so I drained them, added butter, milk and salt/pepper, mashed them in the pot, and dumped them in a casserole with butter on top. By then, the rutabagas were soft, so I drained them, added butter and salt/pepper, mashed them, and dumped them in a casserole with butter on top. By then, the baked potatoes were done, so I was done. The other half of Team Verge (The Husband!) packed it all up as I finished it, and we were outta here! *whew* Oh, and we remembered to take the pie I made yesterday! Score!!

What I want to know is, how did my mom stick me with all the peeling and chopping jobs? ;)

Adding insolence to injury

So, it's not broken anyway. My parents swooped in like vultures this morning and carried me off to have my ankle x-rayed. "You can't mess around with stuff like this!" they tell me.

Anyway, the ankle is fine, but I pulled the tendons on the top of my foot. Or something like that. I'm in an ankle brace and a "shoe". They were going to put me in a "boot", but decided not to when they found out that I have crazy children and I need to drive.

This whole injury thing is disturbing to me. I find now that I do not have that The Force and cannot move things with my mind. I can only sit and think, "Gee, the bed needs to be made, the sink is full of dishes, I have to get dinner in the oven, and the kids don't do anything I ask unless I stand up first." Seriously, that last one is true. Unless I stand up, they figure I won't enforce any request. It's a "You and what army?" sort of moment.

I have also come to realize that I do not simply walk -- I stride the earth. Me and my running shoes and my 34-inch inseam. It's almost biblical sometimes. "In fury, you stride the earth; in anger you tread the nations." When I stand up to work or fight, people take notice. At 5'11", at least my short people take notice.

I've cancelled dance and my trip tomorrow to The Big City. I'm home with team insolence. Yayyyy...

Further shame and pain

Oy. I sprained my ankle wicked bad this afternoon.

I was trying to get The Boy to balance and glide on the bike, but he started screaming, "NO! NO! I'm gonna CRASH! I'M GONNA CRASH!!" Naturally, after that outburst, the first thing he did was crash. On top of me. He scraped his knee pretty badly, but rest assured, he did NOT take it like a man. And the whole neighborhood knows. Shame added to my injury.

Insult added to injury was that I still had to walk home -- after assuring the nice lady that tottered out of the nearest house that I wasn't dying. Fortunately, The Girl was throwing a tantrum because she had forgotten to wear a sweater on a sunny 85 degree day. (Apparently, helmet and sweater are both required for biking.) It was fortunate because I got to push the bike home, using it like a walking frame. When we got home, she put on her sweater and asked to go out again. I just smirked and said, "Get in the house."

I seem to be able to walk on my heel, but I can't move my toes without extreme pain. What could that mean? Time to go to Urgent Care? I would, except it's my driving foot.

Maybe I'll wait and see. I'm just afraid to see what gets added to shame, insult and injury. I'm thinking more pain. Those x-ray techs are brutal...

Friday's Wall of Shame

In the spirit of Suburban Correspondent's refrigerator confessions, I now offer you my Friday Wall of Shame.

I have reached a low in housekeeping that I can not possibly excuse. "Oh, I have two bathrooms, and no one uses the master bathroom. Oh, there are two sinks, so it doesn't really matter if mine is scrubbed all the time. Oh, blah, blah, blah."

So it's come to this: I have weeds in my sink drain.


The last time I carried the lawn waste to the curb, it covered my shirt in hitchhiker seeds. I picked them off and washed them down the drain. Apparently, they caught in the gasket around my drain plug. And apparently, they're immune to toothpaste.

I have no idea which is scarier -- that my sink is dirty enough to support plant life or that these seeds seem to thrive after being washed with toothpaste twice a day.

I think I'll blame the seeds. 'Cause in Florida, anything's possible.

And they're off...

Well, looks like I haven't been on in a while. Let's see what's happened since my last manicure...

I taught The Girl to ride a two-wheeler. Yes, you heard me!! My baby is on a real bike!!

Two or three years ago, I bought her a bike with training wheels and taught her to steer. I pushed her up and down the street (every day for three weeks) until she figured out that she was responsible for keeping it between the lines.

Last year, I bought her a larger bike, retrofitted training wheels, and made her push the pedals herself. But the bike kept dumping a training wheel off the sidewalk and chucking her off.

This year, I bought an even larger bike and followed the advice from Bike New York on how to get a kid off training wheels. Their method is to take off the pedals and training wheels, put the seat all the way down, and let the kids scoot around until they figure out how to balance. Why take off the pedals? Two reasons: so the poor kid doesn't scrape up their ankles on the pedals and the ground is easier to reach when they stop. Voila, no more maiming injuries or crashes; hence, less fear of falling.

She never did push herself with her own feet, but I pushed her until she allowed herself to glide. Then, I put the pedals back on, and now, if I get her started, she can pedal and balance for the width of four or five houses. Somehow, between her OT, Braingym, and a little more age, she has figured it out! It's quite a sight to see.

And by "quite a sight", I do mean me -- cheering and yelling, "Pedal! Pedal! Right! Left! Right! Look up! Eyes up!! Don't look at the fire hydrant or you'll crash into it! You go girl!" Yup, I'm quite a sight.

But so proud!

Girlie Girls

Q: How many Mormon Mommy Bloggers does it take to pump gas?
A: None. He fills up her minivan for her when he takes the boys to scouts.

I don't know what makes me think of this stuff... Except maybe women to use phrases like:
"Yesterday I had some fun with my sisters instead of working on today's post. It was really great and exactly what I needed. We ate a yummy lunch, shopped a little, and then we got wild and crazy and dyed each other's hair :) "

Seriously, I used my birthday spa manicure/pedicure on Monday when The Husband had the day off. I'm walking around with "Aphrodite's Pink Nightie" on my fingers and "Diva of Geneva" on my toes. I feel like such a girl.

I never did get used to hanging out with girls. I was never very popular in middle school, and I was a band jock in high school. Once I discovered boys, I never looked back. It didn't help that I was in the school of science at Purdue in college. I never personally knew any women. When I did have roommates, I never shared clothes or make up with them because all my roommates were short and busty. And makeup? Who wears makeup in college? Oh. My roommates? I lived with women who had beauty routines that they performed with religious regularity. But it never took.

Sometimes I envy girls. *sigh* I'll just have to console myself with the fact that even though my husband doesn't fill my gas tank, build the bookcases, plant the trees, or teach the kids to ride bikes, I DO. I am Mom. I rock.

But not as beautifully as a girl.

Signs.

Is it a bad sign when...

...the main reason I go to church is to get away from the kids for a few hours?

...I dream about chewing off my bite guard three times in one dream?

...I stay up and watch SNL just because everyone else is asleep and no one will get in my face?

...if The Husband and I got away for the weekend alone, I'd spend it sleeping?

...my dearest wish is that The Girl masters all her self-care skills independently -- so I can go away for the weekend and sleep?

...I knit for excitement?

...I have my birthday pedicure/manicure tomorrow, with lunch afterward with The Husband, and I'm not excited about going?

Running low on gas, I am. Seriously low. We're all fighting a sinus infection kind of thing, and it's leaving us tired and cranky. And by "us", I mean the adults.

I swear, it's like a competition with this man. All I have to say is, "Ugh, I have a sinus headache," and he has to chime in, "Yeah, I thought I was getting sick, too. I have that tickle in the throat and neck thing going on. I almost left work early." Seriously, this man isn't normally what I'd call overly competitive, but this is ridiculous. Maybe he's caught on to my, "Whoever gets sick first gets to go to bed; the other one has to stay up and take care of the kids" policy.

How long can a kid survive on low-fat potato chips and grapes? Seriously, how hard is it for The Husband to make real food for them? I think he's trying to guilt me into letting him be sick. No. No sick time here. You'd have to go away for the weekend, and you can't do that until The Girl can take her own shower.

My life doesn't always suck, but when it does, it sucks the life out of me.

Behold the power...

of chocolate chip pancakes. "Boychild, if you let me sleep all night, I'll make you chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast." It was that easy. I had forgotten the number one motivation for preteen boys -- food. The fastest way to a boy's heart is through his stomach. (Especially if you have a fishing knife. Just kidding.)

