Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Saturday, April 26, 2008
successful saling
I've been garage saling since I was about 13 - hunting, bargaining and being thrifty is second nature for me. Here's my best tips to have a great time searching for garage sale deals.
Beg, borrow or steal to get cash. (Raiding hubby's wallet works too.)
Wear layers because you will be cold, then hot, then cold, then colder, then hot again. Especially in Minnesota. The weather can range from 70 degrees to rain to snow (like today - grrr.)
Keep your cash in a jacket pocket or pants pocket so you don't have to worry about hanging on to a wallet or purse. Two reasons for this - you'll have your hands free to rummage through piles and you won't risk setting it down and forgetting it somewhere.
If at all possible, go saling by yourself. Kids will slow you down. So will sale dawdlers who have to inspect every single item on every single table. A seasoned shopper can tell before getting out of the vehicle is a sale is worth shopping at. The only thing she can't tell are the prices.
Make a list of what you need - winter boots, size six jeans, sandals, etc. and have it handy.
If you like it, pick it up. You can hesitate later and set it back down, but you can't really pull a great pair of capris from someone else's arms.
Bring along lots of snacks. And water. Or coffee to get you revved up. (Not that you'll need that - adrenaline alone should keep you supercharged until about 2 p.m.)
Pee before you leave. Or at the very least, know where a gas station is with public facilities.
Buy a van or truck for saling - nothing's worse than trying to fit a dresser or a table into a four-door car. (Speaking from experience.)
Have a sale yourself to raise funds for feeding the addiction.
Never pay more than $2 for anything but jackets or coats. No pair of jeans is ever worth $5 at a garage sale. (That's my humble, cheap, honest opinion.)
Prayer works. Big or little needs can be met - like sandals for a toddler or everyday jeans for a six-year-old.
If you must bring the kids along, have plenty of distractions for them - Adventures in Odyssey or Jonathan Park cds, snacks, drinks and cheap toys purchased at the first sale you find.
Never be afraid to bargain. Most people will reduce a price, especially if you're buying lots of things. I've often got a couple bucks knocked off a $10 purchase.
Think creatively - a cruddy looking end table could be a beauty with a coat of paint. Or a pair of pants too big for you but made of great fabric could be repurposed into a cool tote bag (if you sew).
Keep your eyes open in the classified for neighborhood or all-city sales. It's well worth the effort to drive to neighboring towns for multiple sales, sometimes close enough that you can walk from garage to garage. More sales in a smaller area means more deals, more bargains (but also usually more shoppers.)
Get out early. The best deals are out there by 8 a.m.
Don't forget to look under tables - you might find a treasure or a cool pair of shoes.
Call all your friends AFTER you're done shopping to share where the best sales are. Yes, that's mean. Yes, that's how you keep yourself and your kids clothed on one income.
Enjoy yourself - the thrill of the hunt is worth rain, sleet or snow and all the laundry you'll have to do when you get home.
Accept compliments on your wardrobe of second-hand clothes and all the great home decor you found. No one needs to know where it came from.
Beg, borrow or steal to get cash. (Raiding hubby's wallet works too.)
Wear layers because you will be cold, then hot, then cold, then colder, then hot again. Especially in Minnesota. The weather can range from 70 degrees to rain to snow (like today - grrr.)
Keep your cash in a jacket pocket or pants pocket so you don't have to worry about hanging on to a wallet or purse. Two reasons for this - you'll have your hands free to rummage through piles and you won't risk setting it down and forgetting it somewhere.
If at all possible, go saling by yourself. Kids will slow you down. So will sale dawdlers who have to inspect every single item on every single table. A seasoned shopper can tell before getting out of the vehicle is a sale is worth shopping at. The only thing she can't tell are the prices.
Make a list of what you need - winter boots, size six jeans, sandals, etc. and have it handy.
If you like it, pick it up. You can hesitate later and set it back down, but you can't really pull a great pair of capris from someone else's arms.
Bring along lots of snacks. And water. Or coffee to get you revved up. (Not that you'll need that - adrenaline alone should keep you supercharged until about 2 p.m.)
Pee before you leave. Or at the very least, know where a gas station is with public facilities.
Buy a van or truck for saling - nothing's worse than trying to fit a dresser or a table into a four-door car. (Speaking from experience.)
Have a sale yourself to raise funds for feeding the addiction.
Never pay more than $2 for anything but jackets or coats. No pair of jeans is ever worth $5 at a garage sale. (That's my humble, cheap, honest opinion.)
Prayer works. Big or little needs can be met - like sandals for a toddler or everyday jeans for a six-year-old.
If you must bring the kids along, have plenty of distractions for them - Adventures in Odyssey or Jonathan Park cds, snacks, drinks and cheap toys purchased at the first sale you find.
Never be afraid to bargain. Most people will reduce a price, especially if you're buying lots of things. I've often got a couple bucks knocked off a $10 purchase.
Think creatively - a cruddy looking end table could be a beauty with a coat of paint. Or a pair of pants too big for you but made of great fabric could be repurposed into a cool tote bag (if you sew).
Keep your eyes open in the classified for neighborhood or all-city sales. It's well worth the effort to drive to neighboring towns for multiple sales, sometimes close enough that you can walk from garage to garage. More sales in a smaller area means more deals, more bargains (but also usually more shoppers.)
Get out early. The best deals are out there by 8 a.m.
Don't forget to look under tables - you might find a treasure or a cool pair of shoes.
Call all your friends AFTER you're done shopping to share where the best sales are. Yes, that's mean. Yes, that's how you keep yourself and your kids clothed on one income.
Enjoy yourself - the thrill of the hunt is worth rain, sleet or snow and all the laundry you'll have to do when you get home.
Accept compliments on your wardrobe of second-hand clothes and all the great home decor you found. No one needs to know where it came from.
Friday, April 25, 2008
the rules
Yes, I admit I'm a bit crazy to take four children garage saling, but hey, a mom's got to do something to save money, clothe children who consistently wear holes into their jeans (and feed an addiction at the same time.) Here's how I manage without going too crazy.
First, I'm not afraid to use bribery and fear to accomplish my goal of outfitting six people on an annual clothing budget of $247. Second, I have a set of rules: (Disobey them at your peril).
