Multitude of crap Monday

I have survived the entire day without a single thought in my head. It has been empty all day long. Every time I try to recall information or someone’s name or anything I’ve learned in class – zip. Nada. Like me standing in the middle of a vast, empty desert with nary a cactus in sight, scratching my head in bewilderment, wondering where all the thoughts went. I did hear the sound of the wind blowing across the top of an empty glass bottle, so that’s something. No, no, wait. That was in my head. Back to square one.

Today instead of my delicious salad of romaine lettuce, sliced apples, walnuts, dried cranberries, and homemade balsamic vinaigrette, I had two pieces of cheesecake. No, one was not enough. THEN after that, I ate a Girl Scout cookie. I will NOT Thank You, Berry Munch, you evil Girl Scouts with your little uniforms and sashes and polite demeanor and dainty boxes of cookies packed with minty chocolaty goodness. It’s like you just forced the package into my hands, made me rip it open, and shove 5 cookies in my mouth. That’s not true. You made me shove 10 cookies in my mouth. Pure evil is what you are.

As I was leaving class tonight I overheard, "I'm out now. Is there any action going on?" It was 9:20. On a Monday night. And perhaps it was intentional for me to hear his overt effort to get jiggy with...whatever it is that kids these days get jiggy with. Maybe he was rubbing in the fact that I'm old and tired and I really looked forward to putting on my bathrobe and eating a sandwich and watching Golden Girls. Those college kids. Puh. They don't know nothin'.

The littlest graffiti artist

One of the topics in Sunday School that was discussed was where do you draw the line for discipline with your children. One of the examples given was when a child picks up a marker and contemplates drawing on the wall. The goal is to redirect your child before they mark up the wall and encourage them to draw on the paper. The only thing I could think of was that I'm about 3 years late in receiving this advice because Sadie tags everything. Furniture, shoes, clothes, homework that you might have needed, and books. If it has a surface, it has the potential to be tagged.

It's usually subtle these marks of my little graffiti artist. And perhaps I'm too lenient in not putting a stop to it because if I'm being honest, I rather enjoy finding the inner workings of Sadie. It's the things she's drawn when she's supposed to be cleaning her room, getting dressed, eating, or any number of things that required her to be doing something completely different than drawing on her possessions. I've found a butterfly drawn on her bedspread, a heart on her new desk chair, a swirl on the rubber toe of her BRAND NEW SHOES to see if her pen would work, and countless bags and purses tagged with hearts and butterflies. For example:Her bookcase.Her lampshade (it's like a blank canvas calling to her).The base of the lamp (Not your name! Never leave your name!).

If I don't stop this now, is this what I'm facing in the future?

Three Plus Three Things Thursday

1. VD is not an appropriate abbreviation for Valentine's Day.

2. Everywhere I've gone I've been smelling piquant odors of the most unfavorable kind. Yesterday everyone I encountered smelled like onions. One room smelled like sickness and snot, like someone had been blowing their nose for two days straight. Today, most rooms I entered smelled like beef stew. I'm beginning to wonder if it's me.

3. In the Keepers of the Home Bible study, they asked the question, "What are your distractions?" As in what are your distractions that keep you from having a Mary heart in a Martha world. Mine is always money. And I don't need more than what we have, I just need less debt. No school loans, no car payment, no mortgage. Then I could fully engage my other obsession of trying to convince Chris that now is the perfect time to have another baby. I already have names picked out! I only need like 2 or 3 more kids!

4. Have you tasted my homemade tortillas? They're fantastic. They have a whole stick of butter! Don't tell anyone, but one week we ate an entire pound of butter. That was probably the best week of my life. In order to have our countertops look less like a bag of flour threw up all over my workspace, I need a tortilla press.

5. This Hills Brother coffee is a sad excuse for coffee. It should be more accurately labeled swill. It tastes like eating an old shoe. Stupid budget.

6. Facebook asks the question, "What's your nerd name?" Quiz aside, I'm pretty sure I already know the answer to that one: Rachel.

Q. Why is everything you own so messy?

A. That's a good question. My theory is that I have my own personal Trash Fairy that follows me around. She's a lot like Oscar the Grouch's cleaning lady.
The moment I get something clean, I generally leave the room so nothing gets dirty just by merely looking at it. Without fail, she comes in behind me and crams wads of paper, empty plastic bags, and crayons in between the seats of my car. She misses the trash can in the bathroom, thereby ensuring that crumpled toilet paper and blobs of blue toothpaste land on the cabinet and floor. She smears peanut butter and oatmeal on practically surface. She leaves dirty socks and underwear under beds. She sprinkles bread crumbs and cereal on any seat on which she'd previously been sitting as a reminder that she was there. She lovingly leaves cracker crumbs in the middle of the bed, letting us know that she cares about Chris and me and wants us to have crumbs on BOTH sides. She's left countless painted fingerprints on walls and door jams and has stained my kitchen table with paint that will not come off. (If you come over to eat, don't worry: It's non-toxic! We provide only the best mess for our guests.)

