Kicking Against the Goads

We've been considering a move. Maybe to the city; maybe not. Maybe to a new school for the kids; maybe not. Maybe to settle closer to my in-laws; maybe not. Maybe to buy a neat little foreclosure, maybe to buy some land to build upon... and maybe not.

It's my indecision at it's worst. Because I really want to do things the Lord's way. But I am a fan of my own way, too. Know what I mean?

Nothing can happen until two things happen first: The fixer upper house needs to sell. And our home does, too.

When I told my grandpa we were considering a move, he asked me, "Don't you like where you are?" Actually, we do. Quite a lot.

Our neighborhood is great. Super neighbors. Safe streets, except for a select few speeders. Kids that our kids enjoy playing with. We have a good yard that accommodates the camper, the dog and the kids simultaneously when necessary.

And our house is fine. Fully functional. Mostly.

Actually, it's a great house.

There's nothing wrong with the hallway-closet-with-doors that houses our washer and dryer right now. For nearly nine years now, I've folded laundry while kneeling on the hallway floor or piling it upon our bed. And it's worked. But I have a bit of laundry room envy right now.

There's nothing bad about our bedroom being on the same floor as the kids' rooms instead of on the ground floor. Because our younger two still occasionally come to us in the middle of night when they have a bad dream. And it's not like we're really old enough yet to be thinking about living on one level.

There's nothing distasteful about the garage being on the basement level so that I walk groceries up to the kitchen before heading back down to grab more... and then go up and down again, and again, and again. Okay, there is something distasteful about that! But the kids mostly enjoy helping if they're home when I drive up with a van load of groceries.

So I've been distracted by the thought of moving. I wasn't concentrating as well as I should have to my Bible study. I found my mind wandering during church services. Preoccupied. Dreaming about a room that holds not only our washer and dryer, but maybe even a sink, a place to hang clothes, an ironing board (which might encourage me to iron more often!).

But God still gets to me, working around my head-in-the-clouds state. Our preacher brought up Acts 26:14. "And when we had all fallen to the ground, I heard a voice saying to me in the Hebrew language, 'Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me? It is hard for you to kick against the goads.'"

Goads? What are they? Related to toads?

My trusty NIV Life Application Bible's footnote says this, "An oxgoad was a sharp stick used to prod cattle. 'It is hard for you to kick against the goads' means, 'You are only hurting yourself.'"

Hmmm. Interesting. I filed that away for further study later.

And I dreamed about a real laundry room some more. Seriously. I average at least two loads of laundry a day. It's always on my mind. (Sad, I know.)

Then, along came my Bible Study Fellowship passage for the week. We're studying Moses this year. Right now, we're in Numbers. You don't get much of Moses without also getting a whole bunch of complaining Israelites.

Ironically (not really, though), we were smack dab in Numbers 11. It's so good, I actually read it out loud to Bruce.

Nutshell? The Israelites complained about their hardships, God's anger was aroused, He burned up some people.

But I wasn't complaining about hardships, so I wasn't feeling particularly hot at that point. Still, that was just the first verse of the chapter. God was just warming me up.

The people then complained about not getting their country meal of meat and veggies even though they had manna provided daily by God. God became "exceedingly angry". Moses was so troubled he vented to the LORD. He even asked God to just put him out of his misery... the misery of leading such ungrateful people.

God then gave the Israelites boatloads of quail... enough that it would come out of their noses and they'd be sick of it! And then he struck a plague on them and many died.

Hmmmm. Interesting.

Then it hit me.

I was complaining to Moses (Bruce) about having manna (God's provision of my home) instead of having meat and veggies (a house with the master bedroom and garage on the main level and a... ahhhhh... laundry room).

I don't want Bruce asking God to put him out of the misery of being married to a woman who lusts after square footage in a laundry room. I don't want God exceedingly angry at me for not seeing how He's blessed me. And I certainly don't want God to give me a different house in such abundance that it comes out of my nose. Ouch!

So, I've quit perusing the home listings.