So, I'm thinking of making a questionnaire.

You and your husband have a free half hour to yourselves before you have to start dinner. You sneak off to the bedroom, and you:
a. have a wild, crazy quickie before dinner,
b. both crash out for a quick nap, or
c. neither of the above -- the kids would be drinking Drano and swinging from the ceiling fans.

2. When your husband leaves for work in the morning, you:
a. give him a passionate hug and kiss to send him off,
b. roll over, kiss him, and hope you can go back to sleep, or
c. neither of the above -- he's afraid of being splattered with baby food and won't come near.

You get the drift. I love my husband, but I live to sleep. What's that all about?

Remind me again...

They're supposed to be sleeping through the night by 11 years old, right? And most of that sleep is supposed to be taking place between 10pm and 7am?

'Cause, see, if they don't sleep, they get bored. And when they're bored, who do they come visit? ME!

I swear on the living God, my son woke me at 11:30 last night to show me that if he puts a pillow under his pajama shirt, he looks pregnant. I'd like to say that I didn't swear at him, but I'd be lying. Really, I didn't swear much -- until 12:30 when he woke me again to ask for a band-aid for his toe. Apparently, he felt this fulfilled the "only if you're bleeding" clause in the "Goddammit, don't wake me until morning unless you're bleeding or throwing up!"

What does a woman have to do to get a full night's sleep?! (Seriously, what does a woman have to do to get a full night's sleep? Please help.)

Bad sign?

Is it a bad sign when you dream that you've chewed your bite guard into small pieces?

7 Quick Takes!

Some random thoughts:

1. Gee, I wish my dad would stop upgrading my IE to release 9. It really screws up my blogger.

2. The Husband had a proud parenting moment this week. The Boy fell asleep with gum in his hand and glued his hand to his crotch. I thought that only happened in fraternity pranks.

3. Is it a bad sign when you have to mop the kitchen with a plastic scraper (putty knife) in your left hand? Gee, I hope not. 'Cause if it is, I'm going to have to stop buying cookies-n-cream ice cream.

4. My OT suggested that we could set new goals for The Girl, upgrade her goals, or she (the OT) could release us. My heart almost stopped. Please, dear woman, do not abandon us!

5. If you're going to make bean soup with kale, don't use adzuki (purple) beans -- green + purple = swamp slime brown. Just sayin'.

6. The Husband and I went out for Thai food and a baroque concert on Friday. I realized sometime around dessert that it was the first time we'd been alone (and conscious) anywhere for about three months. When the kids used to sleep, we at least had 9:00 to 10:00 each evening. Now? Forget about it.

7. I have discovered this phenomenon known as "Mormon Mommy Blogs". These women are scary creative, have gorgeous children, and outrageously engaged husbands. They make gorgeous table runners with bleach pens. They make educational nature walks from glue dots. *sigh* How could a Protestant ever compete with with that?

Anyway, that's about it from here. Still hot out. Still looking for a child-safe cattle prod to make homeschool easier. Still trying to get some sleep.

Kicking ass and taking names.

I woke up to a depressingly dirty, messy house this morning. The Boy has been out of sorts for days (maybe sick?), and his room has been a total disaster area. So I thought it was about time to kick some housecleaning ass. (You weren't hoping that I actually kicked some real ass, were you?)

I've done four loads of laundry, put a ton of crap away, vacuumed the entire house, and mopped the kitchen floor. I know it doesn't sound like a ton of work, but it made a huge difference. I didn't dust, I didn't clean the kitchen cabinets -- I just cleared the furniture and cleaned the floors.

I had goaded The Boy into cleaning his room this morning, but there's just so much a boy can do.
Does this happen to you? You say, "Clean your room now boy. Clear the floor. Put the stuff where it belongs." And he says, "Okay." And you wait. And nothing happens. So you say, "Just put the stuffed animals in the bin, then, and put your shoes away. K?" So he does. You try again, "Great. Now please pick up anything made of paper -- books, pads, tissues -- and put it where it belongs. K?" So he does. But he then he starts to get wise to me. "You're making me clean my room, aren't you? Why can't you just say so? Why do you have to be so bossy?! I can clean my room!" Yeah. Right.

Anyway, when he fell asleep after lunch, I dumped his closet and re-folded it, then I vacuumed his room. Yes, that's right -- I vacuumed his room while he slept in it. Gotta love that.

So, now I'm tired. But happy. I've kicked ass and taken names. ;)

knitting, the dentist, and swearing -- not necessarily in that order

How many times a day is healthy to mentally scream, "Shut the f*ck up!"? 'Cause I think I'm pushing the envelope... Ah homeschool, my very own nirvana.

Went to the dentist today. Actually, the kids went to the dentist today and I took them. The Boy has been seriously cheating on his brushing -- just wiping the brush around and rinsing. They busted him for it, and gave him brushing lessons and an egg timer. Haha! The Girl actually laid back in the chair for once. She was having none of the metal scraping hook or the spit-sucking tube -- sensible girl that she is. I mean, really? It doesn't look or sound like a good idea, does it?

Either way, we all escaped within an hour with our treasure box toy, and all is well. The women at checkout offered us tardy notes for the school. Heh. I told her we homeschool, and I'd write them a note myself. I'm so funny.

I've started knitting socks. Yeah, not enough to do, but if I don't get off the computer by 9:00, I'm playing spider solitaire until midnight. I need something else to do. The problem I've found now is that I have a choice between two styles of heels. One is extremely popular and the other looks easier.




I'm sure that one style is morally or structurally better than the other, but I'm not sure which. I've put out a plea to the only person I know who knits -- Suburban Correspondent. I'm sure she has an opinion... ;)

A little school and a spectacularly bad idea.

Geez, everyone else's blog is so damned erudite that I'm almost reluctant to write. That, and I'm lazy.

Anyway, we're making progress in getting school started. The Boy is getting up at 8:00 to watch the Pink Panther Show, so it hasn't been such a trauma to get him awake and moving. The Girl is getting used to working in the afternoon. Life goes on.

My dad had a particularly spectacularly bad idea last week. The other half of my brother's three-story duplex Up North is for sale, and my dad was going to buy it and move up to "help with the grandkids". Yeah. How bad an idea is this? Let me count the ways. One, he's arthritic and can't walk the distance from the street to the front door or the back door, and it's up a flight of stairs to either porch. Two, he's 77 years old and can't dig out his own car when it snows. Three, he's not agile enough to wrangle toddlers. Four, there aren't any bedrooms on the first floor, so he'd have to build one. Five, the last time he fell on ice, he broke both arms. Six, my sister-in-law hates him. Seven, my brother's half of the duplex is falling down, and my dad's half would eventually fall into it. (Can you say "removal of load bearing walls"?) Eight, my father can't keep a two bedroom apartment clean, so a three-story duplex is a bad idea. Nine, my brother (the househusband) can't even keep the first floor of his half clean, so he'll be of no help. Ten, it's an old house, so my dad would have to be making constant repairs, which he can't do. Eleven, my brother hasn't made any of the necessary maintenance and repairs to his half, so he'd be of no help. There are more reasons, but it's getting tedious listing them. What a train wreck. Fortunately, he came to his senses within a few days. I'm almost sorry he changed his mind. I think it would have been quite entertaining. From 800 miles away.

First day of school! First day of school!

Well, The Husband came home from work today, this first day of school, and found me curled up in the fetal position on the couch. Yeah. We had mixed results.

The Boy wouldn't wake up, then he wanted to eat all the Lucky Charms, then he complained he wanted to go back to sleep. But by mid-day, all the screaming died down, and he actually did some work on his own. (Note: make boy use the bathroom before viewing Institute for Excellence in Writing. Also, wash pants.)

The girl complained when she had to work this afternoon, but she was okay. I was just curling up for a nap when The Husband got home. He said, "Oh my gosh! One day of school and I find you this way? Oh dear." We had a good laugh and then we ordered Pizza Hut for dinner. To celebrate, of course. (Could there be another reason?)