I'm going to miss you when you go to college, Trash Fairy.

Broken taste buds

This has officially become the worst two days. After a violent stomach virus all day Saturday, I've come through intact but my taste buds have suffered. To wit:

* The coffee tasted like licking an old shoe

* The onion strings at Texas Land and Cattle (a meal that was highly anticipated) tasted like dirt

* The hot chocolate this morning tasted like soap

* The Little Debbie treat (thinking something highly processed wouldn't taste so highly processed) tasted like chemicals

* Just sitting here tastes like I'm sucking on a piece of metal candy

If there's anything I've ever been able to count on, it's been a disastrous fashion sense, highly refined taste buds, and a steady stream of appetites. When someone says, "You'll ruin your appetite," I say, "No, I won't. I have a spare." And sometimes I mean spare tire.

Chris took care of the kids all day Saturday. Internet: ALL DAY. It was seamless. He fed them breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and took them on two excursions that allowed me to lay on the bathroom floor against the cold vinyl in wretched peace. As a thank you, I've passed the bug on to Chris. Who says marriage isn't about sharing?

Parenting gone awry: Naughty collages edition

Fact: I don't know much about kids. I know about 89% less than what I'm supposed to know. In the remaining 11% of what I do know, I know that kids like art projects. Especially girls. Sadie forever has some pressing project on which she's working, from creating piles of confetti for her bedroom floor to making pipe cleaner creations to drawing endless scenarios in which she's marrying a Jonas brother.

One of her favorite projects is the collage. She asked one night if we had any old magazine out of which she could cut pictures. I'd just recycled my only magazine, and all that was available was a recent edition of the Observer, a local magazine on music, art, and whatnot. Never having been a fan of the Observer because I possess the dork factor that prevents me understanding what they're talking about, I had no idea what type of ad content was at the back. I thought it was a perfect solution for art materials.

She began the painstaking process of carefully clipping and arranging her pictures on the table, planning the layout of the scene. This went on for the rest of the evening and I didn't pay attention to what she was doing because she wasn't screaming. And because that's how I parent. The next morning I walked around the coffee table and was a little taken aback to see the theme of her collage (these are the only tame images I could bring myself to post): Trying to regain my lead in the Mother of the Year competition, I quickly gathered them up and threw them away. When she saw what I'd done, she became irritated that I'd ruined what could have been the next Picasso until I explained that those are not images that are good or wholesome for kids' art projects. Maybe I can ruin the children further with the next art project: Questionable Popsicle stick creations.

Q. What kind of crazy are you hiding in there?

Last night I went to my first! Bible! study! ever! It's a Keepers of the Home series based on Titus 2 and Proverbs 31. Let's face it: I need all the help I can get. Part of the introductory process was to get to know the lovely lady next to you so that you could introduce them. There were three questions that we had to ask, the third one being:

What is something about yourself that you never tell anyone until they've known you for a long time?

Boy if ever there were a loaded question. But trying to keep it PG-rated, I said that Chris and I have been married, divorced, and remarried to each other (see 1 Corinthians 7:10-11). Then as I sat there I realized there was so much I could have shared. Maybe even the fact that I over share. We all knew that one though, right? This is what you don't know about me:

1. I say I hate TV, but I secretly love it. I am a TV junkie. Sitcoms especially. I love vapid, senseless, cotton candy-filled shows that feature pretty people. I could watch TV all day long.

2. I get pregnant very easily. It's like a superpower.

3. I still laugh when someone uses "balls" or "nuts" in a sentence. Because I'm 12 on the inside.

4. I have no use for purses or belts or more than 3 items of makeup. I could put all of my stuff in a plastic grocery bag and call it good. The only thing keeping me from having my woman card revoked is the fact that I've birthed two children.

5. I've recently started to notice that scrambled eggs smell like wet dog. After 30-something years of eating eggs, I can't bring myself to put them in my mouth.

6. I tried to have an eating disorder once but that only lasted about 3 hours. I got hungry and ate lunch.

7. I say I could be a vegetarian, but I love meat. In fact, I could eat a whole slab of smoked brisket topped with crumbled bacon and smothered in a silky bechamel sauce.

8. I looked under all the seats of my car for my willpower this morning and then realized I was looking for my umbrella. I found neither.

9. One time when I was 18 I ate an entire box of Little Debbie Pecan Spinwheels in the time it took me to drive from Walmart back to my house. I didn't gain a pound. Don't you just want to poke my eyes out?

So really the question should have been more along the lines of:

How do you have any friends? or

Why are you even in public you big, big freak? or

What's the worst thing about yourself that if people knew they would slowly back away?