And I've enjoyed my home for the past couple of days. Even though those days have been chock full of laundry loads. (Not to be confused with goads! Because I'm not kicking any right now.)

And my Moses really appreciates the peace.

I Need To What??!!

So, I'm just minding my own business, internet surfing some info about the upcoming spring soccer season, when Clay got my utmost attention with this statement:

"You need to have sex again."

My head whipped around so I was facing him, and I said what any mom would say:

"WHHHHAAATTT?"

And he replied:

"You need to have sex again. So you can have another baby. Because I like them."

So, now I'm back to internet surfing. Minding my own business.

Cooking and Cleaning

I'm feeling peeved. For two reasons.

First up, fish night.

I try to be a conscientious cook. I bake more than I fry. I try the low-fat versions of all dairy products. I make the kids taste one bite of whatever I cook regardless of how it looks or smells. (I tell them I do it because "taste buds change their minds sometimes.") I make more chicken than beef, because red meat is evil. And I try to serve fish.

I know that fish is healthy. Brain food and all that. I've even exposed our munchkins to canned tuna... and our highly unscientific survey says that one out of every three average kids will actually eat it. (The other two will scrub their mouths for five solid minutes after touching one flake of the fish onto the very tippy top of their tongues.)

Last night was fish night. I baked tilapia.

I like fish. Pretty much any kind, cooked any way. As long as it's cooked thoroughly.

Bruce tolerates fish. And he does so quietly.

The kids' reactions? Yeah, you'd think I took the fish straight out of our aquarium on the counter and tossed them, flipping about, into a casserole dish headed for the piping hot oven.

Supper time last night consisted of such appetizers as whining, crying, moaning and groaning.

I felt like a pressure cooker about to explode.

Tonight we're having Whoppers for supper. Maybe I'll toss in a Fruit Roll Up for color. I try to be a conscientious cook. But a girl needs a break!

The second regular irritant to my homemaker bliss is laundry. But not every load, because, for the most part, washing and drying our clothes is no big deal. Well, the piles are big deals. Huge actually. But the act of returning them to a clean state is not something I generally despise.

But I can't stand washing whites. In hot, bleachy water.

The washing isn't even the problem. It's the drying.

Why is it that drying a load of whites takes about twice as long as drying any other load of laundry? It totally bogs down the process of getting eight loads finished.

And it's not that something is wrong with our dryer. I clean the lint thingy out after every load. And I regularly use a vacuum cleaner hose to suck out the hole you slide the lint thingy into.

Trust me... there's more lint in my kids' bellybuttons than there is in my dryer's lint thingy.

Stupid slow-drying load of whites. You are not my friend.

Tomorrow I'm going grocery shopping. At Wal-mart. And I'm looking more forward to it than I anticipate doing laundry.

But I'm not buying any fish!

I Heart My Friend

You know how you know you're loved?

First, you have a friend.

Next, you have a friend who knows your addictions.

Then, you have a friend who knows your addictions... and feeds them.

My friend is Kim.

My addiction is...



But not just any ol' conversation hearts. They've gotta be made by Necco. (Brach's does great malted milk balls, but icky conversation hearts!)

Kim bought me some. The Necco kind even. And gave them to me. Today. Out of the blue.

Yep. I'm loved.

Oh, she knows I love her, too.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Thanks a lot, Sir Mix-a-Lot!

I've wondered if I should blog this at all. Because it may be offensive to some people.

But I've decided to throw caution to the wind. Because my family, and Bruce's family, will think this is hysterical. And I think it's my duty as the mom to my parents' grandkids to share the off humor that is distinctly my children's.

The other night as we were tucking the kids in, Bruce had his turn in Clay's room. When we were both downstairs alone, he told me this little story.

Clay said to Bruce, "Dad, can I tell you something?"

Bruce said yes. And, with a very goofy grin on his face, Clay said, "I like big butts. And I cannot lie."