My kids and other hurricanes

For those keeping score, hurricane Irene is missing Florida completely and slamming full-force into Manhattan. So we're fine, but the northeast is on their own. ;)

In other hurricane-like news, my kids are acting like wild animals. I swear if I left, they'd be feral within a week. I'd come back and find them chewing on bones on the floor and rolling in corn chip crumbs. They'd be unwashed and overloaded on screen time. The house would be completely buried in trash.They make me crazy.

My school.. In the middle of my house...

Well, every time I get online to say I don't have anything to say, I find something, so here goes.

School has half-started here at my house, meaning that The Girl has started. I've enforced a bath and bed time schedule for the school year, mostly for me. (The Boy has about as much self-control as I do when it comes to going to bed early. And it always feels early for us.)

I've put together a daily schedule for who's studying what when. I know this is anathema to unschoolers, but if I don't put it down in ink, science and history don't get done. And who wants kids in the house who wonder if the sun will ever become a shooting star. (It IS a star, after all, right?) So, The Girl starts at 8:30, and The Boy starts at 10:30. Some of the time overlaps, but not much. I just feel like since we're in middle school, we should kick it up a notch.

Even in classical education, the first three years is all memorization, but after that, the kids are supposed to start using what they've memorized -- applying it. I think that The Boy should be able to apply what he's learned so far to what he's seeing this year. And he should be able to take ownership of at least some of his work. (I say this every year, so don't get all excited or nuthin.)

Oh, and most importantly, we've named our middle school: Knowledge Middle School. (We finished Learning Elementary School in the spring.) We have a logo and will have t-shirts by the weekend.


Cool, eh?

Mmmm.

You have to love a great, inexpensive casserole...

...that way, when no one will eat it, you won't mind putting it down the disposal quite as much.

What the heck?! I even told them: it's just chicken, spaghetti noodles, milk, a little cheese. YOU LIKE ALL THESE FOODS. What the heck? Who doesn't like chicken tetrazini? White sauce? Check. Pasta? Check. Cooked chicken? Check. Seriously, people! Oh well.

Aside from my kids rejecting comfort foods, there's nothing going on here. Not much drama at all.

The Girl is stimming like crazy today. I'm about to lose my mind just sitting here. If she's a little droopy, she starts sucking air. It's similar to the sound when you burn your hand. It's an inhaled SHHHHHHHHK noise. And she does it over and over and over, interspersed with a strange hooting noise and the sound of her snapping her head back. Over and over. When she's too awake, it's the same except she's exhaling and whipping her head forward. That's got to be good for her vertebrae.

We've tried six different meds already and none help. Some don't do anything, some knock her unconscious, and some just make her sleepy. Right now, we're using something that makes her sleepy. We upped the dose and gave it to her in the evening, but it doesn't do squat. It must wear off during the night.

The public schools down here start on the 22nd, but we're starting on the 29th with The Husband's university. I've got a new school room setup, and I'm liking it. It's more book cases and a drafting table. (They keep telling me that the incline helps with her handwriting. Frankly, I've never understood why, though our bodies are vertical, the tables are all horizontal. It gives me a crick in my neck thinking about it.) The church had the annual school supply drive and Blessing of the Fleet this weekend. This is the first year that I've gone up with the teachers and kids for it. After three years, I finally feel like a teacher.

I cleaned the house on Friday so I could relax on Saturday. Tragically, The Husband was giving a final exam on Saturday and I had NOTHING to do. I swear. I feel like I worked so hard to get a day off, and it was totally, blindingly boring. It was thunder storming too hard to take the kids out, even if I could have persuaded them to go. It was also my birthday, so that made it just a little worse.

My sister and I share a birthday, a year apart. My mom calls it "Planned Parenthood". Ha ha. Basically, my sister slept through the night for the first time at 3 months old, and I was born 9 months later. The doctor asked my mom, "How about Monday for inducing labor?" and it just turned out to be the same day. To make a long story short, my sister has agreed to be 33 again this year, and I've agreed to be 32. Sounds fair, since I really feel 32 instead of 49. I mean seriously, I expected to feel a lot smarter at 49, but I really don't.

So, we're slowly ramping up for school, dodging lightning, and trying to find something to do. (Did I mention that the ocean temperatures yesterday were measured at 82 degrees? So you know the pool isn't much better.) Maybe we'll just lie in the cool dirt under the porch until November, like any sensible dog.

And in case you're curious, NONE of the birthday cake ended up down the disposal. My kids are quirky, not insane. ;)

To sleep, perchance to dream (about flunking high school!)

Last night I was doing the major-stressing-out thing while trying to get to sleep. This can only mean that I'll be waking up with the failing-high-school dream. AGAIN. (Monday night, I actually dreamed that I was registering The Boy for high school, but somehow they thought I was going as well. I missed the first day of classes, and they gave me a suspension. I wasn't even trying to attend!! And why can't I at least flunk out of college? HUH?!)

What to do? Okay, I'll just think of something I can't worry about. Ready?

Falling leaves. Mmm. Just falling anywhere they... Damn, that stupid dead maple tree is still in the ground next to the... Damn, I still haven't submitted the landscape request to the Homeowners' Association. Oh wait.

Butterflies. Mmm. Flitting around... I wonder if the pesticides that the lawn guys put on the house are killing all the butterflies. We sure haven't seen many this... Oh wait.

Chocolate. Mmm. Of course, chocolate is fattening. I wonder if I'm still under 195 pounds. That weight I lost last year is coming back fast. Oh damn, I wonder if it'll cause my pancreas to... I was supposed to make The Boy a lesson on diabetes/insulin so he'll stop eating pop tarts. But I already looked and found nothing good... Oh wait.

Dingos. "The dingos ate my baby!" That won't work.

Kittens. How cute. Yet, how many are euthanized every... Damn, the cat was shaking its head again today, and probably needs to go to the vet. I wonder how long until its next appointment anyway. How am I supposed to know... Damn. And I can't put those drops in her ears. The vet'll just have to figure something else out. I wonder if I flossed enough to fool the dentist tomorrow?

Solar energy. I wonder if the solar hot water heater is hail resistant. Or covered by insurance. Was I supposed to tell the insurance company? Remember that time they left a nail hole and the water leaked... I really should get those light tubes put in the living room. And get a new couch. I wonder how much is in the "emergency fund" or if there'll be any of The Husband's summer school pay left over after the dust settles. When do the CD's mature, so I can get another on the same schedule? Was it September first? And the frickin life insurance comes due then, too. I need to call TIAA-CREF and get life insurance through them. But I should lose 25 pounds before I do that -- no need to show up overweight. When was the last time I checked with Merrill-Lynch on the contents of my Roth IRA? The stock market. Oy vey. And The Boy wants to go Up North again for Christmas, but it's so expensive to get all those clothes just for one visit, even if we only to to NC. We're supposed to go Up North in the summer because everyone'll be on vacation. But we'll have to find a place to stay. I wonder what that'll cost. But not the same place as last time because the floors were like ice. And why can't The Husband teach Summer A next year so we can go on vacation in August instead of May? It's too frickin' cold up there in May. God forbid we just sit around again like this year. Of course, we did have a vacation in May this year to his family reunion. Damn, I was supposed to send the picture of the four of us to his sibs. I could just post it on facebook, but then I'll be targeted by white slave dealers. Isn't that situation in the horn of Africa horrible? But the kids are so beautiful! They really are. When was the last time The Girl ate anything that wasn't a fruit or fat-based? I mean, really, she can't live on bacon fat and blueberries. Can she?

This just isn't where I need to be. Is there anything I can think about that I cannot possibly worry about?

Sunshine. I wonder how I get an appointment to see the dermatologist about this itch on my arm. I've been keeping cream on it forever and telling the GP that I'm going to the dermatologist, but I don't. I wonder what it is. He'll just say it's stress-related and use the cream, right? But unless I do, I'll have to tell the GP that I'm a loser again. Besides, if I go I can get checked for skin cancer, because I got so many bad burns as a kid. I mean who knew...

