...I was such a good Mommy before. 

When I brought my babies home, I knew my job.  I mean, it took me a little while--sleepless nights and lots of tears at first--but it became such a simple, clear-cut routine.  Baby wakens...baby cries...go through the checklist...bottle...diaper...snuggles...playtime...sleep...I learned each baby pretty quickly.  Reasa needed to be held.  And she needed playtime.  Lots of playtime.  Not a heck of a lot of sleep.  Lainie needed to watch what was going on around her.  On her terms.  She needed to giggle.  And she needed to sleep on her belly, in a bed, and not in my arms.  Bryson needed mostly to sleep (again, not in my arms), at first.  Then, he needed to be in the middle of whatever we were doing.  And as long as he was in the middle of it, he didn't need much else.  Tonight I held my 3 month-old-nephew in my arms, fed him maybe the 3rd bottle of his life, changed his diaper, played with him, and snuggled him to sleep.  I was a good infant mommy.  I loved having infants.

Things got more interesting as they got a bit older...toddlerhood, for example.  My friend Melissa gave me a plaque when I had two toddlers...it read "This House is Guarded by Attack Toddlers."  My toddlers...especially my first...to describe them as active would be...an understatement.  And yet I knew what to do with them.  Mealtimes, snacktimes, craft times, reading times, running around the house, inside and out, time with Blue...trips to the library, the Parent Resource Center, etc.  We kept busy.  We kept...well, somewhat sane, anyway.  I watch as my 2-year-old niece runs around the house here at my parents'...oh so reminiscent of my Reasa...and I remember...I was a good toddler Mommy.  No, not every moment...but for the most part.  I loved having toddlers.

Preschoolers...little people...primary ages...I was pretty good at those, too.  I can look back on those times with my girls (because Bryson is still in the primary stage, really)...and I feel confident about how I did as a Mommy.  Now...especially with Reasa...things have suddenly become...complicated.  I'm sure that at different times throughout each of the earlier stages, I shook my head.  I'm sure I considered banging my head against the wall.  I'm sure I thought about long vacations and quiet moments.  Nothing has compared to this.  In a matter of 10 minutes this afternoon, my 9-and-a-half-year-old pageant queen went from thrilled-about-new-clothes, to crying-about-how-they-fit-her-"fat"-body (!!!), to everything-looks-terrible-on-me, to but-I-don't-get-to-paint-kids'-faces-at-this-parade, to I-wish-we-had-never-moved-because-then-I-could-go-home-and-find-different-clothes-to-wear-right-now, to we-live-too-far-away-from-our-friends-and-family-and-I-miss-living-here-sooooo-much-more-than-you-do-you-don't-even-understand."  I'm not kidding.  I go round and round with this child.  I start at "this is absolutely ridiculous and I'm not going to let her act this way.  We will not have dramatics every waking moment of every single day."  Then I suddenly realize that she's crying out for me to really listen to her...and I head toward "she needs me to chill out and wrap my arms around her and love on her while she cries."  Which I do.  Until I can't handle the overly dramatic crying, the absolute inability to console her, the jumping from one horrible thing to another any more...the just-one-more-reason-to-cry phenomenon.  AAK!  I run smack into "all right.  Enough.  It's time to get over it.  We're moving on right now.  We're done here."  And that is the exact moment I realize that I'm not a good preadolescent Mommy.  I was really good at all of this...before.  And the thing is...I don't get to choose the stages I'm good at.  I have to live through them all.  I have to love through them all.  I have to help my child grow through them all, whether they're fun or routine or frustrating or rewarding or gut-wrenching.  And some day...some sweet day...I truly hope that I can look back on all of this the way I now look back on the other stages of her wonderful life.  I hope it all turns out beautifully.  Because this moment...this moment...I'm shaking my head.  I adore her...but I'm shaking my head.

...the first snowmen after the first real snowfall
...Bryson's pictures...for a six-year-old who hates to read, he sure can draw
...listening to the quiet after bedtime when the kids are completely exhausted from playing in the snow
...finding new recipes for Thanksgiving.  and choosing the best from the old ones
...brainstorming Christmas presents
...big, fluffy snowflakes falling all around
...watching Chani bounce like a kangaroo through the big, fluffy snowflakes
...needing to open windows because it's too warm in the house
...knowing that opening windows won't affect my heating bill
...hot apple cider soy candles
...knowing that the last load of laundry is all towels.  because I don't like to fold.  and towels are easy
...finding old friends on facebook
...chatting with my favorite people.  my kids included
...listening to Lainie sing.  constantly
...reading Reasa's highly detailed stories
...planning craft time...
...holidays.

