Quick Selections

I'm supposed to be taking a nap with my Willa Beans right now.  Shhh... she already fell asleep before I got there, so I'm sneaking these few moments to myself while my older kids have 18 minutes of "quiet time" left.

Seeing as I'm trying to conserve my mental energy in this heat, I really do not have much to say.  Which means of course, that I will ramble on unedited for a while.  And then I will stretch my arms above my head and wonder why I didn't snatch at the opportunity for 18 minutes of sleep when I had the excuse.  Then I will spell-check and goof around on the internets reading about Brad Pitt's mother and her Republican leanings.  Yup. I love quiet time.

This has not been a very productive week around the Ruffer Homestead.  Bummer that.  My housework has pretty much peaked out at laundry and dishes.  But really, what else is there? With the kids camping out in the living room each night, there's not a lot of sense in running the vacuum.  Or maybe there's more sense in it, but I've never been accused of having too much sense.

Ok. Enough about my under-achieverness.  That topic bores me.

GBaby is obviously a little bored too.

We're going all rural around here and using the clothesline exclusively.  Yes, the underwear and towels are scratchy.  No, I don't prefer them that way. Yes, the house is much cooler without the clothes drier running. No, I will not hang my household's underwear and socks on the side facing the road.  Or the side facing the fields, because Mr. S. and Mr. S. Jr., who own the fields surrounding our yard are out there practically every day. So our unmentionables are safely hidden in the center lines.

I took my children to Sauder Village yesterday. We had one hour to visit before we had to hurry home, slap some sandwiches together and get the boys to piano lessons.  The real reason we went was because I, the Mom, (and thus the Boss of my Children) wanted to pick up some nice fabric at the quilt shop.  In an effort to minimize whining and maximize cooperation among my children, I struck a deal with them: 25 minutes for mom in the quilt shop and the remainder of the time for them to see one attraction.  It seemed like a good plan.  While I made my selections as quickly as I could, they poured over the map.  When I came out, they told me that they'd all agreed on what they wanted to see:

Arguing over checking out the Sauder Village Map.

With purposed steps they led me away from the quilt shop...

...Straight to this!

Of course.
Clever children.  They know how to work all of my systems. 

GBaby, a little less bored without the stroller.

Since the ice cream took care of our pre-lunch appetites, we had extra minutes to see some animals.

Some animals are pretty ugly.

Time is more than up...

Hot, Irritable and Blessed

I'm afraid that I have been letting This Heat wave to negatively affect my attitude.  Everyone is out to irritate me.  I don't feel like cleaning up after my children in this ever-stickier house.  I'm tired of not sleeping well. Whah, whah blessed whah...
Remember how much I love lists?  Well, this morning is obviously the right time to make a "Count Your Blessings, Honour" list.  I recruited my oldest three children to help me and we sat around the kitchen table with the littlest wandering around our legs.  I think the setting may have influenced our list a bit, but here are

25 Blessings

(not listed in order of importance)

1. Food - we have plenty to eat!
2. Shelter - our house
3. Sauder Village membership
4. Piano Lessons - we can learn music
5. Money - we have enough for our needs
6. Jesus - God the Son who paid our sin debt
7. God - who loves us completely
8. Friends
9. Air Conditioner
10. Syrup - to make pancakes & waffles even better!
11. Dishes - we don't have to eat on our bare hands or the bare table
12. Toaster waffles - breakfast can be fast & yummy
13. Family
14. A Kitchen table - that moves around easily for cleaning the floor
15. Cupboards - to hold our dishes & food
16. Babies - to reproduce us (so the human race keeps going on)
17. Refrigerator - to keep our milk cold
18. Pitchers on the ball field
19. Mommy - she gives us food and reproduces
20. Teeth - to eat with
21. Milk - to give us strong bones
22. Daddy - he is fun
23. Fans - to cool us off
24. Books - help us learn
25. Dolly our puppy

Can you tell which person contributed which item? 

 Hint: I don't use the word "reproduce."