Moonlight? Lesson plan not done. And why, why can't I visualize the moon phases. I know that if it rises in the evening, it's full, but that's about all. I never could understand orbital mechanics. Why is that?

Is there anything in the universe that's not all about me?

Religion? When is the church going to teach catechism classes for kids? No one else is home-tutoring theirs, so we're raising a generation of liturgically illiterate kids? I could get some kind of book or something. Maybe from the Lutherans, but I'm not sure if I can teach it convincingly. Noah and all that?

The rotation of the Earth? We're rotating around toward the sun again, and I have got to get some sleep!

Maybe I should take up yoga. The Consumer Reports claims that it cures absolutely everything -- because according to that Nature episode on stress, I'm a goner. I think our Wii does yoga, but I think getting the heck away from the kids for a while would be nice. I wonder if my parents are getting me a spa morning and lunch with my husband for my birthday again this year. That was nice.

Hey, I had to wear capris today, and they felt weird on my knees. That's a sure sign that summer's gone on too long. But at least tropical storm Emily is falling apart. For now. There's a sixty percent chance it'll re-form. But The Husband doesn't think so. I really should empty out the garage so we can get the cars in for the next hurricane. I wonder if I still have all the wing nuts for the hurricane shutters. Yeah, I think they're in the candy cabinet, next to the cookie cutters. You know that my metal cookie cutters are rusting? Yeah, I have 200 cookie cutters that I NEVER use, but I'm unhappy that they're rusting. I need to declutter. Hey, my new bookcase came out pretty well, considering that the lumber I used is warped and the joints don't meet perfectly. I mean seriously, I'm going to fill it with books anyway. In about three more weeks when the paint cures. I need to find something to put on the back of the bookcase because it's butt-ugly and faces the foyer. Maybe a kind of cloth or something? Damn, I need to buy some mesh to make more laundry bags because ours are getting ratty. I wonder who sells it. I really should hang The Girl's swing in her room. I think between glow sticks and a wander through the roof joists I could do it. In this heat? Sheesh.

I wonder if global warming (excuse me, climate change) is real. Seriously, my crazy brother keeps sending me links to that quackery web site. He still doesn't have his little girl in physical therapy. I wonder what he does all day if he doesn't do anything I would consider to be a house-husband's job. I need to clean my bedroom. I wonder where the beach towels and swim suits belong, other than the end of my dresser. I mean, it works pretty well there, but the view of it from the next room isn't very tidy. Man, I'd love to get a new closet built right there with some extra storage above it. I think it would cost about $500, but so would the paving stones next to the driveway. Why don't I have any hippie friends who want to help me do this kind of home improvement? Why don't I have friends? Damn, I wonder how Patrick's buddy Austin is doing. I should email his mom and make a playdate. My poor child. I mean, everyone says that homeschoolers have more friends than public schoolers because you really only make friends out of school anyway, but the kids down the street from us would eat my son alive. How on Earth am I going to get him to stay on a regular schedule and do school work this year? I always have to be the adult, and he always plays at being the French resistance. Like it's our job or something.

At least the... snxxx. (Then I wake up six hours later in a cold sweat because I can't remember my locker combination. My middle school locker combination.)

A sign of the Apocalypse...

...and in church, none the less!

I swear, on all that is holy, that I actually saw a woman in church in her swimsuit yesterday. No, not under a beach cover-up either. The woman was wearing an actual swimsuit in an actual Episcopalian church.

At first I thought, how tacky to wear a spandex halter top in church. Then I noticed the black spandex miniskirt with the slits in the side. My second thought was, tennis? Then it hit me. Swimsuit. In. Church. Midriff showing, love handles oozing around inside the skirt and over the top, back fat squeezing out of the halter top. But it technically was a top and skirt, right? No one will notice, right?

RUN! HIDE! THE HORSEMEN CAN'T BE FAR BEHIND!

And you know the scary thing? She really didn't stand out that much.

Almost there!!

I'm almost there! ("Push honey! Push!") Yup, my homeschool portfolios are almost finished for the year. Whew.

In Florida, we have a few different ways to certify our homeschooled kids as having received an education. We can have our portfolio reviewed and certified as showing that our child has "made progress commensurate with ability". We can have them take standardized tests and submit the results. We can have them take (and pass) the FCAT. Any way we choose to do it, we must make a portfolio and keep it for several years. (I'm not sure how many, but it's longer than I've been homeschooling!)

Portfolio means something different to different people. I always write about a ten-page summary of the school year and their accomplishments, broken out by subject. (I know, I know -- all educational fields overlap and we must integrate their learning. Blah, blah, blah. Just do it, dummy!) Then I pull out a sample day's work for each subject from each month. That comes to six subjects times nine months, times three or four pages each, or almost a half-ream of paper. Ick.

It's supposed to give me (and the reviewer and the state) a neat picture of the progression of skills, and I suppose it does. But I'm sick of doing it. My poor scanner and printer are, too. I feel like it deserves a margarita once we're finished. Or an oil bath. Whatever scanners like.

I can't wait...

It's child abuse...

My kids are abusing me -- I haven't slept in weeks. Are my kids newborns? No, not even close. They're just trying to kill me.

The Boy is a night owl, like me. Left to his own devices, he stays up as long as he's physically capable, plus a half hour. Then he tries to sleep all day. Yesterday I got him up at 9:30, 10:00, 10:15, and finally succeeded at 11:15. He stayed up until at least 1:00 this morning, which is when I fell unconscious.

Why, you ask, would I allow a child to stay up that late? After all, he's only 11.

I like to have a half-hour to myself before I go to bed, just to unwind and have an independent, complete thought. So, I curl up with the laptop and The Boy annoys me until I give up, somewhere around 1:00.

Then, The Girl (my morning child) wakes up at 6:00 the next morning. This morning, I got up at 6:00 to help her change her "girl sticker", medicate her, and go back to bed. The Husband goes off to work at 7:30, and I stagger out around 8:30. The Boy is unwakeable (is that a word?), and it starts all over again. By dinnertime, I'm just about to collapse on the floor.

Today, I say, "No more." Here's the plan. You have to tell me if I'm crazy.

6:00 is dinner.
6:30 is cleaning up and watching the news.
8:00 is The Boy's shower and The Girl's walk and shower.
9:00 is reading with The Boy. (The Girl puts herself to bed around 9:30.)
10:00 is The Boy's snack and brushing teeth and The Girl's tuck-in.
10:30 is The Boy's bedroom time and my quiet time.
11:00 is LIGHTS OUT.

At 11:00, I swear on all that is holy, I'm turning the lights off, even if I have to throw the circuit breaker.

So, now the question to you all is -- what is the penalty for breaking the "lights out and don't leave this room unless you're vomiting or bleeding" rule? (Death? Please say death or dismemberment...)

Window screens and growing up -- a Friday mix

I just had a radical thought. Those screens on the windows are really obstructing my view of the hummingbirds? Why don't I take those down? Seriously, no one in her right mind is going to be opening those windows for at least four months -- live it up! Talk about this being our stuck-inside-with-crazy-kids season, eh? Instead of going skiing/sledding, we just go to the pool/beach instead. Otherwise, it's the same. That grocery store parking lot? BRUTAL. See?

In other news, The Boy is progressing nicely into tween-hood. He walked past me last week and asked, "What the heck is that in your hair?" "It's a plastic butterfly hair tie I found. I thought it was cute." "Please don't wear that -- it looks dumb." Yayy!!

See, raising kids on the autism spectrum really backward. Our kids learn to lie? Yayy! Our kids tell us we look dorky? Yayy! They want to do everything for themselves? Yayy! They get greedy and want to do all the chores? Yayy!

Lying is a very complex social skill. Self awareness is a hard concept to develop. Self-reliance is a sign of maturity. Financial planning, ditto.

So, when you start to complain about your kid being snarky, remember -- it's a part of growing up. And that's a good thing.

Oh sure, it's hot here, but...