1. Do not open the van door to yell out that you're bored.
You will be sorely punished for this and miss your "turn" out of the van. Also, you will be punished depending on the level of humiliation and embarrassment your mothers feels. There are many things you can do to not be bored. You can watch people. You can eat whatever you can find on the floor. You can play with the 25-cent toy you just got at the last garage sale. You can play I Spy. You can get out of your seat, but you cannot punch, hit, kick or scream (see below).
2. Do not scream inside the van in case someone hears you and calls the police.
You will go to jail and so will your mother. This is why the van has tinted windows so that nosy strangers cannot see that four children have been left unattended in a vehicle. Because you cannot be seen, you need to not be heard - you might give someone walking by a panic attack if you let out a random screech because your brother pinched your cheeks. If that happens you will go to jail or the hospital or perhaps both.
3. Only one child goes out with mom at a time.
If there are two garages sales next to each other, that counts as one turn, not two and it is that person's lucky day. Do not fight me on this or you will lose your turn. Mom, despite appearing to be capable and worthy of some parenting award, is not able to handle more than one child at a time.
4. You will not get any more toys.
We are looking for clothes. If by some miracle we find a sale that has matchbox cars for 25 cents, you will have to find one for each boy so there won't be any fights. You are expected to play with that one item for the remainder of the hunting time. If you get bored with that, tough. You are to come along willingly and without rolling your eyes while your mother holds up jeans to you to see if they fit. You are expected to try on jackets and sweatshirts, even if it's 80 degrees out. You are expected to not get lost in a crowd. You are not to beg for anything. This is a mission, so you will act like a soldier. Say "Yes, ma'am" to that.
5. You will get plenty of snacks so you will not starve.
At each sale, your mother will divvy out whatever she has scrounged out of the pantry. That may or may not include raisins, apples, bananas, animal crackers, pretzels, candy and graham crackers. You may even be lucky enough to get a peanut butter and jelly sandwich if you mother is truly on the ball.
6. Your mother's taste in clothes will overrule any opinion you may have.
This should be self-explanatory, but if not: if it fits, doesn't have holes, is less than $1 and not an ugly color, you will be wearing it.
7. You cannot have another movie.
8. Yes, you can pee in a water bottle.
9. Do not tell your father how much we spent.
Tell him how much we saved.
10. This is fun.
You will enjoy it. End of discussion.
First, I'm not afraid to use bribery and fear to accomplish my goal of outfitting six people on an annual clothing budget of $247. Second, I have a set of rules: (Disobey them at your peril).
1. Do not open the van door to yell out that you're bored.
You will be sorely punished for this and miss your "turn" out of the van. Also, you will be punished depending on the level of humiliation and embarrassment your mothers feels. There are many things you can do to not be bored. You can watch people. You can eat whatever you can find on the floor. You can play with the 25-cent toy you just got at the last garage sale. You can play I Spy. You can get out of your seat, but you cannot punch, hit, kick or scream (see below).
2. Do not scream inside the van in case someone hears you and calls the police.
You will go to jail and so will your mother. This is why the van has tinted windows so that nosy strangers cannot see that four children have been left unattended in a vehicle. Because you cannot be seen, you need to not be heard - you might give someone walking by a panic attack if you let out a random screech because your brother pinched your cheeks. If that happens you will go to jail or the hospital or perhaps both.
3. Only one child goes out with mom at a time.
If there are two garages sales next to each other, that counts as one turn, not two and it is that person's lucky day. Do not fight me on this or you will lose your turn. Mom, despite appearing to be capable and worthy of some parenting award, is not able to handle more than one child at a time.
4. You will not get any more toys.
We are looking for clothes. If by some miracle we find a sale that has matchbox cars for 25 cents, you will have to find one for each boy so there won't be any fights. You are expected to play with that one item for the remainder of the hunting time. If you get bored with that, tough. You are to come along willingly and without rolling your eyes while your mother holds up jeans to you to see if they fit. You are expected to try on jackets and sweatshirts, even if it's 80 degrees out. You are expected to not get lost in a crowd. You are not to beg for anything. This is a mission, so you will act like a soldier. Say "Yes, ma'am" to that.
5. You will get plenty of snacks so you will not starve.
At each sale, your mother will divvy out whatever she has scrounged out of the pantry. That may or may not include raisins, apples, bananas, animal crackers, pretzels, candy and graham crackers. You may even be lucky enough to get a peanut butter and jelly sandwich if you mother is truly on the ball.
6. Your mother's taste in clothes will overrule any opinion you may have.
This should be self-explanatory, but if not: if it fits, doesn't have holes, is less than $1 and not an ugly color, you will be wearing it.
7. You cannot have another movie.
8. Yes, you can pee in a water bottle.
9. Do not tell your father how much we spent.
Tell him how much we saved.
10. This is fun.
You will enjoy it. End of discussion.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
i feel good
I feel alive again.
And all because I FINALLY got to partake in one of life's greatest pastimes - garage sales. I love the thrill of trying to find things I need, things I can use and things I love - all for a bargain.
It was all-city garage sales in Cokato this weekend and I, even with four kids in tow and rain to boot, couldn't miss the fun. Technically the big sha-bang isn't supposed to happen until Saturday, but there were plenty of sales open already today. I might even have drive the 1/2 hour tomorrow for more (if I can pry hubby's hands off his wallet.)
All told, I got five skirts, four pairs of pants, one pair of brand new casual sneakers, five tops, six dresses and two pairs of pj pants. All for the bargain price of $18.50. One of my favorite things was a vintage-looking dress, but, it's a bit on the tight side, so I might actually have to start watching the ice cream at bedtime so I can wear it more comfortably this summer.
I spent a grand total of $37.25 (as near as I can tell) and managed to get a little something for everyone. I found a backpack for one of the boys. Two pairs of winter boots for next year. Every day jeans. Jogging pants. Swim trunks. And a couple of every day sweatshirts for the boy who keeps losing his. I think I'll dock his allowance the $1 it cost me.
I even got lots of things to rip apart for the yarn or the fabric. Pretty soon you'll hear my serger whirring as I create new things out of size 14 pants or a size 16 dress. (Totes maybe?)
The day wasn't without its frustrations though. I found a stack of the exact right size jeans for boys #2, only to discover the price tag at $3 and holes in both knees of most of them. Pretty much walked out of that sale shaking my head. Why people think they can charge clearance prices for used merchandise is beyond me. Seriously - I bought brand-new jeans at JCPenney last week for $4.04 - better than garage sale prices, but not as much fun without the thrill of the hunt.