In the past four days, I have opened my blog 4 times, typed a title in the "Title (required)" line at the top of the page, with some very deep, though provoking subject in mind...and have left it sitting there, open, taunting me, all day.  At bedtime, I have shaken my head, clicked the x in the red box at the top right of the screen, and when the "are you sure you want to navigate away from this page?  you will lose all of your information if you click 'yes' " has popped up, I have clicked that "yes" with a vengeance.  Have you had those days?

My friend Amy, however, in the way that she often does, inspired me this afternoon.  She titled today's blog "What is a 'complete day?' " and ended with "if you come up with yours, let me know!"  She'll find mine eventually.  If I ever finish it.  She is one of the fifteen of you who bravely checks my blog (you poor, crazy people).  She explained in her entry that there are things that need to occur in her day in order to make her feel like she has gotten to the end of it and accomplished what she set out to do--that she can go to bed and the day "feels good." 

So what are my things?  I really had to think about this.  And honestly, part of the reason I really had to think about it had to do with the fact that lately, I have gone to bed feeling restless...dissatisfied with the way the day turned out.  Some of this centers on the problem of lack of a to-do list.  That's huge for me.  So, I guess...

1.  Making and accomplishing several tasks on a well-thought-out to-do list

...is my first item on the "complete day" list.

2.  A chunk of time before my children wake up during which I can think/read/pray/shower without interruption, with fresh-brewed espresso in an insulated cup waiting for me after my shower.
3.  Exercise.  Real exercise.  On weekdays.  And preferably Saturdays.  The million trips I make up and down the stairs or chasing the dog in the back yard or hot on the trail of my stomping-away-from-me-pre-adolescent DO NOT count.
4.  Bathrooms swished and swiped.  Floors vacuumed/swept.  Yes.  Daily.  Three kids.  A husband.  Two dogs.  Two hamsters.  Flies still dropping from my ceiling.  Ugh.
5.  An opportunity to snuggle--for minutes, not seconds--each child before the school day begins.
6.  Laundry folded and put away and clean dishes put away before the school day begins.
7.  A dinner planned and prepared mostly from scratch which, when it is prepared, the entire family sits at the kitchen table and eats. 
8.  Mostly-completed assignments in each of the kids' plan-books for their particular curriculum.  Mostly-completed chore charts for each kid each day.
9.  Time to play.  Something.  Even if it's a tickling match during bedtime snuggles.
10.  Music.  In large amounts.  Various genre.  Listened to, sung, participated in, made up. 
11.  A real conversation with each child throughout the day. 
12.  A real conversation with my husband throughout the day.  Even over the phone.
13.  Time to read.  Other peoples' blogs count, but not as much as an actual book.
14.  A creative outlet--whether in making a new recipe, changing an old recipe, crafting, writing, decorating a cake, sewing, etc.  This is where my "complete day" often falls short.
15.  Arriving on time to each scheduled activity.  This is huge for me.  Being late makes me insane.
16.  Bedtime snuggles with each child, including--but not limited to--favorite things, praying together, and big hugs and kisses. 
17.  Leaving the house neat and orderly before bed (kitchen clean, toys/school stuff picked up and put away, clothes picked out for the next day).

I think knowing this list--what makes me tick, what I expect of myself, what I expect at the end of a day--might make it easier to go to bed with that "complete day" feeling.  Amy talked about the fact that it's a good thing she doesn't have a full-time job...that it wouldn't fit into her list.  Umm...I think that is the list.  The list is the full-time job.  I think half the list might be a full-time job.  And having a part-time job on top of the full-time job...which she does, and at other times before we moved here, I have had...that just makes getting to the end of the day with a "complete day" feeling more complicated.  But now that I have a list...maybe I can get closer to that feeling on a daily basis.

Truth be told, the list is longer than this.  I know I have forgotten things.  But these are the big ones.  You will all come up with wonderful lists now, won't you?  Good.  I'll come steal things off your lists.  :)  Can't wait to read them.

Read it.  Please.

And then tell me what you think of it.  I'd love to hear your take. 

I'm still wrestling with it. 

Homeschool Co-Op.  It may have taken us an hour to get there...

...but it was an hour well-spent.

Imagine spending 6 months cooped up almost alone in your house with three young children.  All day.  Every day.  Solving crises, teaching school, making meals, maintaining the house, meeting their basic needs, playing with them, keeping their social calendars.  Your only escapes--taking them to practices and games Tuesday through Saturday, one two-hour grocery trip (with kids in tow) each week, one two-hour worship team rehearsal, usually with the kids, every other week, and church on Sunday mornings (and a Sunday afternoon at your parents' house included).  Throw in packing a house, repairing a house, packing some more, showing the house, selling the house, packing some more, moving the house, unpacking the house, unpacking some more, and still staying cooped up, almost alone in your house with those same three children.  Now plunk yourself far, far away from civilization, no one around for miles, no one you know for many, many, many miles, very little adult contact...and this overwhelming sense of loss in the midst of it all...