Okay, I caught some grief for yesterday's post. Sure, "only 91 degrees" isn't so bad until you consider that I don't have to check the forecast again until, oh, November -- cause it ain't gonna change. Day after day of "heat index 101" will wear a gal down. There's something about our sun angle that makes "91 in the shade" kind of irrelevant.


Don't get me wrong. We can't top 110 degrees. But you all will have crispy fall leaves by October. Us, not so much. We'll be swatting killer spiders with the Fall L.L.Bean catalog long before we have to break down and wear socks.

And the high in Washington, DC for Saturday? 84 degrees.

Now, Tulsa? That's a different story. Just give up now. Move to Alaska. I always wondered who came to the Florida beaches in the dead of summer. Now I know. You people are crazy.

Tulsa Oklahoma:


We'll leave the light on for you...

Oh dear...

I've decided to rename the group of months known as July, August and September. I am no longer calling them "summer"; they are now to be known as "Swearing Weather". As in, "Yes, it certainly is swearing weather today."

If you walk out the front door and spontaneously take the Lord's name in vain, it must be...


Oh yeah mama. Damn it's hot.

The (temporary) end of the world as we know it...

What to do?! It's raining in Florida! And we're not talking about the "if it's 2:00, it must be thunderstorming" kind of rain -- it has been raining for hours with no end in sight!

The kids have resorted to a dump-and-spread sort of activity that involves singing "Get Along Cow" and accidentally dumping half of a bookcase. Maybe you had to be there to understand. Heck, I was there, and I don't understand. But my 11-year-old daughter is now reading a big ass book entitled "Biblical Literacy". (Somehow that one didn't get exactly dog-eared from repeated readings.) They're now carrying the books through the house, and I'm not stopping them. Why?

One reason. I've lost the will to live. Remember the phrase, "A day without orange juice is like a day without sunshine?" (Okay, if you're under 35, just nod and smile.) See, in Florida, a day without sunshine is a Big Deal! We lose the will to live without at least 8 hours of sunshine a day. Sure, we curse it all summer, but it's still there, giving us a will to live.

Now the kids are searching the house for The Boy's DS. It's small, dark, and glossy. Yeah, they'll find it. Reeeeeeal soon. I've suggested cleaning his room first, but he just looked at me like I was nuts.

What I want to do is make a roadtrip to Lowe's. The Girl "needs" a ballet barre, and I've figured out how to make one with saw horse brackets, two 2x4's and some PVC. I'll post pictures if I can get it to work.

But alas, it rains still. Can't breathe. Reaching for the light... Rose... Bud...

It's official...

The Boy is headed into teenage-hood. Last night when I put him (forcibly) into bed at 12:30 am, my son asked me, "Mom, why do you have to ruin my life?" I told him, of course, that I couldn't ruin his life until he was 14, when children usually start claiming this. Then I took all his electronics and turned out the lights. Check. And. Mate.

In case you're curious,

if you (or your freakin' father) upgrades your Internet Explorer to version 9, you will not be able to post using blogspot. You will need to remove the upgrade. From ask.com:


Open up your Control Panel from the start menu and click on "Uninstall A Program", in the bottom left corner. On the left side of the window, click on "View Installed Updates". When it gets done loading, simply click on "Windows Internet Explorer 9"(or something like that that's obviously IE 9), and click "Uninstall". Once it's gone, remember to restart(there will be a prompt saying this also). When your computer restarts, open up Internet Explorer, and voila! It'll be back to IE 8, and all your favorites and such should be there. I'd go through and check various setting you might have set just in case, but everything should be the same.


Because you (or your father) were so proud of upgrading everything to make it so much better. 'Cause we all know that newer is better. ;)

Testing, testing. Is this thing on?

Just checking -- because I just can't get posts to freaking publish.

Team Verge (GO TEAM!)

I'm sure I've mentioned Team Verge before. My father coined the phrase years ago when the kids were babies. He was referring to the way The Husband and I work together on jobs, never overlapping, always interlocking. It's a beautiful thing -- it refreshes my belief in marriage.

For example, let's say a child vomits at 3am. Who gets up? Everybody. I carry the child off to the bathroom to let him finish throwing up, clean him up, and re-dress him. While I'm taking care of the child, The Husband strips the bed and remakes it, rinses the sheets in the kitchen sink, and starts the washing machine. In under 10 minutes, everyone's back in bed, some of us with a barf bucket, some not.

Everything we do is like that. I dig weeds; he bags them. I elevate wallpaper; he navigates. I clean; he tidies. I cook dinner; he makes salad and gets it on the table. I wash laundry; he folds it.

So anyway, half of Team Verge is out of town for a few days this week, learning how to fly around in a hurricane. (Yes, I DID let him. He looked so pitiful.) And I'm on my own, trying to remember who feeds the cats, who takes the trash to the curb, who collects the dishes from the living rooms at the end of the day.

Enter (wait for it) The Boy! I swear, if anything were to happen to The Husband, he'd just move into the master suite and take over. He's emptying the dishwasher (for pay) and feeding cats. He keeps me company (despite my best efforts) until nearly midnight when I'm finally ready to pack it in for the night. He's my Mini Me.

I'm not sure this is entirely a good thing, though. I mean, I want him as part of Team Verge, but I'm just not sure where he fits in. And I'm not sure I want him sneaking into my bed while I'm asleep. I love him but I need my space. And The Husband and I need our space.

But, it's time to make room for an apprentice on Team Verge. All hail Team Verge!!

Now, what onerous chores can I offload while he's still excited about it... ;)

...and the living is easy.

Yup. Still alive. Lacking drama, but still alive.

We survived vacation, but The Girl is still stimming like a crazed, rabid badger. The Boy enjoyed it immensely. Lots of Wii with the cousins. We did some laundry at my sisters on the way home, and arrived here with clean clothes. Ahh, the luxury...

The home owner's association met with me this week to assess the disaster that is my yard. Turns out that my evil neighbor (the one that tried to trap my cat) turned me in to the HOA. Yeah, real classy. Anyway, we're on track to remediate the wreckage, so they're cool with it. Looks like I'm going to have to buy another pallet of sod, but that's another sad, sad tale.

The Boy went bowling with a buddy last weekend, and he's still buzzing. I was naturally skeptical, but if anyone could handle whatever The Boy dishes out, it was this mom. It all went well, with the exception of a radio-station-related coup attempt in the car. She straightened his butt out. No prob. I've always hears of heartstrings, and I swear I could feel them strain and stretch as I drove away. *sigh* I know that's the goal, but it's still hard for me.

We're still schooling but only halfheartedly. Okay, The Girl is going gangbusters, but The Boy is running out of work pretty quickly. It's a good thing. If only I could keep him awake during the day and asleep at night. I swear that kid has been bitten by zombies. And I'm turning into the walking dead.

Nothing else is new. I'm still keeping the house pretty well. Okay, at least I'm catching up by the end of the week, but that counts, right? I think I'm supposed to be cleaning the fridge today, but apparently, it's not getting done until... later, okay?!

And it's summer. In Florida. Yuck. The Husband is trying to enforce "beach night" on Thursdays, and I just can't get into it yet. It's hot, salty, jellyfishy, and dirty. It's why God created swimming pools. That said, there can't be anywhere lovelier than the beach in the evening. Oh well.

So, that's why I haven't posted. It's summertime, and the living is easy.

Drama, lite

Well, it turns out that the drama of the week isn't so much my crazy in-laws as my own crazy family.

My mother called in a dread panic this morning. My brother is going to become a -- wait for it -- Catholic! Yes, a mind-washed, Pope-worshipping, leave-your-brain-at-the-door Catholic!! Oy vey.

I talked her back off the ledge, and I think she's not going to blow a gasket. Apparently, the conservative Brotherhood church he had been going to was preaching a 6,000-year-old Earth, and he couldn't stomach that. His wife won't go the Catholic church, but prefers Brotherhood. But since she NEVER goes, except to the pot luck dinners, she shouldn't mind so much. Right? She was raised Christian Contemporary, or something like that. Conservative with guitars. You know the type.