Like a Spoiled Goldilocks

Our little scrap of homestead suffered some storm damage yesterday evening.  We were at our friends' house, not having a pond party while we watched a summer storm blow through.  We need rain in this neck of the woods, so this storm was welcomed as heartily as a sibling that lives too far away.  It was a nice little storm at their house.

At our house, the storm behaved like a spoiled Goldilocks.  She claimed one attic window (left open to catch the slightest breeze) for her own, shoved down a tree in our front yard, and chose our new trampoline for a game of fetch.  Only our neighbor fetched it, not us.

The window needed to be replaced anyway.
The tree had already been disfigured in a storm long ago.  We were planning on taking it down before it took down something else.
The trampoline was about 3 weeks old, a mother's / father's day gift to ourselves, er rather, our children.  At least two of my not-so-little people cried over its loss.

"But look," we said. "We're all ok. No one was hurt.  Not even the puppy."  [Poor little puppy was mighty freaked out, however.]

As bummed out as we are about this {very} minor catastrophe, it is a good reminder that the stuff that decorates this life - houses, trees, yards, clothes, cars, trampolines - is passing.  Sometimes at gusts of 60 miles an hour.  If all of our efforts are focused on that which can be taken in an instant, we are guaranteed disappointment at some point.

Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal.  But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys, and where thieves do not break in or steal; for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Matthew 6:19-21

So the question is, what is treasured in heaven?

The Whole Hole

This month we did some digging in our yard.  [By "we" I mean almost entirely "he."] The need for the digging is still as murky as the backed up septic line that was unearthed.  However, the term "back breaking labor" has been clarified for me. 

Boots muddy from backyard projects

The man of the house was kind enough to share his reflections on messing around with the septic and water tiles that criscross our back yard:

First, "I would hate to dig my own grave." Really? Why would that be so bad?
Then, "Can you imagine what it would have been like to dig out the basement of our house by hand? I've only dug a little hole five feet deep." Trust me, it isn't a "little" hole, but a large scar in our back yard.

Finally, "If I had to bury someone, I don't think I'd dig a rectangular grave. I'd just dig a 6 foot hole and crumple the body down into it." Good to know you're thinking ahead.

And then he called his brother and his brother's bobcat to come and help with the rest of the job.  Weilding a shovel is not fun.  When I helped him fill in the holes I decided that if I were in a forced labor camp I would probably be shot for stopping to wipe the sweat off my face one too many times.  Hmmm... it seems that hard work brings thoughts of death to both our minds.

But let's not dwell on death or septic systems.  Look what I found in the barn:

130 year old spider webs.  Fresh eggs.

Ok. So I put the egg there after I retrieved it from the outcast hen (she can't be with the other hens and their rooster because they pick on her. We have a strict no-bullying policy around this barnyard).  I was checking for Charlotte, but I think these webs might be as old as the beams they are built on.  Just kidding.  The German immigrants that built this farm would never have allowed spiders in their barn.

Hanging on another of our ancient out buildings is a thermometer that the Man of the House says doesn't work and I say does.  Regardless, we have had a few scorching days this week and I've watched the red line move further and further in the clock-wise direction.  I guess that's why I think it works.  Would Germans put a thermometer up that didn't work?  Did they even have plastic 130 years ago?  This came with the house, so either there was a bit of time travel involved by the original owners to procure this tool, or it is a later addition.  I don't know where they would have found a Delorian in 1890.


I took this picture at not quite 10 O'Clock AM yesterday. 

My children and I slept in our living room last night, near the window air conditioning unit.  I went to the boys' attic bedroom to retrieve their pillows and decided that no one built this house with the idea of humans occupying the attic.  130 years ago, people survived summer time in NorthWest Ohio without air conditioning or hair conditioning.  And they dug their basements and graves by hand.  And they built their barns without modern machinery.  And they wore more clothing than we wear.  And they probably smelled a little bit more sour than we smell.  And they probably didn't yell at their children much.  Not that they didn't want to yell, (remember most of the residents of NorthWest Ohio were German imigrants) but they just didn't have the energy to raise their voices. 
But you know what? I don't feel guilty that I live now.  With air conditioning and hair conditioning. With shorts and bobcats and deoderant and running water and energy to yell at my kids.  I don't feel guilty about that at all.
Well.
Not much guilty.
Maybe I should go find my own Delorian.