K.  Now.  Imagine walking into a building and immediately having 2 very friendly moms greet you, smiling.  And many others over the course of three hours following suit.  Your children being lovingly led to their respective "classes" by sweet, gracious children just their ages.  Three hours of watching your 6-year-old transform from "I don't want to go to co-op!!" into not really wanting to go home.  Having several of those friendly moms seek you out intentionally throughout the day to find out who you are...and even compliment your hair...and ask for your phone number and email address so you could get together during the co-op break in December.  Imagine being invited to have lunch together afterwards with another family...your children raving about their classes and their experiences, listening to your squeamish 8-year-old's intrigue...they dissected owl pellets today.  Imagine realizing that your nervousness, your intimidation, your lack of confidence...so silly.  I sat in Bryson's first "class" brainstorming...what author study could I pull together for his age group over 5 weeks?  What age group is ready for creative writing...with poetry?  How many kids do you need to do an entire 30 minutes of relay races, 5 weeks in a row? 

It was kind of like my heart finding a place to rest for a little while.  And I haven't rested.  In a long time.

Thanks, Carolyn...for making our first experience there so comfortable.  And afterwards too (not that Carolyn reads my blog, but I wanted to put her name out there...just to acknowledge her to the 15 of you who do).  :)  Thanks to those of you who have been praying for me.  (Please don't stop.)

Sigh.  Much better.

Oh.  750-piece puzzles?  Hmm.  We found our closest library...after checking out a stack of books (!!finally!!), we found out they were having a book sale.  Reasa found a puzzle for 50 cents.  We spent hours on it today...I think it's missing 3 edge pieces. :)

Almost three weeks.  That's where we're at.  I can't believe we've lived here almost three weeks. 

I think there is a certain amount of shock you go through when you make a move like this.  The two weeks before we moved, I cried.  All the time.  Whenever my kids walked into the room, I found myself trying to pull it together so they wouldn't know just how big of a deal this was for Mommy (as though that fooled them).  The week after we moved, I cried some more, but I blame that on the fact that things just kept going dramatically wrong, and I didn't have any strategies to deal with it.  That hasn't actually changed.  The crying has kind of stopped.  Numbness has set in.  I've started to realize how quickly I snap with my kids.  If things get stressful, if I don't know immediately how to deal with it, if there is more to deal with than I can handle at once, when one more thing goes wrong...I snap.  It's like it's building up...and I can't check one thing off the things-to-handle list before the next one comes along, and before I know it, I've reached my threshold.  I'm watching as my kids brace themselves for my reactions.  I'm watching myself brace for their reactions, anticipating my own. 

It's time to get a grip.

Time for Mommy to get her head screwed back on straight.  Remember that I'm the grown-up.  Remember that they are watching me, and that they learn more from my reactions and my attitudes and the way I cope with all of this than they do from anything else.  It's been too long at this point.  Way too long.

Getting a grip...probably needs to start with spending some more time on my knees.  Maybe on my face. 



I need a break.

You will find that I shamelessly advertise things that I love on my blog. Aromaleigh mineral cosmetics, for example.  If I haven't mentioned this company/product, I don't know why not.  The very, very best makeup I have ever used (sorry, Karen!).  I have problem skin--crazy combination skin--so ridiculous that I use two different moisturizers (Proactiv repairing lotion on my forehead, nose, under my nose, and on my chin, and Equate's Alpha Hydroxy face lotion on my cheeks and neck) on different areas of my face every morning, and a different one on my eyes (puritan's pride eye cream) at night, and I only wash my face in the shower in the morning (St. Ives Apricot Scrub for sensitive skin).  No, I'm not kidding.  It took until I was 33 to actually figure out the combination that worked without causing breakouts--avoiding them, even--and that combination included Aromaleigh's Voile mineral powder foundation.  Since I found the foundation about 3 years ago, I have expanded to their eye shadow, powdered eye liner, lip color, etc.  The stuff is just amazing.  Lasts forever (on your face and in the container).  You can't beat the price.  And they ship fast.  And I always forget to reorder until I'm nearly out, so this is important!  And you can order samples for practically nothing, which they ship for free, so you can find the right shade for your skin without spending the full price on the whole foundation and throwing it away.  PLUS they send free samples with every shipment, so there's always something fun to play with when your package (sweetly wrapped in fuschia tissue paper) arrives.  Yeah, I'm a sucker for free, pretty stuff.  :) 