My kids went to a Christian Church for preschool, and I found them to be the most intolerant, judgemental, narrow-minded people I have ever met. I'd much rather him be in a church that was influenced by Jesuits.

Personally, I think my brother just misses the liturgy. He was raised Episcopalian, but can't stomach their "heresies". The service is essentially the same as the Catholics, so hey.

Whatevah. Gotta take your drama where you can get it, right?

Off to the races!

Well, as you probably guessed, I made it. The house is presentable. The food is all edible. The bedrooms were all ready. The children were in PJ's when they arrived. I feel so perky and capable. ;)

The family drama continues. Try to keep up. There are six siblings, ranging from 60 down to 40 years old. The youngest (and brattiest) will not be coming to Camp Barry because his wife doesn't want him to. After all, we don't love him or support him. And besides, his wife bought him tickets to the big NASCAR race in Charlotte on Sunday. Who knew that there were men that whipped by their wives in real life?

This caused the third sib (the oldest brother) to post an evil message on the youngest's Facebook wall -- something about being a bad brother, a worse father, and that God would make him pay for his sins. Something like that. I mean, sure he did abandon his child Up North, move to NC with his new wife and two kids, sever all contact with his son, and never pay another cent in child support. Sure, he is trying to make the family sell their parents' house to anyone at all, instead of letting the nephew rent-to-own it. Sure, he is totally manipulated by his evil wife. But apparently, his kids and co-workers have access to his Facebook page, and he's mortified.

What to do? What to do..? Hey, let you wife send a nasty, vicious email to all your siblings, detailing how each and every one has betrayed the others and the family in general. Let her lie unremorsefully about each and every one of your siblings and then -- listen closely -- let her sign your name to it. Oh yeah. That's a good idea. That's productive. That'll make them think you're a real man.

Of course, there's the possibility that he didn't know that she wrote the bad email. Oh well. I no longer care. I've officially had enough strurm and drang.

So we're off to the races!

Coasting into the station...

Day, what, four? Five?

I finished the bathrooms, kitchen, master bedroom. You wouldn't think that the master bedroom would be important, but with our floor plan, you walk directly past the master bedroom door when you walk from the living room to the family room. It's a long story, but believe me, it's the center of the house... It's the only truly tragic part of our floor plan. Otherwise, I LOVE our floor plan.

Anyway, I'm going to make it, I think. I have still have a few hot spots and things that I regularly over look, but I think it's starting to look like well-behaved humans live here. Bwaa-haa-haa!! Joke's on them!!

The Boy and I have just "finished" his first-ever game of Monopoly. He was interested, but after an hour and a half, he got tired and we gave up. ;) He finished with about $2000 in cash and most of the properties on the board. Is anyone else sick of passing "GO" and having to pay the $200 directly into the Income Tax? It's enough to turn a person into a conservative! I mean, there are some road maintenance expenses for the town, but how much army does a town that size need?! And those damned railroad barons! $100 just to ride the train ONCE?!

Oh. Time to sleep, eh? Yeahhh.

House Proud and paying the price...

I know you're all on the edge of your seats. Will she drop of exhaustion and annoyance before she crosses the finish line? Or will she pull it off? Can she clean the entire house without smacking an idle child with a wet rag? Will the Swiffer duster hold up better than the feather duster that exploded in a cloud of feathers today?

Well, today, I started with an hour and a half of occupational therapy and school work, and didn't even get to the housework until 10:30. I completely tidied, dusted and vacuumed the living room and family room, including wiping down all the door facings and windows. Then I fed everyone lunch and went to ballet. Yeah, like I needed the exercise.

When I got home, I cleared out the office, cleaned it, and set it up for Auntie #1. I cleaned The Boy's room and set it up for Auntie #2. I cleaned The Girl's room and finished putting the room back together after the painting. I'm telling you, I was seriously on a roll. Until I got to the master bedroom. Then I just gave in and collapsed. Heck, it was time to start dinner anyway. (Brown rice and pork on the barbie!)

The Boy is thrilled with his newly cleaned-for-Auntie room. But later in the afternoon, I had the absolute nerve to put some Zhu-Zhu pets on his dresser, and he went ballistic. I was wrecking his nice clean room and am now banned from entering. He has put up a sign that says I'm not allowed to enter. Cheeky little brat. He did help clean it up last night, but still.

I've been setting out linens, washing blankets, etc. for the Aunties. I think I'm about three days behind on the normal laundry. Oh well, it's like a water balloon -- when you squeeze it in one place, it sqooshes out in another.

I've printed out my list for tomorrow. Two bathrooms (one large, one small), one kitchen (sink, counters, appliances, cabinet doors, fridge), plus the master bedroom. That sounds doable. Right? *snicker* At least I still have Thursday for a catch up day.

House Proud

So today, I got up early, did the usual minor house work and started on the kitchen floor. Three hours later (with a 10 minute break for handwriting), I was done. I stripped the whole damned thing with toxic chemicals and a scrub brush, and rinsed it with my floor mate. It only got one coat of wax before I had to run off to The Big City for The Girl's therapy, but I can do more later. I simply do not have the strength to do it now.

When I staggered back through the door at 5:00, I told The Husband that I had no idea what was for dinner, and he said those magic words, "I picked up some deli meat, rolls, potato chips, and fruit salad for dinner, okay?" I do love that man. His intuition is impeccable. And they're his sisters.

He doesn't have the biggest house in the family, but I want him to be proud of it. We're of the generation that tends say, "Come on in." and "Sorry about the mess." all in one sentence. Not this time, baby. Not this time.

Tomorrow, I dust and vacuum. Wednesday I clean bathrooms. Thursday, I clean the kitchen. Then I'm DONE. Or done for. Whatever.

Meanwhile, the homeowner's association has cited us for about 15 violations, ranging from broken pickets on our fence to bushes that need pruning. My attitude is that those bushes are SUPPOSED to be that size. Duh. So, yeah, I'll get to that. Real soon. Really.

Update on Mother's Day

Today, my lovely daughter gifted me with Mother's Day flowers -- for the first time, she wore her new purple dress with the flowers instead of the ratty old pink dress that I've been trying to get rid of. She walked into the living room and said, "Flowers for Mother's Day!" She cracks me up!

And when The Husband wouldn't let her eat the cake that he and The Boy baked last night, she said, "I want to eat the brownies." When we told her that it was cake for after dinner, she said, "I want to go to WalMart and get brownies." Let me tell you, when The Girl can come up with a compound sentence like that, I hop to attention. (Besides, it sounded good to me, too!)

The Boy has decided on the menu for dinner -- Pizza Hut. Um. Pizza Hut? Sure! (Translation: no cooking? Sure!) The chocolate icing and M&M's will go on the cake closer to dinner, and my mom arrives at 5:00. In the mean time, I've made the sheets for the sofa bed, and am reupholstering the nasty computer chair. My family hates it when I indulge in arts-n-crafts (like painting and home linens), so I figured I'd strike while the iron's hot!

Hope everyone's is going well, too.

The Mother's Day Post

This is where my Mother's Day is heading...

In other news, I spent five straight hours painting The Girl's room pink. It's called "candy mix", and it's P-I-N-K, just like her. But at least I'm done.

Now, all I have to do is strip and wax the kitchen floor and clean the entire freaking house within an inch of its life and I'll be ready for my sisters in law.

The frog princess

It's official. Per the English Royalty, I am officially drab, fat, and dull.

Never mind that I woke this morning with the unshakable conviction that I need a vacation, and badly. From my whining, screeching kids. My whining, screeching, clinging, needy children.Whom I homeschool because they're so non-neurotypical that the public schools don't even know how to start. Both of whom woke me at 1:30 am today -- one to be tucked in and the other because his legs were twitchy and he believes in monsters. (No, not my mother! Other monsters.) Then the cats walked all over me until morning, and I woke with a sore throat.

I didn't even see Kate's dress -- sorry, Catherine's dress -- until the evening news, and now I'm totally bummed. I need to lose 40 pounds, 20 years, and two kids. And boy, oh boy, the money the Middletons spent on orthodonture was well spent, wasn't it? At first I thought the dress was too casual and a bit dowdy, but having seen her in it for a while, I'm convinced it was the right one. She looked modest and comfortable, not the least bit self-conscious about what she was wearing. She looked great. And happy!