Being a former fan of the rap genre, my husband was immediately familiar with the song from whence those words came - Sir Mix-A-Lot's Baby Got Back. But considering that until recently, my children weren't even allowed to say the word "butt", Bruce needed to probe our oldest son's new-found fascination with large, um, bottoms. So he asked Clay if he knew what the words meant.

Clay said, "No. I just heard some kids on the bus saying it."

Right there is my reason for driving them to school each morning and only allowing them to ride the bus home instead of both ways. I may have to reconsider even that bit.

Bruce told Clay the words came from a song. Okay, so far. But then he added, "As a matter of fact, I have that song recorded and I can let you listen to it sometime. But your mom will probably get me for it."

I told Bruce that he might want to clue Clay in, at some point, to the sexual undertones to the song. As a cautionary tale. But maybe it's best left unsaid.

All that happened a few nights ago. Today is my father-in-law's birthday so we drove over to wish him a happy birthday, and Bruce recounted the story for his parents. So it was fresh on our minds.

We drove from their house to the church gym for basketball practice. And on the way home, for some reason, I mentioned butts. Clay giggled. And then started singing, "I like big butts and I cannot lie."

Evidently, the other two had heard the same song on the bus. So much for sheltering them just a bit longer.

(This next bit may be one of those times when something is riotously funny... when you're there. But not so much if you just hear about it.)

Anyway, all the kids were having a free-for-all on the word "butt" and singing it to whatever tune entered their minds.

And then Spencer starts, "Big butts, big butts, go big butts. Why don't you let me see yo' big butt."

And that was the end. Bruce and I lost all composure and laughed until we cried.

I think it's safe to say that the moratorium on uttering the word "butt" has ended in our home.

We do try to be good parents though. We told them it was completely inappropriate to say those words at church!

And at school.

And probably on the school bus, too.

But they probably will. And we've probably warped them.

Just pray for us all!

Fixer Upper... Finito!

This may bore you to tears. But I am proud of my husband, and his dad, for all their hard work, so I'm posting about the fixer upper house we bought back in August. Plus, when my mom was here, she helped me clean bathrooms, but didn't get to see it finished. Here it is, mom. It's now on the market.

But first... I'm also proud of my kids, because between Bruce finishing his masters (which took 18 months) and then immediately going to work on this house, they've missed their daddy many evenings and Saturdays in the last two years. And they've done it mostly without complaint. Which is more than I can say for their mother!

I've always thought my father-in-law can do pretty much whatever he puts his mind to. Bruce follows very closely in his footsteps. (It's a trait that I both admire and take advantage of. But I don't take it for granted.)

Here's the front of the house. Before Bruce and Roy got their hands on it.





And, after.



The back of the house. Before.



And, after.



From the other side of the house, in the back, this shows the lovely block wall and overgrown brush at the back of the house. Before.



After.



The living room. Before.



And, after.





The kitchen. Before.





And, after.



The dining area. Before.



And, after.



Utility room. Before.



And, after.



Den (or maybe a playroom). Before.



After.





Master bath, which is just a half bath. Before.



After.



Hall bathroom. Before.



After.





Here's Bruce wearing his work attire for his second job for the past six months. He missed a lot of meals at home, or ate them on the fly, like here.



Bruce and his dad did the bulk of this house. Not exactly what we had planned, but between sick kids and school cancellations because of weather, I've been less available than we thought I'd be.

There's not a square inch of that house that hasn't been painted, including ceilings, walls, kitchen cabinets and all the trim on windows, doors and baseboards.

The counter tops in the kitchen were replaced, along with the sink. All appliances were replaced, except the fridge.

All the wood flooring was refinished. Carpet in the den was replaced. All vinyl or carpet in the kitchen, bathrooms and utility room was replaced with tile.

The kitchen got a gorgeous tile back splash that I'm pretty jealous of. I might be able to convince Bruce to do that in our home one day!

The medicine cabinets in the bathrooms were replaced with flat mirrors. And the pedestal sinks were replaced with vanities.

The front and one side of the house got new landscaping.