I'm also a sucker for good curriculum.  Actually, I'm a stickler for it.  We started our homeschooling journey using Sonlight, and after purchasing the entire preschool program (ugh!), realized that we couldn't possibly afford to spend that kind of money every single school year--even used, the Sonlight program, though excellent, is extremely expensive.  For 4-year-old preschool, I used the Letter of the Week program (FREE!!), and the girls loved it.  I did quite a bit of preparation each week, but with a very easy-going toddler and the two girls (who loved the program and needed the activity/entertainment/interaction), it worked.  When kindergarten rolled around, we used the letteroftheweek.com's follow-up Sound of the Week curriculum--the girls were reading actual books by December.  Both of them.  Reasa was 5.  Lainie was 4.  It worked.  However...I was ready for an all-encompassing, somebody-already-put-it-all-together-for-me curriculum...and the 1st grade curriculum from Sonlight wound up being just what the doctor ordered.  We added Miquon Math...and by January, decided we hated it...so we switched to Singapore Math (after a bit of a break from "seatwork" math).  For second grade, we found the whole Sonlight program used at a very reasonable price, and we continued on with Singapore Math, adding basic Sign Language instruction (also a lot of work for me...as I don't Sign!).  As the year progressed, however, I found myself getting tired of it.  School became a drudgery--for the kids, but also for me.  I couldn't figure it out.  What could be better than reading all day long with your kids?  How could I possibly question excellent literature, incredible stories, awesome history lessons, watching some silly scientist do experiments with water and magnets and air...oh.  Wait.  There it was.  All reading (and a little bit of writing).  And more reading.  Reading aloud.  Them reading aloud.  Them reading silently.  Listening to each other read.  Listening to me read.  For HOURS every day.  It took us about 4 hours a day to read all of their work (amidst frequent breaks because they just couldn't handle it--I actually lost my voice the second week of school and I wasn't sick) in second grade, and I'm a "check it off the list" girl.  If it's there, it needs to be checked off.  If it wasn't checked off...it hung over my head.  I found myself putting off school in the mornings...spending hours on Sunday nights planning hands-on activities and extension stuff for the week's lessons...I wanted the girls to be engaged in their learning, and though the information was incredible...the presentation wasn't working for my kids (and Bryson, being only two years younger than Lainie...was at a point where he could sit in on the activities...but there was no way he would sit through all of the reading--thank God I babysat Emily at the time!!).  We finished out the year...got through all of the curriculum...but I started looking for something different somewhere around May.  That's where I found Paige.  And that's where I found My Father's World. 

I love My Father's World.  MFW takes the best of Sonlight--chunks of the actual literature, the literature-based approach, theme-oriented structure (everything is pretty much centered around the history)--and puts it together with well-planned, well-researched, all-right-there-in-the-schedule, hands-on fun.  It incorporates nature walks and nature studies, science experiments, and real-life experiences, along with excellent biblical instruction, and a focus on missions.  It also pulls huge numbers of resources from your local library, rather than recommending that you try to buy all of the books you will need for reading instruction or in general.  And the price is right...even full-price (which I never pay).  On Sunday evenings, I may spend an hour getting ready for the week, and when I'm on my game, I spend a few minutes reserving books from our library (something that has not gone well this year...but we'll get there) for the upcoming weeks, and a trip to the library (which we would do at some point anyway).  Last year, we transitioned slowly into Adventures in My Father's World (and the Kindergarten program for Bryson), and loved it.  This year, we're Exploring Countries and Cultures--currently, working on Canada--and loving it, and Bryson is using First Grade (while participating with the girls in history and science).  Still using Singapore.  Loving that too.  Added Spelling Power last year for the girls, along with Primary Language Lessons (both on the recommendation of MFW).  I have become less concerned with checking things off the list, and more interested in helping the kids love their learning as I've used this curriculum.  Do I ever feel the need to extend the program?  Sure.  But that's why I'm the teacher.  It's my job to figure out what works for my kids and what doesn't.  At the same time, I no longer spend hours re-inventing the wheel to give them great material and a good jumping-off point for their own exploration. 

So, where does Carving Soap come in?  The Eskimos (or Inuit, as they prefer to be called--which means "people" in their language...did you know that?  I didn't until this morning...) carve small animal shapes out of wood.  Today's art lesson from our Global Art book?  Carving Ivory Soap.  The kids carved fish, mostly.  And once they got over the "I've-never-carved-anything-before-in-my-life-and-I-kind-of-suck-at-it-right-now" frustration, they had a really good time.  I don't know what the heck we're going to do with these soap fish...but for now...they're sitting very neatly on my now-extremely-clean kitchen table.  I swept the floor in my kitchen 5 times today.  :) 

Ah, the joy of learning.  And playing.  And schooling your kids in your kitchen and family room. 

