Bad Hair Day?

I had a conversation with my daughter this morning. It went like this:

Me- "My hair is boring today."
Daughter - "That's what hair does. It sits there being hair, a bunch of dead cells just laying around on your head."
Me- "Maybe that's what goes wrong. I think my hair is boring so I decide I need to get a haircut so it will do something."
Daughter- "Hair is either boring or it does something weird."
Me- "So boring hair is a good thing?"
Daughter- "Yes."
Me- "But I always thought my hair should do something."

She doesn't really respond to this, just shakes her head in a pitying way as she walks off.

I'm left thinking.... hmmm.... all this time I've been trying to get my hair to do something. Suddenly all the years and years of bad hair make more sense than I would like to admit....

Ham Gravy

It always surprises me when I mention ham gravy and people cringe. It is a favorite around here.

When the ham gravy flows it's celebration time. It doesn't seem to matter who's in the house at the time, family, guests, you name it - I find people eating it on all sorts of weird things in vast quantities - even discovered one of my kids drinking it from a glass.

Let me tell you what ham gravy tastes like - liquid bacon. Anything you can imagine that tastes good with bacon will taste divine with ham gravy. The possibilities are endless.

There are a few rules though if you really want to try it.

1. It has to come from drippings from a smoked ham - NOT a honey cured ham.

2. Do NOT glaze the ham. Just roast it in all its smoky pulchritudinous glory. (Trust me, if you haven't had ham this way you haven't lived!)

3. Make the gravy as a milk gravy not a water gravy.

4. If you have even the remotest opportunity to get a pig (with all its wondrous cuts) from an all natural or organic farmer - take it! You will never want to eat that nasty store bought pork again! (What do they DO to that stuff???????) Ham (yum yum!), bacon, sausage, pork loin, pork chops etc. all tastes so amazing eaten the way it was intended - from a person who knows what to feed a hog. Oh yeah.

5. Pour so much gravy on your food you can no longer see it and you have to use a bowl. (See picture above.)

6. Eat leftovers for the next two weeks. The drippings make so much gravy you'll be swimming in it (or at least your food will  be).

You can thank me for the introduction of a food that is akin to manna from heaven or the ambrosia of the gods, however you choose to look at it.

If you're a vegetarian... well then... I guess this is just plain awkward isn't it?

Aaaah! The Exterminator Is Coming!

I've mentioned the exterminator comes to our house. The funny thing is, he's been coming while the kids were at school, so even though I told them he comes into every room of the house, the full impact of this had not hit them until one day when they were out of school.

Suddenly my kids were in a cleaning frenzy. Floors were appearing in their bedrooms. Surfaces that hadn't seen the light of day since we moved here seventeen years ago were suddenly  gleaming.

Clothes were put in drawers and hung in closets. It was like the apocalypse was at hand.
I decided having an exterminator was well worth the money - what else would get teenagers to clean their rooms?

Anyway, I got up this morning feeling ambitious. I sometimes have these wonderful little ah-ha moments when I first wake up. Solutions to problems will come to mind and I'll suddenly see an easy way to solve something that had been plaguing me.

So this morning I wake up realizing how to create more room in my closet.

I pull everything out, stuff is strewn here and there, but I'm feeling good about the whole thing, I know everything's going to be better when I'm done. I'm up to my armpits in my project when I hear a strange noise.

It's a vacuum.

And I'm not the one running it.

The enormity hits me. Someone is vacuuming their room! And no one used any kind of extortion to get them to do it!

It's happening voluntarily!!!!! Just as I was about to expire from the shock and just when I thought my poor little overworked heart could take no more, another kid approaches me wondering where the vacuum is.

Then it occurs me. The exterminator is coming. Today.

This odd phenomenon occurs when he's coming for some inexplicable reason.

I laugh to my self. Then turn to my task. I stop what I'm doing and for one heart stopping moment I look around at the chaos I've created. The contents of my closet have regurgitated themselves all over my room.  There's not a clear bit of carpet to be seen.

Oh dear.