Lucky Prince Harry has now graduated to Most Eligible Bachelor in the Kingdom. But it's not the same. ;)

Dinner at the Ritz

Well, if I'm going to keep this blog, I may as well write in it, eh?

Let's see. Last night, I left the kids with my mom and went to a university function with The Husband. It was just a little dinner, but it felt like dinner at the Ritz. I had a beer and everyone at the table used silverware. Woo-hoo!

The Boy was totally terrified by my mother. I mean, she is intimidating, but really? She barked at him once or twice. ("Get back here and finish setting this table." "Don't let your sister beat the laptop on the table!") She initially was not going to let him play Wii after dinner, but relented when they established that he usually does. But after the laptop incident, he just sent himself to bed, as preemptive punishment. He told The Husband and me outrageous lies about the "mean" things she did to him, including denying him dessert and Wii, as well as "swinging the cat around by his tail and throwing him at The Girl". Heh? The anxious brain is a mysterious thing...

Anyway, I had key lime pie and adult conversation, so it was all okay.

Last weekend, I steam cleaned all the carpets in the house, so this weekend, I'm going to paint The Girl's room. The weekend after that is for stripping and waxing the kitchen floor. Can you tell I'm having company in May? Yeah... I'm also planting a lawn. What the heck, why not?

Speaking of gardening, both of my orange trees are a-goner. The navel is just planted too close to the elm, so it has permanent sooty mildew. (Who knew that elm tree would be so wide?) The pineapple orange is dying, and I'm not sure why. I'm thinking it was the "severe" cold this winter, but who really knows about these things? Oranges have so many freaking blights that all bets are really off. I was just starting to get reasonable fruit from that tree, too. If I replant, I'm getting another pineapple orange. Mmm. Lots of seeds, but delicious.

Anyway, that's about it. This week in homeschool, I found that The Husband is nearly too short to be a Roman Legionnaire. And he wouldn't be allowed to marry me anyway. ;) I'm sure there's more, but hey, everyone has stopped sleeping again, and I can't remember much more. Gotta start locking my door again.

In the mean time, I'll be plotting my escape again -- maybe next time to Taco Bell!

Life as I know it.

Well, another day, another post. Today I woke, showered, made the bed, emptied the dishwasher, fed the kids, made their beds, cleaned up their rooms, and started the laundry. Then I did The Girl's OT exercises and taught for a few hours, followed by mopping the kitchen and dusting/vacuuming the entire fecking house. (No kidding -- master bedroom, two kids' bedrooms, office, living room, family room, plus two couches.) Then I made a foray for a huge load of groceries, put all of them away, taught another hour of school, and CRASHED for a nap. Can you say "hot dogs for dinner"?

Green Girl had a recent post of things she loathed. I'm adding "sweeping the kitchen and then watching little bits of the pile scurry away back toward the baseboards". Eew.

While I was out getting groceries with two wacky children, I also stopped so The Boy could get a haircut. Yes, he wanted a haircut. Yayy! My hair is starting to get kinda limp and fuzzy looking at the ends, so it's about time for another of my thrilling spa afternoons at The Hair Cuttery. (I love the high life!)

My hair is finally starting to show grey streaks, and I'm thinking I have basically three choices. First, ignore it, let it grow out, and look like a hippie Earth mother. Second, dye it and have roots all the time. Third, remove all mirrors from the bathroom.

What do you think?

That last 20 pounds is never going to go away at this rate

Chick Fil-A's peach milkshakes -- like crack cocaine, only more addictive. Even if you've only had it once, you're still hit with occasional uncontrollable cravings. Thanks, brother-in-law!!!


AAAK!! I just googled the peach milkshake, and it was a limited-time offer!! I'm doomed to a life of no peach milkshakes! It's like being in detox. Fortunately, there's still this. I'm never going to shake this last 20 pounds unless I get some sleep, am I?

Summer... Yeah...

Well, summer's here. The A/C is on. The pools are open. The swimsuits are in place. Popsicles are in the freezer. I'm whining to get the windows tinted in my car again. But this time, I'm asking for it for my Mother's Day and maybe Teacher's Day. (My school doesn't have much of an end-of-school carnival, but the teacher does get a small token of the students' and school board's gratitude.)

It's not really summer, of course. Not high summer. We're in normal summer now, until maybe mid-June. Then something shifts in the cosmos, and it becomes unreasonably, brutally, stupidly, and insanely hot. Too hot to grill outdoors before sunset. Too hot to go to the beach during the day. Just in time for everyone from Wisconsin to visit Disney. Luckily, Disney air conditions the outdoors, so that's okay.

Ah, summer. (Can I move to Wisconsin now?)

I have each other!

With apologies to real schizophrenics...

The Martyr Diaries

It's not a full moon, is it? ;)

Seriously, the boy woke me at 1am to ask where his yellow colored pencil was. I told him to look in the colored pencil bin on the school table. He says, "Hey! Good idea! Thanks!!" At 2am, the girl woke me to watch her close her window and then then tuck her in again, complete with the entire litany and ritual. There wasn't any genuflecting or incense involved, but close.

Tired today. But that's nothing new.

The kids have taken to covering the carpet with trash and crumbs and then complaining when I vacuum. They're five feet, 90 pounds, and eleven years old. But I just don't have the will to make them vacuum. My husband thinks I'm acting like a martyr. Yeah, ya think?

Martyr (Noun) -- one who suffers for a cause. YA THINK?!!

STFU

Want to know how many time a person can scream "Shut the feck up!" inside their head without screaming it out loud? You're going to have to trust me when I say, "A lot." Apparently, it's the wind's fault for turning the page back on The Boy's math book, causing him to work the wrong threee problems. Then it was my fault for grading what he did right and erasing the wrong problems so he could fix it. I'm a bully. And I have the cartoon to prove it. (The Boy is such an artiste.) He whines to me, "It's your fault. If you didn't make me angry, I would have finished my math by now." He finished one task today: a five sentence outline, fifteen words. I'm so unfair to him. He's giving up... STFU, boy!

Oh. No more cream sauce for me...

Ooh. Looks like we're going back on the meat-and-veggies again.

Heh, heh. Just for curiousity's sake, I stepped on the scale this morning. Wuh-oh. Apparently, I'm not built for cream sauce anymore. Or carbs. Or anything but meat and veggies. *sigh* I like cream sauce on pasta, but it turns out that I'm allergic to it -- it make me break out in lumps. ;)

In other news, I have new blueberry bushes to plant. Which means I need to fix the rain barrel, which means that I have to fix the gutter, which means I have to get out the step ladder and power drill. Instead, I spent the afternoon with the RoundUp Extended. That stuff's scary -- no planting anything for four months after spraying. eek.

My dad came for hamburgers on the grill as the weather continues to be perfect. The humidity's coming up, though. Tuesday morning's going to be a low of 67 degrees. We're getting another dry shot and severe weather Tuesday afternoon, but summer is definitely coming. boo! Boo!!

and pass the Alfredo sauce...

Cooking! Feh!

We've hit a tired stretch when it comes to dinner. Usually, the kids want three piles of food on their plates -- cow/pig/chicken, noodles/rice/potatoes, and a vegetable. This went on for years, but now The Boy is tired of it. He doesn't want to try anything new -- he's just tired of the old food. But if I have to eat one more piece of baked chicken with brown rice, I'm going to scream.

I've tried dressing up what we usually eat -- sauteed veggies in the rice, cheese sauce for the veggies, barbecue sauce on the chicken -- but it only makes it too spicy for The Boy, too gooey for The Husband, and too weird for The Girl.

I've been tired of the meat-n-potatoes diet for years, so lately I've been experimenting. I made crock pot pulled pork, pasta primavera with cream sauce, pizza pasta bake. Do they like it? No. If it's the least bit bland, The Girl won't eat it. If it's the least bit spicy, The Boy won't eat it. And after 20 years of marriage, I find out that The Husband doesn't like creamy sauces. I actually threatened them with hot dogs, and they all said, "Yay!!"