The boys didn't have a real great time. We got a late start, so I kind of figured we might need lunch, so I packed up bananas, bread, peanut butter, chips and forgot to bring a knife. Number One was head cook in the van and was more crabby than Chef Ramsey after trying to peanut butter bread with a tortilla chip. Thankfully we had wet wipes in the diaper bag.
The boys got bored pretty quickly, but were easily distracted with goldfish crackers, pretzels, animal crackers and black licorice. And they got the luxury of having their own water bottles. (Hey, we're thrifty around here - besides the more they drink, the sooner they'll have to pee.)
Four and a half hours later, we made it home with eight bags full of stuff, two very crabby boys and one happy mama who feels good.
And all because I FINALLY got to partake in one of life's greatest pastimes - garage sales. I love the thrill of trying to find things I need, things I can use and things I love - all for a bargain.
It was all-city garage sales in Cokato this weekend and I, even with four kids in tow and rain to boot, couldn't miss the fun. Technically the big sha-bang isn't supposed to happen until Saturday, but there were plenty of sales open already today. I might even have drive the 1/2 hour tomorrow for more (if I can pry hubby's hands off his wallet.)
All told, I got five skirts, four pairs of pants, one pair of brand new casual sneakers, five tops, six dresses and two pairs of pj pants. All for the bargain price of $18.50. One of my favorite things was a vintage-looking dress, but, it's a bit on the tight side, so I might actually have to start watching the ice cream at bedtime so I can wear it more comfortably this summer.
I spent a grand total of $37.25 (as near as I can tell) and managed to get a little something for everyone. I found a backpack for one of the boys. Two pairs of winter boots for next year. Every day jeans. Jogging pants. Swim trunks. And a couple of every day sweatshirts for the boy who keeps losing his. I think I'll dock his allowance the $1 it cost me.
I even got lots of things to rip apart for the yarn or the fabric. Pretty soon you'll hear my serger whirring as I create new things out of size 14 pants or a size 16 dress. (Totes maybe?)
The day wasn't without its frustrations though. I found a stack of the exact right size jeans for boys #2, only to discover the price tag at $3 and holes in both knees of most of them. Pretty much walked out of that sale shaking my head. Why people think they can charge clearance prices for used merchandise is beyond me. Seriously - I bought brand-new jeans at JCPenney last week for $4.04 - better than garage sale prices, but not as much fun without the thrill of the hunt.
The boys didn't have a real great time. We got a late start, so I kind of figured we might need lunch, so I packed up bananas, bread, peanut butter, chips and forgot to bring a knife. Number One was head cook in the van and was more crabby than Chef Ramsey after trying to peanut butter bread with a tortilla chip. Thankfully we had wet wipes in the diaper bag.
The boys got bored pretty quickly, but were easily distracted with goldfish crackers, pretzels, animal crackers and black licorice. And they got the luxury of having their own water bottles. (Hey, we're thrifty around here - besides the more they drink, the sooner they'll have to pee.)
Four and a half hours later, we made it home with eight bags full of stuff, two very crabby boys and one happy mama who feels good.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
getting away
This past weekend, hubby and I ran away. Well, actually we drove away.
We escaped north to Duluth. Somehow we conned the grandparents into taking four rugrats for three days and three nights. (It wasn't even tough to convince them - still wondering what's wrong with them.)
We arrived to hotel room that was a suite! (This should have been a no-brainer, considering the hotel was Hawthorn Suites!) The place was huge - a kitchen, sitting room and TWO TVs! We were within walking distance of the homeschool conference and the weather was nice. It had the makings of an incredible weekend.
At this point, you're probably expecting me to launch into everything that went wrong. But, not so fast. We ate out with friends. We went to a great movie. We relaxed watching our own TV programs. We listened to some very good speakers. We spent a lot of money on the kids for next year. We had great service at Red Lobster and tipped the waitress more than we've ever tipped a human being before. (Who said you can't change?) We even managed to make it the entire weekend within getting into an argument.
That should probably tip you off as to how much we needed to get away. The last time we spent more than an evening out was almost three years ago. And we went camping, so you can about guess how high it rated on my scale. (Sorry, tenting just isn't romantic, even with candlelight. Well, okay campfires are kind of cool, but that's as far as I'll go. Especially considering that you'll smell like smoke for the rest of the weekend. I'm getting too old for adventures.)
So we had comfort over adventure this weekend (unless you count driving around Duluth trying to find one of Hubby's clients on Sunday morning.) We, okay I, decided that we really need to do this more often. We don't often get a chance to even talk to each other without someone interrupting because someone else pushed them, looked at them or won't be quiet. Even a simple conversation on the long car ride was a nice change. Funny how you don't realize how much you needed something until you're already halfway through the weekend and wishing it could last longer.
Don't get me wrong, I love my kids, but man I think I can love them more, or maybe better, if I get away from them for awhile. Sometimes I get so overwhelmed and sick of hearing all the fighting, kicking, screaming and pestering that I can't even enjoy them when they are behaving. This was a nice reminder that, yes I love my kids and yes I love them even more now that I've had a break.
My guess is now Grandma and Grandpa need a getaway.
We escaped north to Duluth. Somehow we conned the grandparents into taking four rugrats for three days and three nights. (It wasn't even tough to convince them - still wondering what's wrong with them.)
We arrived to hotel room that was a suite! (This should have been a no-brainer, considering the hotel was Hawthorn Suites!) The place was huge - a kitchen, sitting room and TWO TVs! We were within walking distance of the homeschool conference and the weather was nice. It had the makings of an incredible weekend.
At this point, you're probably expecting me to launch into everything that went wrong. But, not so fast. We ate out with friends. We went to a great movie. We relaxed watching our own TV programs. We listened to some very good speakers. We spent a lot of money on the kids for next year. We had great service at Red Lobster and tipped the waitress more than we've ever tipped a human being before. (Who said you can't change?) We even managed to make it the entire weekend within getting into an argument.
That should probably tip you off as to how much we needed to get away. The last time we spent more than an evening out was almost three years ago. And we went camping, so you can about guess how high it rated on my scale. (Sorry, tenting just isn't romantic, even with candlelight. Well, okay campfires are kind of cool, but that's as far as I'll go. Especially considering that you'll smell like smoke for the rest of the weekend. I'm getting too old for adventures.)