Q. What's worse than shopping for a bathing suit?

A. Nothing. Nothing is worse than shopping for a bathing suit, not even shopping for car parts or electronics. It's a lot like a voluntary prison search that you're conducting on yourself. You stand there in the small dressing room cell under the most unflattering light ever invented, stripped down to expose the 6 donuts you ate in one sitting 3 months ago that you haven't managed to work off, the two month's worth of samples from Target that you've grazed through, and the fact that your skin from neck to toes has not seen a single ray of sunlight in the last 5 months. What? I sound like I'm speaking from experience?

I've managed not to buy a bathing suit for the last 5 years, wearing the same one every summer. It is now fighting a losing battle with sassiness and modesty, quickly becoming just nasty. It has a couple of holes and sags in several places. For those of you keeping score on that last sentence, I was talking about the bathing suit.

I once read some "advice" that we should dress like the job we want to have, not the job we already have. What if I don't want to work? Because that's how I dress now. Right now, I'm appropriately dressed for drinking Dr. Pepper and watching Friends reruns in my pajamas. I can't get paid for this? Something is seriously wrong with this system.

Post No. 311: All mixed up

1. As though I don't commit enough fashion catastrophes, I purchased a new bra from Big Lots for $5. The purchase came as a result of the epiphany I had that if I were in an accident wherein medical personnel had access to see the state of my undergarments, I would be more embarrassed for them seeing my tattered beyond-repair-bra rather than the fact that I would be in a situation that found me sans top. I have a secret for you, Victoria: Big Lots holds the girls just as well as you can for $35 less.

2. Tonight marked the first night that I've ever -- EVER -- sat in a 4-year university lecture class. Internet, this is big. When you get pregnant at 19, waste $20,000 on court reporting school only to realize you absolutely hate doing closed captioning for the hearing impaired, and then schlep it at jobs that don't mean beans to anyone, this is a big step. There were hurdles that must be overcome: juggling Sadie from school to class and then having Chris come pick her up from my class after he gets out of his class across campus, understanding the material, and most importantly, getting back to my car in the dark. And really of all those, getting to my car was the thing that most frightened me. Because I'm afraid of the dark. It's filled with villains lurking in the bushes, all of them congregating in the darkest corner of the lot, plotting my takeover. Apparently I live in a 1930 black and white movie. I don't know how I'd negotiate myself out of that situation considering I'd already eaten my collateral -- a peanut butter sandwich. But I understood the material, and I wasn't the oldest person in the class. That's good for something, right?

3. One time I went out on a date when I was about 21 with this guy I'd met at work. When we started out on the date, he told me, "I brought $200 for tonight." I remember thinking, Wow, that's...informative AND tacky. All we did was go to Tony Roma's for a mediocre dinner and some other non-memorable event. But even today I still do not know what people spend $200 on when on a date. $20 beers? Gold plated parking spaces? Hookers? You know what, I don't want to know what kind of hooker you can get for $200 minus dinner expenses.

Q. What's wrong with you? Why were you crying?

A. There are many things wrong with me. Do you have 3 hours? Mainly though, my lack of quality parenting skills overwhelms me at times. I managed not to cry about it in Sunday School, despite my desire to curse when describing the past week and then bawl right there in class. I saved the crying for church. Where more people can see.

And so then I sit in church with the realization hitting me of how I continually fail my children on an almost daily basis. I get mad, I become resentful, I am unable to move past being mad because I've been conducting hostage negotiations for the past 5 years. At every minor provocation betwixt and between the children, I am fully vested in plunging off the cliff of sanity. I kid you not, Internet, that it doesn't take much because some days I JUST CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE. The crying, the whining, the bickering, the pettiness, the tirades, the crazy ass meltdowns. It would be helpful to be a robot at times like these because I would totally have been programmed for an infinite amount of patience. And talking in a robot voice is fun.

Alas, I am not a robot, and I continue to stuff my children full of homemade buttermilk pancakes, beef stew, chicken and biscuits, and chocolate cake in hopes of glossing over the times I couldn't manage to put my big girl panties on and act like, well, their adult mother. They didn't ask for the raving lunatic chimpanzee that I feel like I've become. I would hate for their childhood memories to be a reminiscence of their favorite meals and the antics of a once-sane mother. "She was cuckoo, but her food was good."

Hopefully they're keeping a journal for the therapist that they'll undoubtedly need once they flee the nest. Have fun! Love you!

If I am my child's best teacher, then my kids are in trouble

I'm thinking of checking myself into an insane asylum just so I can have a vacation.

If I take Chris, then it can be like a second honeymoon.

The inability to comprehend sports and genetics

This morning on the way to school, I told Sadie that Chris was going to sign her up for soccer, and I needed to know if she really wanted to play so we wouldn't be taking $110 and just throwing it at the soccer fields to be scattered by the wind. She said, “Well, I’ll think about it and I’ll tell you tomorrow.” I said that no, she needed to tell me before we got to school because Chris was going today after work.