But the real kicker? The coup de grace? The real kick in the panties? Apparently, The Husband does not feel that it is his responsibility to clean up the kitchen when dinner is an experiment. Apparently, "fun" cooking must be washed by the person having the "fun".

When my family complains about the boring/weird food, I always ask, "What would you rather eat? What do you like to eat?" And you know what they say -- "I don't know." Tomorrow, "I don't know" may turn out to be scalloped potatoes with ham in the crock pot. Feck 'em. I'm eating cream sauce.

The old man is snoring...

It's raining here, which would be no big deal anywhere else in the country right about now. But here? It hasn't rained in about three weeks. Seriously, THREE WEEKS. I keep walking in from the garage and freaking out when I "hear" something frying!! Uh, sorry, that's the rain on the sidewalk. Again.

The Boy is down with a cold, which is impressive considering he never leaves the house if he can help it. *sigh* The Girl spends her days doing school work, watching TV, and asking if we can go to the science museum, which I can't do without taking The Boy. But there you have it. Life as we know it.

We're into the last twelve weeks of school. I know, I know, there *is* no "end of school" date when you homeschool, but we need goalposts. Big time. I laid it out for The Boy yesterday. You have six weeks of school, two weeks of vacation when The Aunts visit, then six weeks. If you stay on track, you'll be off by the 4th of July; otherwise, you'll be working into July. Your choice. ;) Anyone want to take bets on whether we'll get summer vacation?


In more interesting news, Trouble is brewing in The Husband's family. Tee hee. Those people put the "drama" in drama queen.

First, a little background is in order. The Husband's parents died about five years ago, leaving a small but dear little house to their six children, along with a little cash. The $60k was disbursed a few years ago, but the $60k house won't sell. Not that anyone really wants to sell it. See, in 1950 his parents bought a half acre and built a cellar to live in. After 10 years, they had saved up enough money to build the house on top, and they lived there until they died.

Anyway, the siblings agreed to give one of the nephews a five-year lease with an option to buy. Since he was married to his high school sweetheart and had a two-year-old boy, it seemed like a great way to sell it and keep it in the family at the same time. The hitch? He's now getting a divorce! Bwaa-haa!! Oh sure, his lease doesn't run out until December, and he might be able to afford a mortgage on his own, but does that stop the whining? Oh no, no, no. Mostly, it's the youngest (and least financially responsible) one who's causing trouble.

And the KICKER? We have a family reunion in May. The girls are coming down from Up North and meeting up with the boys who all live in the southeast. So they're travelling a long way to see us, we'll be driving up with them to see the three others -- to either get into a fight with the youngest or to be ignored by the youngest. Oh joy... When my family just can't provide enough drama to keep me happy, The Husband's family steps into the breach. Yeahh...

Hey, kid!! Yeah, you!

"Yer feckin' welcome!!"

Doesn't everyone have days where they want to scream this at the kids by 10:00 pm? Today, I've provided you with clean clothes, clean sheets on your freshly-made bed, three meals, sixteen snacks, hot and cold running water, comfy furniture, and entertainment. I provided you a safe, clean haven -- clean carpets, furniture, towels, bathroom, kitchen. You live in a safe neighborhood in a house with people who love you and understand your unusual neurological configuration. You are richly blessed.

So why won't you quit whining and complaining? Y'know, before I kill you?

spring "break" -- hah.

Well, we're on officially on spring break this week. Tragically, The Girl doesn't believe me. I'm thinking Michaelangelo did not have to stop painting to teach homeschool.

Seriously, I had big plans for my week's "vacation". It's only a vacation in the sense that I wasn't planning on teaching this week, but at least it was supposed to be a change of pace. I wanted to trim the shrubs, shampoo the carpets, paint The Girl's room. But so far, I haven't even been able to keep up with my chores. *sigh*

Maybe tomorrow, things will look up.

Did I mention it's gloating season?

Have I mentioned that the weather has been nice here? Yeahhh. If I'm going to complain about summers here, I really should give it its propers now.

We've had the heat/AC off for about two months now. The high has been in the 70's with the lows around 50 just forever. This week, the highs have been in the low 80's. *sigh* Lovely. The kids have been lolling around in shorts since mid-January.

The bikers showed up about a week after the Daytona 500, and the weather was Chamber-of-Commerce gorgeous for both events. The bikers left, and now the college kids are here. (They've gotten much better behaved since MTV moved out!) The Husband's college is giving us spring break this coming week, and we've got a ton of house-related stuff lined up to do.

Tomorrow, in honor of the closest full moon in 20 years, we're going out for frozen cheesecake on a stick dipped in chocolate (cheesecake-sickle?) on the way to watch the moon rise over the ocean. Oh yeahhh. Florida.

My treatise on housewivery (part 3)

So, a final installment of Housewivery is due, and then I'll let it go.

It seems that once the kids are all in school full time, we housewives may have to find something meaningful to do with our extra time.

One option is to take up a hobby, but I doubt I could scrapbook that much.

Another option is to volunteer, which can be enriching. But frankly, I'm really too selfish to work at something no one else wants to do without being paid. I'd be a stretch.

Another option is to make housework more time-consuming by decorating, gardening, cleaning obsessively, and making brioche from scratch. Again, no one would be impressed besides me.

Many women have home businesses, such as selling crafts on etsy.com or Pampered Chef. Others write books. My brother harbors delusions of doing editing work from home once his kids are all in school.

Fortunately (hah!) for me, I'll be working my tutoring job here at The Verge Academy for the foreseeable future. Hm. Maybe we've cracked the mystery of why so many women are homeschooling... (Danger! Run away!)

I have to say that I enjoy homeschooling, but oh, how I wish my kids could go to public schools. I hate that they're missing marching band and that crazy synergy that smart kids make when they learn. But then what would I do?

So, good luck y'all. You'll need it. We all do.

My treatise on housewivery (part 2)

(If you haven't read part 1, go ahead and read it first; otherwise, this'll all seem crazy.)

So, we've established that, to borrow a phrase from Green Girl, "Raising kids well and keeping a safe and clean haven is a noble job." But many women, including the two of us, still have trouble reconciling the whole concept with our view of what it means to be a modern woman.

Where does the re-emergence of the housewife leave us? As modern women, we can't afford to limit ourselves to being housewives with aspirations for nothing else. (Honestly, women never could. How many women stayed with abusive men for the sake of food and a roof?) And seriously, does it really take all day to keep a house clean once the kids are in school?

I understand that housewives do the bulk of the volunteer work in our communities, and I appreciate their shelving library books, organizing the science fair, and folding church bulletins. But with modern conveniences, how hard is it really to keep house?

My grandmother washed clothes with a wringer, clothesline, and iron, had a tiny gas-powered refrigerator, washed dishes by hand, and fed the scraps to the chickens. She shopped when she could drive my grandfather to work -- because she had learned to drive. Back then, everyone heated their houses with coal, so dusting and sweeping was serious work. The kitchen floor had to be scrubbed with a brush. And she cooked. All the time. There was no fast food, no Tuna Helper, no frozen pizza. She knew my grandfather's job was to bring home the bacon in the depression era, and her job was to make ends meet. She sewed all their clothes, mended what was torn, and still had time to look lovely for church on Sundays. She was awesome.

I use a washer and dryer on my permanent press clothes. I rinse my dishes into the Disposall and drop them in the dishwasher. I cook with Teflon pans. I shop when I want to at the huge grocery store around the corner, and and then put weeks' worth of food in my freezer. I damp mop my no-wax floor with a Swiffer.

As far as actual housecleaning, I have a big burst of activity in the morning, a few chores on my lunch break, a little tidying up, and a serious hour of housecleaning in late afternoon. After dinner, I watch The News Hour and blog. At 8:30 the kids get baths, and I'm done. My grandmother would have killed for this life.

And she would have been bored and dissatisfied. Where's the solution to that?