So we had comfort over adventure this weekend (unless you count driving around Duluth trying to find one of Hubby's clients on Sunday morning.) We, okay I, decided that we really need to do this more often. We don't often get a chance to even talk to each other without someone interrupting because someone else pushed them, looked at them or won't be quiet. Even a simple conversation on the long car ride was a nice change. Funny how you don't realize how much you needed something until you're already halfway through the weekend and wishing it could last longer.
Don't get me wrong, I love my kids, but man I think I can love them more, or maybe better, if I get away from them for awhile. Sometimes I get so overwhelmed and sick of hearing all the fighting, kicking, screaming and pestering that I can't even enjoy them when they are behaving. This was a nice reminder that, yes I love my kids and yes I love them even more now that I've had a break.
My guess is now Grandma and Grandpa need a getaway.
good quote
"When a child loses a parent, they are called an orphan. When a spouse loses her or his partner, they are called a widow or widower. When parents lose their child, there isn't a word to describe them." - Ronald Reagan
When something doesn't follow the natural order, we can't call it anything but tragic.
When something doesn't follow the natural order, we can't call it anything but tragic.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
eight weeks
We've made it through the tough stuff. It's been eight weeks since the miscarriage and I'm finally starting to feel "normal." (If that's even possible for me - the most abnormal person I know.)
It took six weeks before all the physical stuff was over, which was a battle in itself with my lack of patience. I'm smart enough, though, not to pray for patience because then I'll really have things thrown my way to test me more. I have four boys for that.
So, here we are, April 15 - ironically - and I'm somewhat celebrating. I'm finally making it through the day without thinking about having lost a baby. For me, that's a huge milestone. I'm sure being busy helps too, but still the thoughts aren't as intense, the emotions aren't as out-of-control, and the body is feeling better. It is something to rejoice in.
Every once in awhile the loss will hit me and I'll cry for a little bit, usually later at night when I'm already tired and emotionally drained from a long day. It's still hard to see pregnant women. For awhile, it seemed like they were everywhere, big bellies taunting me. I'm able to look away now and not feel a deep pain inside. I still wonder. I still wish. And I know I will for some time. But the overwhelming feelings are decreasing. The hurt is slowly fading. I am smiling again.
I believe that's a good sign.
It took six weeks before all the physical stuff was over, which was a battle in itself with my lack of patience. I'm smart enough, though, not to pray for patience because then I'll really have things thrown my way to test me more. I have four boys for that.
So, here we are, April 15 - ironically - and I'm somewhat celebrating. I'm finally making it through the day without thinking about having lost a baby. For me, that's a huge milestone. I'm sure being busy helps too, but still the thoughts aren't as intense, the emotions aren't as out-of-control, and the body is feeling better. It is something to rejoice in.
Every once in awhile the loss will hit me and I'll cry for a little bit, usually later at night when I'm already tired and emotionally drained from a long day. It's still hard to see pregnant women. For awhile, it seemed like they were everywhere, big bellies taunting me. I'm able to look away now and not feel a deep pain inside. I still wonder. I still wish. And I know I will for some time. But the overwhelming feelings are decreasing. The hurt is slowly fading. I am smiling again.
I believe that's a good sign.
Monday, April 14, 2008
green acres is the place to be
We're officially farmers. Never thought I'd say that or add that to my non-existent resume. I'm a farmer! Oh please help me now.
Actually, we were driven to it like most people I would imagine - not by a love of animals, but in desperation as four boys are consuming more than their fair share of the family grocery budget. It was time to start raising our own meat as we raise our own boys.
Today 25 chicks arrived at the farm store. I don't even know the name of the business, that's how hopeless a farmer I am. I got the job of picking up the teeny box of cheepers. (They'll cheep your eardrums off - I still hear a high chirp). I also had to pick up feed. Me. A farm girl by birth, but not by trade and definitely not by admission. The man behind the counter asked what I wanted and I, reading off the list in my hand, apparently didn't know there were at least two kinds of wild bird feed. So, in desperation and embarrassment, I simply told him - what my father-in-law got.
First, like he's going to know who my father-in-law is. Second, like he knows who I am. And third, like he's going to remember what FIL bought. But, apparently Buffalo still is a small town, because he did remember Rog and what he bought - wild bird seed with no chick mix and no medicine. (Trying to be as au naturale as possible.) I found out later - probably the reason he remembered Rog was because he had ordered 25 chicks and then after getting the okay from his wife, purchased 46 laying hen chicks. 46! I'd remember a guy like that too. :) I don't think we'll be buying eggs for the rest of our lives. Guess I shouldn't poke too much fun at him. They might start upping their price from free to something not free.
Anyway, the boys couldn't wait to get their grubby paws on the chicks. Number Three dropped one and then wouldn't try to pick them up again. Number Four picked up one like a baby kitten (by the fuzz on the back of the neck) and nearly broke the neck of another. He was cut off from holding after that - explaining the concept of petting to a two-year-old wasn't really working. He got his feelings hurt when he realized that he couldn't pick them up. A few tear drops fell on the top chicks in the heap.
We let the boys unload the box, fill up the waterers, pet the chicks and fill the feeding trough. The heat lamp got adjusted, the food placed strategically and then a few chicks got dunked into the water in an effort to demonstrate where the water was. The boys seemed to think that the chicks would either starve or dehydrate if they didn't learn where their meal was. One of them got named "Cheep." At last check, all 25 were still alive. We'll see what tomorrow brings.
For now, I'm humming: du dun du dun dun...the chores! Apparently Green Acres is the place to be, but I'm not so sure that farm livin' is the life for me. That stupid theme song that has now replaced the chirping in my ears.
Actually, we were driven to it like most people I would imagine - not by a love of animals, but in desperation as four boys are consuming more than their fair share of the family grocery budget. It was time to start raising our own meat as we raise our own boys.
Today 25 chicks arrived at the farm store. I don't even know the name of the business, that's how hopeless a farmer I am. I got the job of picking up the teeny box of cheepers. (They'll cheep your eardrums off - I still hear a high chirp). I also had to pick up feed. Me. A farm girl by birth, but not by trade and definitely not by admission. The man behind the counter asked what I wanted and I, reading off the list in my hand, apparently didn't know there were at least two kinds of wild bird feed. So, in desperation and embarrassment, I simply told him - what my father-in-law got.