Give me soap flakes all over my house any day.

About two weeks ago, Reasa came to me in an absolute panic.  Now, to qualify this just a bit...this should not have caused panic on my part.  Reasa tends to freak out first, think later.  Rather than rationally think something through, come to some reasonable conclusions, then wonder if maybe something more serious could be going on...she runs straight toward "the sky is falling," and then screaming and crying to me. 

I have no idea from where she gets that.  Or from whom, as the case may be. 

My parents remind me continually that personality-wise, Reasa is an awful lot like I was as a child.  I eventually learned how to deal with crisis situations--I think it had something to do with being the only "coach" in the gym when one of my gymnasts fractured both bones in her forearm and promptly went into shock (to clarify, I was only 16...still a student, not a coach), and needing to deal with it calmly for her sake.  But...I do remember sitting on the kitchen counter screaming at my dad as he attempted (with much kicking and screaming from me) to pry a splinter out of my foot when I was about 8.  I remember him getting SO MAD. 

And that's exactly how I feel when Reasa freaks out.  Sigh.  Not something I am proud of.  Just truth.

So, the panic I mentioned above...stemmed from Reasa's tooth.  A problem tooth, right from the get-go.  The pediatrician we used when they were little assured us there was fluoride in the water where we lived...we found out when we moved to our next home that the water in that town did not, in fact contain fluoride.  I guess I should blame the pediatrician and not necessarily the lack of fluoride in the water...maybe both.  Anyway, by the time the girls started losing their baby teeth and their bigger molars started coming through, and we went for their first few dentist visits, the problems crept in.  Nothing horrible...just minor at first...but enough that Lainie had a filling after her first appointment, and Reasa had a tooth they were watching.  They both needed work--pretty significant work--by their third visits.  Each girl had a stainless steel cap placed on one tooth, and several other fillings.  Sigh.  Lack of fluoride, or they just didn't get my teeth.  Not sure what it was. 

When Reasa got that stinking cap, they gave her this medicine that should have "twilighted" her.  She should have taken it, it should have done it's job, and she should have never remembered anything from the whole experience.  Oh, my gosh, that so did not happen.  I don't know if she fought it, or if it just didn't work.  She freaked out.  She has control issues, I'm afraid (again, no idea where she gets that), and when she couldn't control how it went...she lost it--to the point that they had to come get me, explaining they would need to strap her down, basically--a papoose kind of device.  She still fought it.  She came out of that room 2.5 hours after it started so traumatized that even the mention of the word "dentist" sets her quaking. Just the experience you want your child to have at 7, right?  You should see her when I tell her it's time for a cleaning!  Imagine her horror when the cap started feeling like it was moving around in her mouth.  Imagine with me, just for a moment, the thought process she went through when she realized it was not exactly where it should be.  They're going to have to take me to the dentist and check my mouth, they'll find out I have something wrong with the tooth, they'll have to give me that medicine again, it won't work, I'll feel sick and scared, and then they'll strap me down so I can't move and poke me with needles and they'll have to pull it out and then what?  What will they have to do after that?  And on top of all of that, I'll get in trouble because I made it do something it shouldn't have done!!  She mentioned something to me about a month ago--it was bothering her.  The next day, she said, "Mommy!  I think my cap just moved!!"  I assured her that it didn't (dumb mommy), and she calmed down a bit.  I pointed out that I didn't think she was brushing it well enough, and she admitted that it hurt a little bit when she brushed, and when I told her that wasn't good, and that she needed to brush it and if it hurt, we would need to have the dentist check it out.  Tears ensued.  Actually, hysterics ensued, but...anyway.  I think she pretended for a little while that everything was fine. 

We got moved, and that Monday morning brings us to the beginning of this entry.  And the cap really did move.  Whenever she touched it.  Even when I touched it.  So, I asked Seth to find out who the Williamsport natives in his office would recommend to see a child...and we called a dentist.  She would have to wait.  Today, after four days of every-time-I-think-about-the-dentist-visit-I-will-melt-down (because the dentist called to remind us about the visit on Thursday, and Reasa was in the room while I listened to the message on speaker phone)(duh), we finally got it over with.  She cried through the x-ray, cried through the exam with the hygienist, and sniffed while the dentist told her that "the adult tooth is just pushing down on that tooth, honey, and it's time for it to come out!  Wiggle it!" 

And it was so worth the $70 (I expected much more--I really thought we had an issue) to have her live through a visit with a new dentist without finding out something was dramatically wrong inside her mouth.  Without having to be "poked" and terrified.  Without even having to have her teeth cleaned or a fluoride treatment.  The relief in that child's countenance...she buried her face in my jacket as I finished talking to the hygienist and started to giggle.  When she looked up at me...shining eyes...beaming smile...tear-stained cheeks...priceless.