After about two minutes, she said, “Well, there’s a lot of things I don’t like, but I’ll just have to work through them.”

Thinking it was going to be something like running or following directions or not crying, I asked her, “What things do you not like and have to work through?”

She said, “Well, I don’t like the tackling.”

I had to tell her that there’s no tackling in soccer – that’s football. If ever there were a girl that was made to be my daughter, it’s her.

Technically, this isn't writing

And so begins the semester. I've been dreading facing classes once again, but in order to get smarter I must push through with all this learning business. Maybe I don't want to get smarter. Maybe I just want a nap. Maybe I just want to stay home and have many, many babies. Maybe I can't make up my mind. Another cup of coffee? Yes, that will help.

This semester I will be regaling you with tales of Technical Writing and Intro to Emergency Management. Don't those sound fascinating? They sound infinitely better than algebra. Although writing, like math, is a bit of a crapshoot. Who knows if you'll succeed? Sometimes I still cringe when I hit "Publish Post" here. Maybe it would be more accurate as a "Whatever" button.

Chris mentioned that he needed to get some school supplies for his classes, one of which needed to be a notebook. Sadie took it upon herself to relieve him of this task and insisted upon fashioning said notebook for him. He tried to tell her that no, it was okay, he'd get one at the store. Undeterred, she made this for him, completely unaided but for the stapling of the pages:Trying not to let her resourcefulness go unappreciated, I used the top sheet to write down a recipe for tortillas in preparation for my second attempt. Chris mentioned to her that I made use of her notebook and showed her that I used the front page. She became slightly irate that I defaced something specifically designed for her dad. She refrained, however, from slinging obscenities at me and letting me know in no uncertain term that I ruined her life. That'll come much later.

I bet the Amish don't make their own tortillas either

I've missed my calling to be Donna Reed. Why am I not at home all day in heels and pearls whipping up Beef Wellington, creamed peas, and cherries jubilee?

More than high fructose corn syrup, I hate hydrogenated oils. While I don't buy chips (well, occasionally tortilla chips for soups) or packaged cookies or treats, I do buy packaged tortillas. I've not been able to tap into the 1/16th Mexican heritage that I possess and whip out a good tortilla. I figured I can make many things, I can learn to make unleavened discs of cooked dough. (I ended up using butter. I couldn't bring myself to eat lard or shortening, even though the shortening was non-hydrogenated and on sale for $4.72 per bucket. If I won't spread it on my toast, I shouldn't put it in my baked goods.)

I started with the ball of dough.Then I fashioned them into flat what-should-be circles.
Some ended up looking like Australia, a poorly drawn heart, the female reproductive system, and Ted Kennedy (who, incidentally, had a big white doughy head). I have not perfected the circle. It was a lot like working with wet butterfly wings when trying to pick them up from the stack to cook them, but they were, however, delicious slathered with beans and sprinkled with cheese. They were more of a cross between a flour tortilla and a flat bread, but they were better than the shelf stable tortillas. If I'd know they were out there, I would have watched a video on how to make tortillas. Alas, I have now, and I'm ready for my second batch on Thursday for meatless tacos. Maybe I can bump up my 1/16th Mexican to more like 1/8th.

I also made applesauce, something the Amish do and in far greater quantity than I could ever fathom. It's better than store bought and super easy. You just peel:
Cook for an hour or until the break apart:
And I add a couple of tablespoons of brown sugar after it's done and then let it cool.
Assuming I had staples of flour and butter, I fed the whole family for less than $10 for dinner tonight and lunch tomorrow. I should get some sort of reward for that. Cup of coffee and a cookie? Why, yes. I will.

Note to self: Hooker face isn't appropriate for church

Girl No. 1: "Do you want to pretend like we're teenagers?"

Girl No. 2: "Yes."

Girl No. 1: "I like being a teenager."

Sometimes I like to pretend like I'm an adult. Makeup, for instance. I don't wear much makeup. I barely wear things that were in fashion 10 years ago. So every once in a while I make the extra special effort to look moderately adult and slap on a little Spackle and draw on my face to make myself more appealing to the masses. Then I look at myself in the mirror and remind myself I'm going to church and not Lady Jezebel's House of Pleasures. So this morning I surreptitiously wiped off some of the eye makeup and blush I'd put on my cheeks otherwise I would have wound up showing up in Sunday school like this:You're welcome, church family.

In a further effort to be more like an adult AND work on my hospitality, we had people over this weekend for dinner. Our first dinner guests of the year! They seemed to enjoy the tacos and chocolate cake, and they didn't call today complaining of severe stomach cramps. That's a successful dinner, right? If no one contracts food poisoning, I usually feel confident that all had a good time. February's open...who wants to be next month's guests of honor?!?