First, like he's going to know who my father-in-law is. Second, like he knows who I am. And third, like he's going to remember what FIL bought. But, apparently Buffalo still is a small town, because he did remember Rog and what he bought - wild bird seed with no chick mix and no medicine. (Trying to be as au naturale as possible.) I found out later - probably the reason he remembered Rog was because he had ordered 25 chicks and then after getting the okay from his wife, purchased 46 laying hen chicks. 46! I'd remember a guy like that too. :) I don't think we'll be buying eggs for the rest of our lives. Guess I shouldn't poke too much fun at him. They might start upping their price from free to something not free.
Anyway, the boys couldn't wait to get their grubby paws on the chicks. Number Three dropped one and then wouldn't try to pick them up again. Number Four picked up one like a baby kitten (by the fuzz on the back of the neck) and nearly broke the neck of another. He was cut off from holding after that - explaining the concept of petting to a two-year-old wasn't really working. He got his feelings hurt when he realized that he couldn't pick them up. A few tear drops fell on the top chicks in the heap.
We let the boys unload the box, fill up the waterers, pet the chicks and fill the feeding trough. The heat lamp got adjusted, the food placed strategically and then a few chicks got dunked into the water in an effort to demonstrate where the water was. The boys seemed to think that the chicks would either starve or dehydrate if they didn't learn where their meal was. One of them got named "Cheep." At last check, all 25 were still alive. We'll see what tomorrow brings.
For now, I'm humming: du dun du dun dun...the chores! Apparently Green Acres is the place to be, but I'm not so sure that farm livin' is the life for me. That stupid theme song that has now replaced the chirping in my ears.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
birds and bees
Our eldest was grossing out in the living room, moaning and groaning about something. I ignored him at first, figuring he was just being a normal boy. Then, he came up to me with one of our science reference books, pointing to pictures of sperm and asking, “Is this true?”
Oh for pete’s sake was all I could think. A quick scan of that page’s contents led to some deep breaths, big gulps and trying to act as nonchalant as possible – the text read, “To make a baby, a man puts his penis into a woman’s vagina…” I cannot believe I am dealing with this already. I wasn’t prepared. I needed to do about two years worth of deep breathing exercises first. Then find some sort of video so I could really pass the buck.
Thank you, brainiacs at Kingfisher for inserting that kind of language into your “First Human Body Encyclopedia.” And to think that our innocent little boy first started reading that book as part of his second grade science! I must have been a little more on top of things two years ago, because I’m guessing we sort of skipped those pages then. This isn’t how he was supposed to find out about sex. Here he is, at 10, grossed out by the thought of a penis and a vagina intermixing. How am I going to deal with this?
Unfortunately, not very well, I’m afraid. I told him he wasn’t supposed to be reading about all that yet. (GREAT response oh Mother of all Mothers. And you thought you were unflappable and intelligent.) Now I've made him feel guilty for reading. So, to burst his bubble even more I calmly said, “Yes it’s true.”
The look on his face was sheer disgust. "Oh that's SOOO gross!" It wasn't the reaction I expected, but all things considered, it was one for which a parent probably should be grateful. (Imagine if he had said - "That's SOOO cool!" or worse, asked some rather personal, intimate questions. Questions that I would have definitely fumbled over. Counting blessings on that one.)
Apparently he then figured out that he was now privy to some secret knowledge, because he told me not to worry – that he wouldn’t tell anyone else about it. This just keeps getting better, I thought. "You better not!" came out before I could stop it. Oh why don't I have a delete key on my mouth? Or even a pause button, so I could think before I speak.
Guess I’m going to have to go purchase that “Preparing for Adolescence” series sooner than I thought. I figured we could shield him from this until he was at least 19, maybe even longer since we’re homeschooling. (Please smile at that one and don’t wonder if I’m some nut job, kid-sheltering, denim skirt-wearing, my-child-will-not-date-unless-I'm-along kind of mother.)
Dad had originally volunteered for that job, but we’ll see if/when that ever happens. You know how the saying goes – if you want something done…
Maybe tomorrow I’ll have to sing a new song to him. It goes something like – “Let me tell you ‘bout the birds and the bees, the flowers and the trees, the moon up above, and a thing called love.” Or maybe not. I just hummed the rest of the lyrics in my head. He is definitely not ready for the facts of life yet.
And I'm not ready to tell him either.
Oh for pete’s sake was all I could think. A quick scan of that page’s contents led to some deep breaths, big gulps and trying to act as nonchalant as possible – the text read, “To make a baby, a man puts his penis into a woman’s vagina…” I cannot believe I am dealing with this already. I wasn’t prepared. I needed to do about two years worth of deep breathing exercises first. Then find some sort of video so I could really pass the buck.
Thank you, brainiacs at Kingfisher for inserting that kind of language into your “First Human Body Encyclopedia.” And to think that our innocent little boy first started reading that book as part of his second grade science! I must have been a little more on top of things two years ago, because I’m guessing we sort of skipped those pages then. This isn’t how he was supposed to find out about sex. Here he is, at 10, grossed out by the thought of a penis and a vagina intermixing. How am I going to deal with this?
Unfortunately, not very well, I’m afraid. I told him he wasn’t supposed to be reading about all that yet. (GREAT response oh Mother of all Mothers. And you thought you were unflappable and intelligent.) Now I've made him feel guilty for reading. So, to burst his bubble even more I calmly said, “Yes it’s true.”
The look on his face was sheer disgust. "Oh that's SOOO gross!" It wasn't the reaction I expected, but all things considered, it was one for which a parent probably should be grateful. (Imagine if he had said - "That's SOOO cool!" or worse, asked some rather personal, intimate questions. Questions that I would have definitely fumbled over. Counting blessings on that one.)
Apparently he then figured out that he was now privy to some secret knowledge, because he told me not to worry – that he wouldn’t tell anyone else about it. This just keeps getting better, I thought. "You better not!" came out before I could stop it. Oh why don't I have a delete key on my mouth? Or even a pause button, so I could think before I speak.