There are days when I wonder if I will live through Reasa's teenage years. 

Pretty sure my Mom thought the same thing about me...

Two whole boxes.  And we're not talking normal-sized packing boxes. We're talking 36"x18"x18" boxes.  Big, dang boxes.  Filled to the top with extra blankets.  Nothing else.  Quilts, comforters, afghans, microfiber, fleece, the fuzzy kind with satin binding, velour...you name it.  This doesn't count anything that may currently be tucked into beds or draped over rocking chairs or hanging from the corner of a couch.  Two boxes of extra blankets.  And no closets. 

Oh.  And a wood stove that has two temperatures--SCORCHING and STONE COLD.  So, half the time, we will thank God for 2 dozen extra blankets.  And the other half, we'll open all of the windows in the house and perch fans in the sills...and thank God I didn't store the shorts and t-shirts yet.

My dad called last night...with excellent timing, actually.  Although, he may not have thought the timing excellent...as I sobbed in his ear.  On top of all the stuff we've dealt with in this house (and I have barely touched on it here...ugh), yesterday as I attempted to make corn bread to go with the chicken noodle soup...I poured out some form of bugs crawling through my sugar.  Or maybe the flour.  Or it could have been the corn meal.  And really, it could be all of the above.  I fast-forwarded to identifying the critters, throwing all of my dry food away, vacuuming out ALL the cupboards, calling an exterminator, buying all new dry food, and doing all of this while trying to home school and finish unpacking the girls' room and the 3 remaining "miscellaneous" boxes I can't bring myself to sort, finding out it was termites and that we would need to move...I know.  Irrational.  Whatever.  And I looked at the shelves and these tiny, unidentifiable-they're-so-freaking-tiny bugs crawled everywhere on the shelves where I store the dry food.  Overwhelmed.  That about describes it.  Once again.  Completely overwhelmed.  So, when Daddy called, he listened to me sob, and he prayed with me, and he asked me if they could come down for the night to hang out (they really had planned this before I cried like a baby).  And to bring me the cedar chest that sat broken in my attic for five years.  And the antique sewing table (with etched measurement marks) my step-Grandpa Harvey gave to me 7 or 8 years ago that finally bit the dust...and he fixed.  Umm, yes.  Please come.  And help me figure out what the heck kind of bugs are crawling through my cupboards.  And yes, Mom, it's 9:00 at night, but while you're at the only real grocery store in Williamsport (Wegman's, of course), please, please pick up some bug-free flour and sugar so I can serve you pancakes in the morning.  I'll see you in 40 minutes. 

My parents ROCK.

And the first thing they brought in after the flour, sugar, eggs, and orange juice...was my cedar chest--fully functional.  The cedar chest now reinforced with extra hinges, cross-supports, and glue.  The cedar chest I will now fill with...about half of the extra blankets in those boxes.  The other half...anybody need extra blankets?

And today, my mom and I got air-tight canisters for my dry goods.  And I'm praying that the bugs in my sugar or flour or corn meal or whatever didn't infest the pasta.  Or rice.  They say that if you cook it all to 140 degrees, you're good to go.  Why the heck is it ok to eat dead bugs, as long as they've been heated to 140 degrees?  How does that work, exactly??

The first shower I took in this "cute" cabin lasted somewhere around 3 minutes.  3 minutes.  And then...ice freaking cold.  OK, honestly, I have never been the consistent long-shower type.  In my parents' house, there was a 10-minute rule.  In college, it was desperation...rush!!...there are people waiting in line, for Pete's sake.  Generally, I think, moms get in the shower and get out as quickly as possible...it starts that way because you realize that if you take more than 2 minutes in the shower, one of the very small children outside of the shower--though locked in the bathroom with you (with the toilet lock securely fastened, the cabinet locked, and the garbage can in the sink) is going to cause serious, serious destruction or chaos (or will figure out the toilet lock and then cause both), or one of them will wind up in the shower with you...and though this is not necessarily a horrible thing...everybody needs to splash and giggle once in a while...it gives you absolutely no privacy--a hot commodity with the mommy crowd.  So, 2 minutes of privacy is better than no privacy at all.  At this point in my life, however, I have learned the beauty of a 6 minute shower.  This past week and a half...my time got chopped...dramatically.  You don't realize how much you love your shower...those six minutes of quiet, often uninterrupted mommy time...the shower that begins the 20 minutes you have until they're all awake and ready for your attention all day...until it's half gone.  Seem small?  Petty?  Yeah.  Two weeks ago, I would have thought so too. 