Then there's all kinds of less obvious things that were done. All lighting was replaced, except the ceiling fan light in the den. One wallpapered surface in the dining area was stripped and then painted. They did extensive tree trimming in the area behind and to the side of the house. Some cinder blocks were knocked out on the wall behind the house to open up the area a bit, and then that whole eyesore was painted. A new mail box was put up. All exterior doors were replaced. The fireplace stone was deep cleaned. Run-off issues were fixed outside the house to prevent the basement from pooling with water when it rained. Loose stones were stabilized on the front porch.

Bruce even reversed the way the door to the hallway bathroom opened because it crowded the room beforehand. My engineer hubby just had to right the wrong of poor engineering!

We have considered putting our house on the market and, once it sold, moving into this house while we look for another one. It would be tight, and it would require a longer drive to get the kids to school each morning. But I love the view from this house, and it's in a nice neighborhood. The clincher now is that our home, because we do actually live there with three kids, isn't in as good shape as this one!

We've also considered keeping the house as rental property. I'm less enthused about this idea than Bruce, because he's all about the income potential in years to come. But we've all really missed Bruce the many evenings he's been at that house working. I don't particularly want to share him with renters. Still, I'm trying to keep an open mind and just see what God's plans are.

So there you have it. The masterpiece.

The Best

School is cancelled tomorrow. I'm not surprised.

I just told the kids.

Spencer cheered. Clay still doesn't feel up to snuff enough to give a vigorous reply.

And Allison said, "Oh, this is the best life I ever had!"

Me, too! But it has nothing to do with snow.

More to do with this precious thing.



(Yeah, we have a little problem with static. What of it?)

Against My Better Judgment...

I let them all go out and play in this snow, the first one I've thought worthy of actually closing schools.



I would have kept Clay inside, but before Bruce left for work he said, "Aww, let him go out and play for a minute. This doesn't happen often."

Yeah. Neither does pneumonia.

We'll see if this becomes one of those things that we kick ourselves for later.

Clay came in on his own when he started coughing. Allison came in on her own because she got cold. Can you see a pattern here? Yeah, well that's where the pattern ends. Because Clay and Allison are our more compliant kids.

Spencer came in only after I called him to come in. I sweetened the deal by saying, "Your hot chocolate is on the table."

He was grouchy while shedding his many layers. And when I asked if it was good to play in the snow, Spencer gave a vehement "no". I asked why he said no and he complained, "I wanted to be out there longer!"

I think he takes after Bruce and the other two take after me. Snow seekers vs. fireside fans.

Homebound (Again? Still?)

It's a bright, beautiful day outside. Roads are clear. Grass is peeping through a light dusting of snow in the yard.

And school is cancelled again.

I joked with Bruce yesterday that we should consider moving within the city limits so our kids would actually be in school on light snow days. I was only a little bit joking.

I get frustrated when school is cancelled so much. Partly because it messes with whatever plans I have for the day. Selfish, I know. But also partly because it messes with the end of the school year calendar, and I don't like change. Selfish again. Sue me!

However, today I'm counting as a freebie. The last day Clay went to school was Wednesday. Inside his folder are two doctor's notes: one written last Thursday excusing him for missing Thursday and Friday for strep; one written yesterday excusing him for missing Monday and today for "viral illness/fever".

He was staying home today regardless of weather. But this way he doesn't have an absence counted against him.

He's already maxed out his seven days of absences for the year. I'm not overly concerned about that though. I've picked up his school work for each day he's missed and he's caught up, except for whatever tests he's missed.

We found out at yesterday's doctor visit that Clay is allergic to apples and tomatoes. Raw, though. Not cooked. He can do applesauce and tomato paste and sauce. For now anyway.

Apples and tomatoes are the two produce items that I keep stocked most regularly. And Clay has been eating an apple for his afternoon snack for years now. Guess we'll be switching to grapes. Or maybe carrots.

I'm ready for a healthy household again. I'm ready for a regular schedule again.

So ready.