Guess I’m going to have to go purchase that “Preparing for Adolescence” series sooner than I thought. I figured we could shield him from this until he was at least 19, maybe even longer since we’re homeschooling. (Please smile at that one and don’t wonder if I’m some nut job, kid-sheltering, denim skirt-wearing, my-child-will-not-date-unless-I'm-along kind of mother.)
Dad had originally volunteered for that job, but we’ll see if/when that ever happens. You know how the saying goes – if you want something done…
Maybe tomorrow I’ll have to sing a new song to him. It goes something like – “Let me tell you ‘bout the birds and the bees, the flowers and the trees, the moon up above, and a thing called love.” Or maybe not. I just hummed the rest of the lyrics in my head. He is definitely not ready for the facts of life yet.
And I'm not ready to tell him either.
Friday, April 11, 2008
slogging along
Yesterday we said goodbye to a cousin's 19-month-old daughter. It was very sad, very painful and very, very emotional.
I'm so grateful that I have an understanding husband - he actually offered to come with me because he knew it would be a tough time for me, bringing up lots of recent hurts and emotions.
That being said, obviously the funeral wasn't about me. It was so tragic seeing a little blonde-haired beauty lay in a casket. It was so heart-breaking to see a young couple lose their only child. It was just wrong.
There were glimpses of good mixed in with all the sadness though. This little girl's grandpa wrote a very eloquent piece about what he learned from her - mostly humor and to be steadfast in life. The pastor gave a very interesting sermon and used a gospel story that I never would have imagined at a funeral. He spoke from Luke 24 about the two men walking on the road to Emmaus (this was shortly after Jesus' death). He described them as "slogging along down the road" - a terrific word picture of how life is during grief. He also had very appropriate, understanding and kind words for the parents as to what they would expect during this next stage of their life, and how people would come alongside them to support them in their grief. I felt as if either this pastor had lost a child or God had given him perfect words because his message was so insightful about grief and what it can and will do, and how to work through it. He even talked about leaning into the pain at times, embracing it - a very difficult thing to do, but necessary for healing.
It was a helpful message for me as well.
At the grave site, just as one of the pastors placed the dirt on the coffin in the shape of the cross, a huge gust of wind came up, whipping the canvas of the canopy tent and making a powerful, whooshing sound. I'm still not sure if it meant anything, but the timing was peculiar.
These parents are in for the test of their lives and I pray that they will lean on each other, trust that God is sovereign and use this pain to better their ministry (they are both pastors). I wanted to warn them what God will likely require of them in the future, but I didn't dare. I know from experience that He will place people in their paths now who have also lost a child and will want them to comfort and share in another's pain. The upside is that it makes the loss serve a better purpose. The downside is that it also brings back memories and hurt.
They will be slogging along for awhile, just like I have been. But, the boots we wear get less heavy. The muck we're trying to get through gets less viscous. The steps we take get less timid. Until suddenly, we're no longer slogging. We upgrade to a trudge, then a traipse, then we find ourselves actually walking. It will be awhile before we saunter, glide, skip or run, but we will someday, when our tears have washed all the weight off our boots and we can fling them off to run barefoot.
I'm so grateful that I have an understanding husband - he actually offered to come with me because he knew it would be a tough time for me, bringing up lots of recent hurts and emotions.
That being said, obviously the funeral wasn't about me. It was so tragic seeing a little blonde-haired beauty lay in a casket. It was so heart-breaking to see a young couple lose their only child. It was just wrong.
There were glimpses of good mixed in with all the sadness though. This little girl's grandpa wrote a very eloquent piece about what he learned from her - mostly humor and to be steadfast in life. The pastor gave a very interesting sermon and used a gospel story that I never would have imagined at a funeral. He spoke from Luke 24 about the two men walking on the road to Emmaus (this was shortly after Jesus' death). He described them as "slogging along down the road" - a terrific word picture of how life is during grief. He also had very appropriate, understanding and kind words for the parents as to what they would expect during this next stage of their life, and how people would come alongside them to support them in their grief. I felt as if either this pastor had lost a child or God had given him perfect words because his message was so insightful about grief and what it can and will do, and how to work through it. He even talked about leaning into the pain at times, embracing it - a very difficult thing to do, but necessary for healing.
It was a helpful message for me as well.
At the grave site, just as one of the pastors placed the dirt on the coffin in the shape of the cross, a huge gust of wind came up, whipping the canvas of the canopy tent and making a powerful, whooshing sound. I'm still not sure if it meant anything, but the timing was peculiar.
These parents are in for the test of their lives and I pray that they will lean on each other, trust that God is sovereign and use this pain to better their ministry (they are both pastors). I wanted to warn them what God will likely require of them in the future, but I didn't dare. I know from experience that He will place people in their paths now who have also lost a child and will want them to comfort and share in another's pain. The upside is that it makes the loss serve a better purpose. The downside is that it also brings back memories and hurt.
They will be slogging along for awhile, just like I have been. But, the boots we wear get less heavy. The muck we're trying to get through gets less viscous. The steps we take get less timid. Until suddenly, we're no longer slogging. We upgrade to a trudge, then a traipse, then we find ourselves actually walking. It will be awhile before we saunter, glide, skip or run, but we will someday, when our tears have washed all the weight off our boots and we can fling them off to run barefoot.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
in the wash today...
this didn't even make it to the wash machine - i had to take the shower head to a brand-new pillow that got peed on. grrr. rinse and repeat and hope the smell got washed out with scalding water.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
losing helena
We got the news today that a cousin just lost her baby girl - Helena - at 19 months. She had made it through a very serious heart surgery and things were looking good until she went into cardiac arrest and died this morning.
It is so hard to make sense of the death of a child. I can't imagine the depth of their pain, although I have some sense of the loss. My losses seem to pale in comparison because I never had the opportunity to "know" my babies before they died. Mary and Aaron are giving up a person who has been the hugest part of their lives for the past year and a half. Spunky personality and all are now gone.
This is one of my favorite pictures of Helena. I know she is dancing for her Lord in an outfit more beautiful than this. Please pray for her parents as they face the darkness and grief ahead.
Times like this always draw me to music and I have my iTunes set up just for what I call my sad songs. Most of them aren't only sad, but a mixed bag of questions, emotions and praise to God in spite of pain. I got to listening and re-playing "Blessed Be Your Name" by Newsboys. The chorus repeats "blessed be your name" numerous times, but what caught my attention was this:
Blessed be Your name, on the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering - blessed be Your name.