Stories

I like to tell stories. Stories about my life, stories about my parents, stories about grandparents, about my children ... pretty much anything that happened ever.

I didn't realize this trait had carried over into my children until we were expecting the exterminator to come and they were telling exterminator stories.

Exterminator stories. Really? All he does is come in and silently traipse through the house with his little backpack and spray wand. Then I hand him a check and he leaves.

There's no interaction. My children don't say a word to him, and yet he's left enough of an impression on their lives to warrant stories.

It makes me wonder what kind of lasting impression we make on others, no matter how fleeting, when we think we are living in isolation and touching no one.

It makes me wonder if the claim 'it's my life and I can do what I want' is really true. Is it my life?

Only my life? I effect no one else? Isn't that a little narcissistic?

Aren't the things we do like little ripples of water touching the ripples of other's lives and creating new patterns?

Phillip or Phillipina?

My son and his friends found an abandoned duckling down a sewer drain.

What is it about kids who think mom can fix everything including motherless ducklings?

So it's eight o'clock at night, I've already called animal control and gotten the after hours dispatcher, the police station called to let me know the best chance for the little thing was to keep him at least overnight.

We looked online to see how to take care of him and learned returning it to a water front meant almost certain death. We put him in a bucket with some hay underfoot and a water crock with clean rocks in the bottom so he wouldn't drown and made a cornmeal mush for food and set up a heat lamp that was purchased years ago for a science project.

And then I prayed. A lot.  A long sleepless night ensued.

Next day was full of doctor appointments. Because going to doctors all the time is the unpleasant reality of our lives. In between, I've got to figure out what to do with this little duck.

He's not looking so good. He's so lonely I don't know if he's going to make it.  He keeps languishing and wants someone's hand by him constantly.

I set my son the task of calling all over to see if there was an organization somewhere who takes in baby ducks while I'm dealing with doctors.

Animal Control did not, everywhere he called did not. Is this little creature going to die on my watch?

My children are so sure we'll find a solution. I love that about them.

We own bunnies. When they have problems we take them to an exotic vet. As I look at this little fluffy one who is cuddling up to my son's hand it occurs to me to call our vet.

They take ducks. They have a duck rehabilitater! Suddenly I love my vet! They are the most wonderful people on the planet. I can't believe they haven't achieved sainthood.

We pack him up and my son comforts him on the ride there. If he moves his hand away the little guy peeps at him to come back.

We get to the vet and they welcome him. They tell us it's a good thing he is there because they have another little duck who needs a friend. I love the vet even more. They have a friend for our little guy.

They share an incubator cuddled together.

With this ordeal behind us my kids finally decide he needs a name. We won't have him anymore, but I realize by naming him, they know he will live. We can all feel that. So they name him Phillip. After a moment's thought I say, 'Or Phillipina.'

What Kind of Mom are You?

Mother's day is often a day of guilt for moms. It ought not to be that way.

I saw a video online wherein a woman was explaining there are all different kinds of moms and whatever kind of mom you are, it is just right for your kids, that God gave you the skills that are unique for your kids. I kind of smirked and rolled my eyes, but then, I thought, maybe there's something in this.

I asked myself, what kind of mom am I? And I answered, I'm 'suck it up and do it anyway' mom. It's true and I don't apologize for it. It's what my kids need. I'm also 'silly' mom, and they need that too.
I could go on and on about all the stuff I've done wrong. I could tell you all about the horrific mistakes I've made and what makes me believe my children will need therapy the rest of their lives, but I choose not to focus on that this Mother's Day.

As I've mentioned before, I started writing books and blogging because I get sick a lot and get bored and need something to occupy my down time. Unfortunately, before I fully understood the nature of my health and all it's implications, I had produced five children. Yep. Five.

Long story short, each of my kids also has multiple health problems. I have a running health history for each one and each year something else gets added to the list. Who knows what condition they'll be in by the time they reach 50? Budgeting energy as a precious resource is a common topic of discussion in this house.

