Lessons from Mom and Dad

We just had our first snowfall last night.
Naturally, I'm fishing a post out of last summer. I wrote this one June afternoon and never published it.  But since I'm feeling risky and lazy tonight, (two motivations that are actually very difficult to pull off simultaneously) I'm clicking the publish button now.  Revisiting early summer to warm up my dark winter night.
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I just finished a ham salad sandwich, so naturally I'm thinking about my dad. My dad was the first to introduce me to ham salad and we have been good friends ever since. I must confess: when I first saw the sandwich he expected me to eat, I balked. Acceptable sandwiches included peanut butter and were made with white or wheat bread. This creation was pink mortar thickly spread between black slices of - well, could it be bread? Bread is not black unless it burned. What was this sub-standard fare my father was trying to entice me to consume? 
Honestly, if I wasn't so desperate to impress my dad, I very much doubt that I would have ever tasted that ham salad on pumpernickel sandwich or ever learned to how to check the oil in my car.  I am pretty sure my relationship with ham salad is on better footing than my relationship with oil gauges.  Thankfully, I get along with dear old Dad even better than ham salad.  In fact, I would give up both pumpernickel AND ham salad if he needed such sacrifice from me.  That's a lot of love.

Today I put two slices of lettuce on there too, not because I particularly love lettuce, but because we have a plethora [Would you say I have a plethora...? Oh, yes. You have a plethora.] of it growing right now and I cannot find people to come take it, no matter how much I beg!
I'll be back in a few hours, when this-just-finished statement is expired, because right now one child is asking (twice) "When am I going to get my goldfish?" and three more children are waiting to be picked up from piano lessons... Wait! Maybe the piano teacher would take some lettuce.  Maybe I won't ask her, just show up with a plastic shopping bag full.

And that strategy actually worked! One less meal of salad in our garden!
Do I sound ungrateful?
I am not. Really.
But unless I stock a salad bar for 100 people, there is no way our little-big family will consume all of our lettuce before it is overripe and has gone to seed.  It actually does go to seed. So that expression works in this situation.  It does not go to pot, as that is a drug reference, I believe.
I could be wrong.  I am not a big expert on the drug culture.  My marijuana education didn't expand much beyond Nancy Reagan's Just say No and my mother's knowing looks as I complained about a strange, sickly-sweet odor as we drove through some ramshackle areas of Appalachia.

My mother may not have taught me much about drugs, but she did show me how to dash Worcestershire with a liberal hand.  Have you ever noticed "Worcestershire" is almost as hard to write out as it is to pronounce? I'm in love with the English Language, but not so much so that I don't see its faults.  Through an extensive exhaustive Google search, I just discovered that I've been saying it wrong my whole life.  At least the portion of my life in which Lea & Perrins played a major condiment role, which would be only the last 30 years or so.  In correct British tones it sounds like "Wooster-shir," exactly as it is spelled, yes? No? I've been saying "Wer-stir-sheer," which also doesn't look like the spelling, but sounds like my mother.  A lot of what I've been saying lately sounds like my mother: "Unload the dishwasher" and "Feed the cats and dog" and "Put away your laundry" and "I said unload the dishwasher!"

After years of soul-searching, I have determined what my love language is: DISHES.  If anyone needs to express love for me in a way I will quickly understand, washing the dishes (especially after dinner) might just move me to tears. Is it wrong that I occasionally force my children to love me?  I know that they want to love, but the emotions are buried under the crusted-on food and the still-to-be-unloaded dishwasher.  Helping them is helping me.  It's all good.

Another way I willingly express love is doing laundry. A whole lot of this has been going on around here lately.

You may not recognize it, but this takes more careful planning than one might think. While it is not necessary to wear your t-shirts in ROYGBIV order, it is important to make sure that you don't leave a particular color out of the line up  So if it's Thursday and you have yet to wear an orange shirt because that color doesn't really look good on anyone, it's time to evaluate your commitment to this rainbow laundry project. Maybe you need to go for a run jog  walk, or clean the bathroom, or engage in some sort of sweat-raising activity.  These provide the perfect opportunities to wear the t-shirts that you'd rather no one see you in.  If you find yourself grabbing whatever shirt is on the top of the stack, you are probably not the person doing the laundry in this house. If you find that you've worn too many blue shirts this week (this is a problem I often have) just find yourself a slab of pumpernickel, smother it with ham salad (if possible) and consider what my father would say in this situation: actually, he probably would never find himself in this situation, and he's a man of few words so he probably wouldn't say anything.  Just eat the sandwich, offer a shrug and move on.

April Laundry

One of my favorite rules of childhood: it does not matter how long you have actually worn a garment, nor what kind of activity you have engaged in while wearing said garment; once the article of clothing has touched your skin and been removed, it is automatically dirty and should be discarded into the laundry hamper.  Note: all horizontal surfaces in bedrooms and bathrooms can be used for a hamper at any time.  Exception: if you have an "accident," it is perfectly acceptable (indeed, preferable) to hide the offensively odorous garment in a tight corner of your closet or drawer.  Moms like finding those presents.

I just finished folding the weekend's accumulation of laundry.  The strange assortment in each family member's size does tell the diverse (if unremarkable) tale of our April weather. Sweatshirts and long pants, t-shirts and short pants, churchy clothes, fishing clothes; we wore it all in two days.  Plus pajamas and as many pairs of socks as we could find.

This afternoon, when Dad the permissive returned from work, the kids went swimming.

It was not warm enough, but it satisfied some need buried within them.  Plus now they know where their swimsuits are when the temperatures hit the 80's... tomorrow.