You give and take away;
You give and take away.
My heart will choose to say - blessed be Your name.
I couldn't help but cry when I thought of this child as an offering to God. How do we still say - "blessed be Your name"? How can we be like Job who said, "The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised."? (Job 1:21) My head knows that God can make this good, that this child is in a better place, but my heart doesn't know it it, doesn't want to feel that yet and doesn't quite trust in that truth yet.
I wonder how we can sing:
Every blessing you pour out, I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in Lord, still I will say:
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name
Is it just in the singing these words that we are praising God? Do we have to mean them? Is it still praise to Him if what we're feeling while we're singing is doubt, anger or sadness, not praise? Tough questions. If you have an answer, please post it.
It is so hard to make sense of the death of a child. I can't imagine the depth of their pain, although I have some sense of the loss. My losses seem to pale in comparison because I never had the opportunity to "know" my babies before they died. Mary and Aaron are giving up a person who has been the hugest part of their lives for the past year and a half. Spunky personality and all are now gone.
This is one of my favorite pictures of Helena. I know she is dancing for her Lord in an outfit more beautiful than this. Please pray for her parents as they face the darkness and grief ahead.
Times like this always draw me to music and I have my iTunes set up just for what I call my sad songs. Most of them aren't only sad, but a mixed bag of questions, emotions and praise to God in spite of pain. I got to listening and re-playing "Blessed Be Your Name" by Newsboys. The chorus repeats "blessed be your name" numerous times, but what caught my attention was this:
Blessed be Your name, on the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering - blessed be Your name.
You give and take away;
You give and take away.
My heart will choose to say - blessed be Your name.
I couldn't help but cry when I thought of this child as an offering to God. How do we still say - "blessed be Your name"? How can we be like Job who said, "The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised."? (Job 1:21) My head knows that God can make this good, that this child is in a better place, but my heart doesn't know it it, doesn't want to feel that yet and doesn't quite trust in that truth yet.
I wonder how we can sing:
Every blessing you pour out, I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in Lord, still I will say:
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name
Is it just in the singing these words that we are praising God? Do we have to mean them? Is it still praise to Him if what we're feeling while we're singing is doubt, anger or sadness, not praise? Tough questions. If you have an answer, please post it.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
one of those days
This is how life goes sometimes.
I was supposed to pick up my husband's coworker's son after school. Single mother who didn't have any other options since her after-school daycare was in Europe. Thought I had timed it okay to meet him at his bus drop location and I would have made it if it wasn't for road construction. Stopped traffic in front of Subway - police lights flashing, fire trucks parked nearby and we didn't move but inches at a time. Did I mention this child is in kindergarten?
I'm praying desperately for the bus to be late as I finally get past all the equipment and head out of town. Find the house. No kid. No bus. No nothing but a panicky feeling.
I thought perhaps there's a chance he's waiting on the porch. Drove down a slushy driveway. Did I mention we got six inches of snow the night before? And the driveway wasn't plowed. No kid. No one home. So, I tried to turn around. Wheels spin. I move half an inch. Back in drive and I move two inches. This cannot be happening to me. Not only have I lost a kid, I've managed to get stuck in some stranger's driveway who is halfway across the world. Back and forth - reverse to drive to reverse and all I'm doing is flinging snow everywhere and making ruts.
Last ditch effort I floor the gas pedal, slide sideways and am on my way out the driveway. At the end of the road I stop and wonder what the blankety-blank I'm supposed to do now. I call the mother. Her phone is turned off because she's at a training session.
I had the divinely-inspired thought to call 411 to get the elementary school's number - they wouldn't lose a kid like I did, right? Talking to the secretary, she wants to first know who I am before she'll give me any information. I debated whether or not to tell her I was an overworked, underpaid, slightly mental, paint-covered, minivan driving mom who got roped into picking up a kid I've never seen by my in-the-doghouse husband who volunteered me for this task.
I didn't. Instead, I apologized for the traffic, being late and gave her my name and who I was trying to find. "Oh, he's still on the bus - they're trying to reach his mom to find out what to do with him," she tells me, a bit curtly I might add. Great, no hiding this blunder anymore. "You'll have to call the bus garage."
I get that number, dial it and ask for Deb. She assures me that yes, this child is not lost somewhere on the side of the road and gives me directions back into town to the garage. I arrive in six minutes and see another sheepish mother chaperoning a little girl to a van that looks every bit as dirty as mine. Inside the office are four people, all having a good chuckle at my expense. "Oh, don't worry," one lady says. "This happens more often than you know." Somehow that doesn't make me feel better. I simply sigh and say, "It's been one of those days," as I notice paint in my hair.
The bus driver emerges from the back with my stray package and I ask him (as he looks at me as if I'm a stranger, which of course I am) if he's ready to go see the boys. He nods and when I tell him I've got a snack for him in the van (my attempt to assuage my guilt and buy his affection), the bus driver tells me, "Oh, we already took care of that!" and hands him a bag with gum and two suckers. Grrrr - so much for making things better.
So, we finally got on the road 45 minutes later than scheduled, so of course we arrive late to pick up my kids from their daycare facility. (It's called Grandma & Grandpa's.) Grandma gets a good laugh when I recount the events and when I tell her I am not meant to deal with kids. She tells me to go home and write about it.
A few minutes later, we're back on the road for home. As we're driving I have the sinking feeling all will not be well when we get there. And I'm right. We are locked out of the house. I have no keys for the front door and darling hubby locked it. (My keys got left in the diaper bag up north Easter weekend and since I wasn't the one who brought the diaper bag into the church, I didn't remember to take it out - not my responsibility is my defense.)
So, now we're home with an extra kid hyped up on sugar because by this time he's eaten every last lick and we have no way to get into the house. I briefly thought about kicking the door in, but decided I was already in enough trouble. No way to get ahold of hubby - he's at treatment and they won't disturb the group unless it's life or death. (In my mind it was.)
So, I knew my brother had brought the diaper bag back down with him yesterday, but I couldn't get ahold of him either. No luck with sister-in-law or other brother. I was out of options. Briefly considered the library, but dismissed that with the thought of five children running loose. Then McDonald's crossed my mind - but same issue. That's it - we're going on a road trip to Howard Lake (25 minutes away) and we were going to pray the entire time that baby brother was home and just not hearing his phone. Pray. Pray. Pray.