Yes, in some ways I wonder why God gave me five children before I knew what my genes would do to them. But then, he also equipped me with some unique skills.

The biggest life skills I have to offer them are twofold. The first is to have faith. Believe that life is beautiful and live life fully, regardless of circumstances.

Showing them chronic illness isn't the end of the world is a big goal of mine. Multiple chronic illnesses are not the end of the world. There's plenty to do and experience regardless of our limitations, and a way around those limitations, and divine help to make us better than we are.
Perhaps I should feel sorry for them, but I do not. There is no room for pity when my child may be dying and needs life saving surgery - even if that surgery is going to have an unpleasant recovery.
There is no room for pity when my child is turning blue and can't breathe. There is no room for pity when we are rushing for the ER. There is no room for pity when my child sees life so bleakly they don't know if they have the courage to move forward.

My children do not need my pity. I would be doing them a great disservice to offer it to them. They need faith, they need hope, they need action and care. And then, when the crisis is over, they need a sense of humor.

That's the second life gift I have to offer. The gift of silliness is a great one. Something that can make a smile appear and laugh burble up from the soul -- how important that is!

Believing that if their life ends, they will still be loved and cared for on the other side is important.
But it also takes great courage to live, to go on facing a life of pain, discomfort and continuous doctors and procedures and surgeries. It takes courage and a sense of humor to really live, despite that.

The good Lord gave me illness, but he also gave me the skills to cope. I am all the better and the stronger for it. And someday, my children will see themselves that way too. This is my hope.

Mom's Rules

I saw a meme that went like this:

Mom's Rules:
If I cook it, you eat it.
If I buy it, you wear it.
If I wash it, you put it away.
If I clean, you keep it clean.
If I say bedtime, you say goodnight.
If I say get off the phone, you hang up.
If I say no, you don't ask why.
Because I'm the mom!

Hmmm... kind of works for small kids. But what about when half your kids are adults and the other half are nearly there? Mom's in this situation need rules just for them. So here goes:

Mom's Rules:
If you're hungry, cook something.
If you want clothes, buy them.
If you want clean clothes, wash them.
If you make a mess, clean it up.
If I say it's bedtime, I'm going to bed; you're on your own. 
If you need an appointment, pick up the phone and make one.
If I say no, don't be surprised.
It's because I'm exhausted and you're too old to be asking! 


That looks more like it.

Living with Men

Four out of my five children are boys. The youngest of those boys is 13. Between them and my husband I've learned quite a bit about living with men over the years. I'm thinking about posting an occasional series on this. Some of the points may sound kind of funny, but they are real points of information with real life examples.

1. When a bunch of guys get together and get a brilliant idea it will somehow lead to injury or damage to personal property. Or both.

Example:
Idea:We can get down the stairs faster by jumping.
Net result: a trip to the doctor and a head shaped indentation on the ceiling leading to the bottom of the stairwell.


2. If there is a way to avoid using bowls, plates, cups or utensils they will find a way.

Example: 'Look! We don't need bowls to eat our salads!' The guy demonstrates by grabbing a handful of salad, squirts dressing on it then stuffs the whole thing in his mouth and repeats the action a couple times.
The next guy scoffs, 'I don't need to eat out of my hands', he proceeds to stick a bunch of salad in his mouth and squirts dressing directly on it. The next second he's hopping around screaming and laughing at the same time, 'AAHH!! Too much dressing! Too much dressing! It Burns!!!'

Which just goes to show no matter how dumb an idea is in the first place there's always another guy around to think of a dumber one. 

3. Men are incapable of predicting what will happen next.

Example: When they decide to slide down the staircase in nylon sleeping bags all at the same time they are surprised when after tearing down the stairs at 80 mph they end up in a painful, crying heap at the bottom and that they've squashed the baby in the process. 

4. Teenage boys will act like slugs and ignore you all day but, when 10:00 PM rolls around they will either suddenly start wrestling and making inhuman noises and clumping all over the house or they will want to snuggle with an exhausted mom and dad and talk for three hours. If you don't take advantage of that you won't hear from them again for six months.