Rats and Spiders, Our Childhood Friends

Overhearing a loud fly-buzz in my kitchen this morning, I scanned the room until I found the culprit snagged in a spider web.  I could have taken a fly swatter and demolished both victim and aggressor, but I let the situation follow its natural course.  Either I'm lazy or cheering for team spider.  I guess my childhood influenced by Charlotte's Web explains a lot about my life.  No, not the book, as charming and classic as that is, but the movie.  No, not the beautiful Dakota Fanning version, but its corny, animated predecessor.

I'm sorry, but what's not to love about a rat that sings about gorging himself on trash?

After that edifying little tidbit of cinematic wonder, I'm off to fix my kids' some breakfast.  It will be a veritable smorgasbord orgasbord orgasbord, I'm sure.

A Walkish Run

I've been feeling an urge to run lately, but not an urge stronger than the desire to get 30 minutes more sleep.  Yesterday I remembered that I was going to run  a 5k July 21.  I have 3 weeks. "Not a big deal," I explained to my husband. "I can already run 2 miles without stopping, so I just have to work up to a third mile."  He asked what my time was the last time (the only time) I ran a 5k.  My running time is of little consequence to me.  As long as I'm not dead last, I will be happy just with going three miles without stopping to walk.  But he's not the only person that has asked how fast I can run 3 miles.  Do I look fast,  people?  I wear children's shoes; I move at children's speed.
Anyway.

Fresh and early this morning I went out for a run.  As I laced my shoes I told myself, "This morning I will push myself.  Instead of walking 4/10 mile, running 2 miles and walking 4/10, I will run the whole time."
I went outside.
"I will run most of the time."
I strode purposefully to the road.
"I really want to run, but I should warm up  my muscles first. I'll just walk the first 4/10, then run the rest."
I stepped out on the pavement. I walked the magic 4/10 mile to the nearest stop sign and followed the traffic laws.
"Well, if the cars need to stop, I should too."
Then I turned south and began running.  One mile, no stopping, to the next stop sign where I didn't stop but just turned around.  Somewhere in the second mile, with pickup trucks (so many pick up trucks!) zooming past me, my chest began to hurt.
"I wonder if this means I should stop.  I don't want to hurt myself.  Although, if I collapsed on the side of the road, I bet that would show people how committed I am to being healthy. What would my [farmer] brother-in-law think if he saw my sweaty and crumpled form as he drove to feed his cattle? Would he stop? Would he know it was me? Would he be impressed?" 
Because, you know, it's impressive to be so out of shape that a little exercise renders you unconscience.

I did not stop.  In all my medical wisdom, I decided that the chest pains just meant that I needed to take deeper breaths.  So I did.  And I felt better.
I reached the original stop sign without collapsing. 
"This is it. The final 4/10.  I can do it. I can. Do. It.  Oh look. I've stopped."
But I had gone 3 of the 4/10, and was almost in front of my house, so I didn't beat myself up about it.
When I got in the house, I checked the clock.  And guess what? I ran roughly a 15 minute mile.  I think I might have to change my mind about last place.  Better last than dead, right?
I actually don't know what I mean by that. Probably that I don't plan on crumpling my sweaty form by the side of the road anytime soon.

Smarts vs. Silliness

A smart mommy takes snacks to the beach.

 A silly mommy takes chocolate cookies.

A smart mommy dresses her children in coordinating outfits for things like Memorial Day.

 A silly mommy expects them to enjoy it.

A smart mommy documents the every day experiences of family life, like practicing baseball.

 A silly mommy includes the baby in baseball practice.