I call the unsuspecting mother and leave a voicemail, telling her to ignore any other messages she might have and that yes, I am a responsible person and have managed to reclaim her kid, then tell her about the keyless situation and where we're now heading, all while the kids are screaming and singing and yelling and waving their arms behind me.
Yay! Brother dear's car is in the driveway and the bag is on the floor in the back seat. At this point I decided if he wasn't in the house I was going to break the window and take my chances with the law. Luckily he was inside and wasn't answering my desperate calls for help because his phone doesn't work. (I learned this after I chewed him out for not answering his blankety-blank phone - put tail between legs and apologize immediately.)
So, I get the keys and a call from extra kid's mom. Thankfully she didn't sound too shook up about anything (not like me anyway) and she was already back from her training. So, we found a halfway point to meet and 15 minutes later I successfully completed the handoff and my community service, without even having to entertain the child at home. (Maybe that was God's way of protecting me since I am so much not a kid person.)
When we finally made it home and inside, I could do nothing more than stare at the ceiling for the rest of the night. One of those days took everything out of me.
I was supposed to pick up my husband's coworker's son after school. Single mother who didn't have any other options since her after-school daycare was in Europe. Thought I had timed it okay to meet him at his bus drop location and I would have made it if it wasn't for road construction. Stopped traffic in front of Subway - police lights flashing, fire trucks parked nearby and we didn't move but inches at a time. Did I mention this child is in kindergarten?
I'm praying desperately for the bus to be late as I finally get past all the equipment and head out of town. Find the house. No kid. No bus. No nothing but a panicky feeling.
I thought perhaps there's a chance he's waiting on the porch. Drove down a slushy driveway. Did I mention we got six inches of snow the night before? And the driveway wasn't plowed. No kid. No one home. So, I tried to turn around. Wheels spin. I move half an inch. Back in drive and I move two inches. This cannot be happening to me. Not only have I lost a kid, I've managed to get stuck in some stranger's driveway who is halfway across the world. Back and forth - reverse to drive to reverse and all I'm doing is flinging snow everywhere and making ruts.
Last ditch effort I floor the gas pedal, slide sideways and am on my way out the driveway. At the end of the road I stop and wonder what the blankety-blank I'm supposed to do now. I call the mother. Her phone is turned off because she's at a training session.
I had the divinely-inspired thought to call 411 to get the elementary school's number - they wouldn't lose a kid like I did, right? Talking to the secretary, she wants to first know who I am before she'll give me any information. I debated whether or not to tell her I was an overworked, underpaid, slightly mental, paint-covered, minivan driving mom who got roped into picking up a kid I've never seen by my in-the-doghouse husband who volunteered me for this task.
I didn't. Instead, I apologized for the traffic, being late and gave her my name and who I was trying to find. "Oh, he's still on the bus - they're trying to reach his mom to find out what to do with him," she tells me, a bit curtly I might add. Great, no hiding this blunder anymore. "You'll have to call the bus garage."
I get that number, dial it and ask for Deb. She assures me that yes, this child is not lost somewhere on the side of the road and gives me directions back into town to the garage. I arrive in six minutes and see another sheepish mother chaperoning a little girl to a van that looks every bit as dirty as mine. Inside the office are four people, all having a good chuckle at my expense. "Oh, don't worry," one lady says. "This happens more often than you know." Somehow that doesn't make me feel better. I simply sigh and say, "It's been one of those days," as I notice paint in my hair.
The bus driver emerges from the back with my stray package and I ask him (as he looks at me as if I'm a stranger, which of course I am) if he's ready to go see the boys. He nods and when I tell him I've got a snack for him in the van (my attempt to assuage my guilt and buy his affection), the bus driver tells me, "Oh, we already took care of that!" and hands him a bag with gum and two suckers. Grrrr - so much for making things better.
So, we finally got on the road 45 minutes later than scheduled, so of course we arrive late to pick up my kids from their daycare facility. (It's called Grandma & Grandpa's.) Grandma gets a good laugh when I recount the events and when I tell her I am not meant to deal with kids. She tells me to go home and write about it.
A few minutes later, we're back on the road for home. As we're driving I have the sinking feeling all will not be well when we get there. And I'm right. We are locked out of the house. I have no keys for the front door and darling hubby locked it. (My keys got left in the diaper bag up north Easter weekend and since I wasn't the one who brought the diaper bag into the church, I didn't remember to take it out - not my responsibility is my defense.)
So, now we're home with an extra kid hyped up on sugar because by this time he's eaten every last lick and we have no way to get into the house. I briefly thought about kicking the door in, but decided I was already in enough trouble. No way to get ahold of hubby - he's at treatment and they won't disturb the group unless it's life or death. (In my mind it was.)
So, I knew my brother had brought the diaper bag back down with him yesterday, but I couldn't get ahold of him either. No luck with sister-in-law or other brother. I was out of options. Briefly considered the library, but dismissed that with the thought of five children running loose. Then McDonald's crossed my mind - but same issue. That's it - we're going on a road trip to Howard Lake (25 minutes away) and we were going to pray the entire time that baby brother was home and just not hearing his phone. Pray. Pray. Pray.
I call the unsuspecting mother and leave a voicemail, telling her to ignore any other messages she might have and that yes, I am a responsible person and have managed to reclaim her kid, then tell her about the keyless situation and where we're now heading, all while the kids are screaming and singing and yelling and waving their arms behind me.
Yay! Brother dear's car is in the driveway and the bag is on the floor in the back seat. At this point I decided if he wasn't in the house I was going to break the window and take my chances with the law. Luckily he was inside and wasn't answering my desperate calls for help because his phone doesn't work. (I learned this after I chewed him out for not answering his blankety-blank phone - put tail between legs and apologize immediately.)
So, I get the keys and a call from extra kid's mom. Thankfully she didn't sound too shook up about anything (not like me anyway) and she was already back from her training. So, we found a halfway point to meet and 15 minutes later I successfully completed the handoff and my community service, without even having to entertain the child at home. (Maybe that was God's way of protecting me since I am so much not a kid person.)
When we finally made it home and inside, I could do nothing more than stare at the ceiling for the rest of the night. One of those days took everything out of me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)