5. Men need to expend lots of energy throughout the day. If they don't, personal injury and property damage will ensue. Trust me on this one. They're like dogs, they need exercise. 

6. If you ever ask a man to do something - DON'T ever criticize the job they've done or they will NEVER do it again.

7. Men think women are the touchy, feely ones - which may or may not be true, but men are far more sensitive than women. The male ego is a fragile thing.

8. If you make a rule of any kind you have to be careful about your wording.

Example:
Mom: Don't slide down the stairs in laundry baskets! It's dangerous! Someone's going to get killed!'
An hour later:
Mom: I told you not to slide down the stairs!
Kids: You said not in laundry baskets, these are sleeping bags.
Mom: You are not to slide down the stairs in anything or on anything or with anything or anything like unto it!
15 minutes later:
Mom: I told you NO sliding down the stairs!
Kids: We're not!
Mom: Then why is your brother at the bottom of the stairs crying?
Kids: We jumped.

9. No household with boys should have full length staircases of any kind.

10. The only way to modify a boy's behavior is to stop what they are doing mid action. If you must use words limit them to no more than three. If you lecture them they will tune you out after the first sentence, so skip the lecture and make what you say count.

Example:
When a kid is about to hit his brother stop his arm mid swing and say 'No hitting.' This is very effective - the male mind responds to action.

11. Men will speak with grunts. The non-committal grunt being their specialty.

Example:
Mom: Did you haul your dirty laundry?
Kid: grunt
Mom: Was that a yes grunt or a no grunt?
Kid: Yes, mom, I shouldn't have to explain every grunt! 

12. Male children will make anything at hand into a weapon. This fully hit me when my first child, who had no toy weapons at the time, was at a friends house and used the friend's little sister's Barbie doll as a machine gun. He pointed one arm down which became a trigger and the rest of the doll was the barrel. 

13. If there is any kind of loft, balcony, overhang, or ledge in your house they will find a way to pelt things onto it or off of it or climb it. If there isn't any they will do it from your roof.

14. Every family over a certain number of children has a climber. The climber is usually also a Houdini and can overcome any lock or child proof mechanism known to man. If that child also happens to be a boy - watch out - males tend to do things first, then think about them after they've ended in disaster.

14. Be sure to cuddle all your men, laugh with them, and love them as much as possible. This makes everyone happy, including mom. 

Neglected!

The horror! I've forgotten I have a writer's blog again! I'll never get anywhere as an author like this. I can see it now, holed up in some dingy little apartment with my nine cats and my tv, friendless, hopeless, alone.... a total failure.

Hmmmm.... actually, can I sign up for that? Would that be bad? I've got five kids running around this house (six if you count my husband) and more extended family than is natural who keep dropping in at any hour of the day and night. Is it possible to have a life that is over peopled? I'm thinking suffering for my art is taking the unique form of what could be too much family.

Maybe that's why my writing centers around family. They say write what you know and so crazy family situations seems to be what comes out in what I write.

Incidentally, I may have mentioned this before, but what I set out to write each time are mysteries. Yep. I start out with a great murder or crime and what happens? The characters take over and I come out with.....? Family Drama? Is there a genre with that title? Can I invent one? Is that ok with everyone?

Here's the thing...

I like to write. It's true. It's fun and gives my brain a chance to be active. But I also like to read. Two powerful forces at odds with each other. I only have so much down time to spend as I please. So do I read or write? Choices, choices...

With school out and kids running amuck all over the place there's very little time for either one. So one day I'm in the doctor's waiting room furiously scribbling revisions with one eye on my manuscript and one eye on the kids and the next day I'm getting the oil changed in the car while reading through my first book in a freshly purchased pile from B&N so fast my eyes are vibrating. 

So here's the question. In my flash and dash world of getting it all done how is it my kids have time to lounge around, get bored and watch TV till their brains melt while I'm trying to both write and read novels five pages at a time in between the everything else I do?

Something tells me I should take some time to observe the ways of the teen and take some notes...