Because, you see...it wasn't just the 3-minute shower.  It was also the can't-shower-then-toss-a-couple-of-kids-in-after-me problem.  Or the can't-do-a-load-of-laundry-and-expect-the-whites-to-get-clean issue.  Or the run-the-bathtub-for-your-son's-bath-and-only-fill-it-two-inches-before-it's-running-cold dilemma.  And not that I'm complaining, really.  OK, I am.  And I did.  A tiny bit (really...it just seemed like one more thing).  To Seth.  Who mentioned something to one of the landlords.  Who talked it over with the three other landlords (brothers).  Who met at the house last weekend for the fall clean-up, and decided that we needed a new hot water heater.  Just.  Like.  That.  Because, you see, two of the wives had complained about the hot water before...and Seth's mention of it...reminded them. 

I have a new hot water heater...and to replace the 30-gallon tank, it's 50 gallons.  I washed a load of sheets in hot water tonight after washing a load of whites with warm water and doing a sink-full of dishes.  And it was really hot.  I checked.  I took a luxurious 10-minute shower this morning.  Just because I could.  And the next time I have to shave my legs, it won't be next to the bathroom sink like my suite-mate and I used to resort to in college.  To avoid the obnoxious, mostly-sleep-induced glares of the freshmen waiting for showers on the floor where we were RA's. 

Tomorrow, I might stretch that shower to 12 minutes. 

Livin' on the wild side...that's me.

Making me smile… Lainie's cardboard birdhouse for her new Webkinz chickadee, Chessie (and the fact that she just said to me, "Oh, the things you can do with cardboard!!")

On the window sill… a stack of books weighing down our "flower press."

I am sipping… espresso...

Looking up… how to help my girls better learn their multiplication tables...and finding that I'm already doing what everyone says to do.

I am creating… order in the chaos.

Thanking God for… too many clothes...and very hot water!!

I am striving for… patience with my quickly-approaching-adolescence daughter.

I am praying for… Seth as he is in West Virginia, and hates it there.

Praising God for… the view out my back windows...the beauty in his creation through the seasons.

On my notepad… can't find it at the moment...but on paper slips...the phone number of the gym, the time and place I'm meeting a new friend today, the vet's number.

Hoping... I can get the house nearly organized before Seth comes home tomorrow.

I learned today that I'm not a complete wood stove idiot.  I figured I would have an issue with the thing at some point this week, being that it's the first time Seth will be out of town for more than just one night since we have lived here.  Realistically, if it had gone out last week while he was gone, and I couldn't get the thing started, we could have waited until he got home to start it back up again, and we wouldn't have frozen to death.  This week...well, he's gone until Friday.  Something would have to go wrong that I would have to deal with.  I didn't expect it to happen within 3 hours of him leaving...but I guess it gave me confidence for the rest of the week.  This is a good thing. 

To this point, I have just opened the door occasionally to see if there was still something burning inside, and to add more logs when not much remained.  I have followed the advice of my sweet friend Jackie who told me a secret her husband taught her--"don't just use one log and think it will catch fire.  It needs a buddy to burn!" So, I have always made sure at least two logs burn in the stove.  Good advice.  So far, no problems.  But what happens when the logs burn more quickly than you expected, or, ahem, you forget to check the fire until it's just 2 or 3 tiny orange embers, occasionally crackling, and very, very puny and pitiful?  Well, throwing two pieces of wood on the tiny embers and wishing they would start burning doesn't work (I tried this method), panicking certainly doesn't help (I didn't), and telling your kids isn't a good idea (I did), because then they panic...they all went running for wood (which wound up being kind of nice...wood I didn't have to carry into the house!!).  I dragged out some newspaper and some smaller pieces of wood which I hoped would catch fire quickly (a method my dad confirmed would work, as I was on the phone with him after I realized my initial attempt at fire resuscitation had failed).  They did.  Within 5 minutes, I had the fire going again...heaped a bunch of wood on it as we were headed out the door, and though it's not cold, I didn't want to go through this process again two hours later.  I am, however, kind of hoping that I can keep it burning through the night without roasting myself out of my bedroom.  This morning at 4, we woke up to Seth finding some sort of sticktight or something on himself (he thought for sure it was a tick)(argh!!)(and Chani came in the house covered with prickly plant things last night...of course), and both of us realized that he had woken up because the temperature in our room hovered somewhere between "scalding" and "the fires of hell," and not actually from tick terror.  We kicked off covers, turned on the fan, turned off the space heaters in the kids' rooms, closed the dampers on the woodstove some, and tried to fall back asleep...even a new mattress didn't help much with that situation.  Comfy bed or not, sleep did not come quickly.  I'm hoping for a different experience tonight.  We'll see.  Something about the fact that the temperature hovered around 45 degrees all night last night rather than the typical freezing cold we have had since moving in...