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...

Glittery Wings in the Warm Air

Typically, I'm one to want weather to follow the proper order.
Winter = Cold.
Spring = Balmy (and yes, rainy).
Summer = Hot.
Autumn = Crisp.
But this string of extra-warm October days have been lovely. The mornings are just a teeny bit sharp, a thin fog hanging over the drying corn. The mild chill gives way to afternoons comfortable for flip flops and t-shirts. Laundry on the line and paint on the porch both dry quickly. There may be an over abundance of those smelly orange ladybug-look-alikes, but even those catch the afternoon light on their wings and redeem themselves with glittery spectacle.

I've enjoyed these last two weeks.
Rumor is that real October arrives tomorrow.

Not a Real Blog Mommy

I feel as though each time I actually do click "PUBLISH POST" I must re-introduce myself since such great amounts of time lapse between entries. [Hi, My name is Honour, I have a lot of kids in a big house. My kids say funny things and entertain us endlessly. My house is old and a constant source of work.]

What keeps me from writing? There is no shortage of inspiration around here. There's this cute little Lover of Standing...

Can you see the delight on her face? Doesn't it make you want to go find an ottoman and hold on to it? I had no idea furniture-assisted standing was such a wonderful thing. Imagine what she'll think when she can be up without help! And how about that helpful boy in the background? I have no idea what I would do without him around. He makes me smile.

We've also had a slew of Birthdayness going on lately.

Someone is always celebrating around here. More cupcakes coming later this month.

We also have been watching a LOT of this:

I'm sure that my esteemed readers (thanks, Mom & Dad) will recognize this activity. All three of my oldest children have chosen to play parks & rec sports this season. So four afternoons out of the week find us watching soccer, soccer and flag football. I'm ready for it to end. Very ready.

So I'm not lacking inspiration, just time. What is it that takes up most of my time?

Life.
Messy.
Silly.
Sometimes Irritating.
Always with lots of Laundry.

Let's walk through this picture, the one that "Real Blog Mommys" never show.

Upper left hand corner: a Fall Dress I made for G.Baby. I am so proud of this dress, since I got all creative-and-adaptive with it, only loosely following a pattern and adding touches of my own. Full of vanity, I love every compliment that she receives while wearing it. If I were a Real Blog Mommy, I would have already posted a charmingly upbeat tutorial with lovely pictures of each vintage button (really vintage - rescued from the trash!) and a link to my etsy shop where you can purchase one for your own darling infant!
Is anyone picking up on my little burst of jealousy here?
Moving on.

Middle background, behind Baby's head: a Stack of games for the "Family Game Night" we never had. [Sorry kids.] A Real Blog Mommy would have not only held "Family Game Night," she would have coordinated clever snacks and had a meaningful lesson to go with each game. And invited the neighbors.
And taken great pictures.
And posted about it the next day.
Let's keep going.
Center of picture: Four baskets of laundry, in various stages of folding. Real Blog Mommys do not mention laundry. Their children are clothed at all times in adorable, hand-crafted togs that never become soiled.

Foreground: Playdough. Not homemade (as a Real Blog Mommy would have) but a true obsession of the green-dressed beauty. We take playdough to soccer games. To the grocery store (it stays inside the diaper bag there). To Grammy's house. She loves playdough. I hate it; it is messy and the colors are always mixing themselves up.

Foreground: The Boxcar Children. One of my favorite bits of children's literature. A Real Blog Mommy reads to her children nightly. I am just thrilled that my children are independant readers so they can fulfill their reading requirements for school with minimal involvement on my part. I just approve their books, initial their charts and smile... And then scramble at the end of each month because I remember that my kindergarten student isn't actually reading yet (although she interprets the pictures wonderfully and provides much more interesting dialogue than the authors provide) and we have to read 30 books before bedtime so that she can get her reward from her teacher tomorrow.

Center: Much-cuddled (if diaper-neglected just the teeniest bit) Baby. Caring for my children and trying to make our home a clean, loving environment for growing those children up takes up the majority of my time. I do not have a "real" job and I have absolutely no idea how "working mothers" actually hold their lives together. I seem to struggle just to find my way out of a grungy t-shirt. Our home is constantly messy and always enduring one improvement or another. We know from pictures that Real Blog Mommys have lovely homes, white teeth, well-behaved children and sew, cook, homeschool, publish books, run an etsy business, volunteer, and photograph their every perfect moment.

I suspect that they also have maids and nannys hidden outside the edges of each photograph. This suspicion maintains my feeble grasp on sanity. That and the fact that I absolutely love my life, messy, silly, sometime irritating and full of laundry.

PS -- for those of you that are worried, G.Baby spends almost no time on top of the dining room table. She is the only part of this picture that was posed. W.Beans and the various props happened to be there already and I just plopped the baby in there and snapped a few pictures. I promise.

Laundry Issues

I manage the laundry for a household of seven, including a cloth-diapered infant and a two-year-old potty-trainee. I don't have time to take a shower, let alone time for extra steps in washing clothes.

So, why does my clothesline look like this today?



I think we can all agree that I need some help. Do you think there are therapists that deal with laundry obsessions?

Endeavoring to Walk, not Waddle

I don't need to say much more to tell you how my day has gone, do I?
It's not been a "Bad Day," just an "Unproductive Day." I woke up walking like an 89 year old, and haven't really sped up much since then. What did we cross off our list?
Laundry.
Fixing dinner (or part thereof).
Washing baby clothes.

Here's to moving more freely tomorrow!