As an update...we drove to Corning this morning at 7:30 to vote and to have a grand civics lesson..."this is our right and responsibility as Americans, even if it's inconvenient, and even though we're voting in a state that we know won't count toward the man for whom we vote" was the theme of the day.  After walking in, signing the book, and chatting with the three ladies at the desk...all of whom know me by my nickname, and not the one I sign on the book...with no wait whatsoever, the kids joined me in the voting booth, and helped me decide (!!) on each candidate.  We didn't stay in the booth quite as long as Mr. Obama and his daughters, but I think we made good choices.  On our way home, we read a few more chapters of Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH, which Seth enjoyed profusely ("Aww...can't you read one more chapter??" He's as bad as the kids!), and tried to keep Reasa from getting carsick on the windy roads that led to two of Seth's job sites.  We drove right past our house 2.5 hours into the return trip to pick up my repaired car--the serpentine belt was worn from...the tensioner pulley?...being "shot," the left rear bearing needed replacement, and they couldn't figure out why even with a brand new battery, I keep walking out to a dead car.  Sigh.  Vehicles are tricky, aren't they??  When we got home, Seth changed the "pigtails" on the second stove (now gone) and my "new" dryer (now installed), and I have done all of the laundry in my house today--all 6 loads...ahhhhh.  :)  Tomorrow, the hot water heater will be replaced by our wonderful landlords (right now, we get 3 minutes of hot water in the shower, or about 2 inches in the tub), and they'll help me figure out why the heck two of the outlets in my family room don't work (they worked three hours ago).  I unpacked 5 more (already partially unpacked) boxes today...and counted laps as my children rounded the house on their bikes.  I giggled every time Bryson came past the kitchen window and hopped off to push the bike the rest of the way up...the ride up the hill gave him the hardest time each lap around the house.  Tomorrow the kids will log their new Webkinz (their reward for being such troopers through the past week and a half) on the website, we'll kick school back into gear, I'll find the cord for my printer, and I'll assemble the shelf I got for all of our craft crap...I have so much stuff!!!  AAK!!  BUT, I did navigate myself from here to Target, then the mall, and back (17.2 miles from the house...)(not terrible, I guess).

We're getting there.  Figuring it out. 

On to the next blog topic...

...so little brain power. I have a million things mulling around in my head...many things I would like to think through fully enough to discuss...but I never seem to come to the end of a train of thought lately.  Some possible topics about which I should formulate a complete thought:

-the phenomenon that is a wood stove.
-how much every home needs a fifty-gallon hot water heater, and not a 30-gallon unit.
-the actual need for so many extra blankets--is there one?
-the amount of stuff three drill rig hands, a construction foreman, and a pastor can move out of a moving truck and into a house in 2 hours.
-the beauty of drawers in a kitchen.
-how to become blind to the boxes which clutter the corners of your home.
-the number of times the cliche phrase "when it rains, it pours" actually applies to my life.
-how critical closets are in a home.
-the difference between a dog tick and a deer tick, and the in's and out's of removing either from a dog's skin.  Oh, and what you should do to prevent this from being an issue with your pet. Did you know there is a Lyme disease vaccination for dogs??
-why every major-ish city needs a superwalmart.  Somewhere.  Within 30 miles. 
-the joy of a glass of merlot after the kids go to bed at night.  I know, I know.  And I am a Wesleyan.  I'm going to hell, aren't I?  :)  (hee hee.  I'm kidding, I'm kidding.)
-how to dry laundry in the basement without a dryer.  Or drying racks.
-how to move a 2000 square foot house (ok, 1882) with a full basement and attic to a 1400 square foot hunting cabin (and that figure is generous).  And a storage unit.  Eventually.
-how many boxes and pieces of furniture fit into a 1400 square foot hunting cabin.
-how many boxes you can actually unpack and the contents of which you can fit into a 1400 square foot hunting cabin.
-the way the move will slam into your kids...the things they will say to you while trying to be brave, knowing that you're already sad...
-the realization that not getting Fox and severely limiting your kids' tv time does not kill you.  Or them.
-the need for a school routine when you're 9, 8, or 6.
-how much your 9-year-old will flip out when you tell her you need to check her head for ticks.

-the blessing that is Chief Oil and Gas.

-the blessing that is your husband loving his job.  And being exceptionally good at it.

-the blessing that is having so much stuff, you don't know what to do with it.

-the blessing that is being able to get rid of some of that stuff to maybe bless other people.

-the blessing that is adventure.  Adaptability.  Acceptance.

Great blog post ideas...well, at least they seem interesting to me.  You may hate them.  That's the thing about blogs.  Anyway, if I never get to think them all the way through...at least they sit here.