Tongue Tied

My mind is a steel trap for significant dates in my life. May 17, 1987 December 13, 1996 March 29, 2001 October 12, 2006 June 18, 2010 Those are just a few. And it's not just dates. It's events. It's clothes I was wearing. It's weather conditions. It's songs that were playing in the background. It's entire conversations. Vivid clarity. I've come to realize that God has given me this excellent memory for a reason. I'm supposed to write down what I remember. My husband doesn't have this kind of memory retention. His childhood is a blur. He remembers things from adolescence when I describe them to him. He doesn't remember very many specifics without deep questioning or coaxing. Some of that is personality. Some of it might have been irregular blood sugar. Some of it he doesn't want to remember. I remember everything, even the stuff I would much rather forget. But writing it down makes me feel useful. If I learned anything from my Dad besides how

My kids are coming off a two month long cartoon and Wii binge. Now that I'm generally not a miserable, vomitous mass anymore, I've done what I used to dread my mother doing: Declared NO MORE TV. Although, I have to be more thorough than she did, and include Wii and computer games in that too. Now, with all electrical equipment shut down, I'm remembering how annoying my kids can be. Apparently, the toys in this house are only good for about ten minute intervals. The rest of the play time is consumed with one of two basic activities: running (yes, just running with each other from one end of the house to the other) or wrestling. On my bed. They may be boys, but their giggling is shrill and high pitched. And sometimes cute, until it reaches a certain decibel. And their thundering footsteps on the hardwood floors get old fast. And the wrestling I just avoid watching. I hear things like "Okay, now it's your turn to jump on me!" and just start praying and hoping

1. Dog hair stuck to my children's fuzzy pajamas. 2. Reruns 3. Forced, awkward group singing. 4. Commercials with improper grammar. I saw two in a row the other day. 5. Genetically bone thin women who obsess about their weight. 6. Door to door salesmen. We don't answer if we don't know who it is, but I know they hear my children going "Shhh!" and their thundering footsteps as they run to peek out the window. 7. Running out of paper towels. 8. Maternity clothes. 9. When my kids say "Can I have a snack?" twenty minutes after a meal. 10. When wind from open windows (which I love) knocks magnets and papers off the refrigerator and they land in the dog's water bowl.

1. She's sleepy. (This applies to all moms, everywhere.) 2. She can be slightly irritable. Remember, she's with her kids all.the.time. And while most of the time, she is doing what she knows in her heart she's supposed to do, she can also be about ten seconds away from a mental breakdown. 3. She generally feels like she has to prove her value as an educator and her kids' intelligence to everyone on the planet. Well meaning (sometimes), but rude people will grill her about her choice. She's not allowed to ask this barrage of questions to traditional school parents, but she is regularly questioned about her credentials, schooling, methods, curriculum, social activities, religion, blood type and worth as a human by complete strangers. 4. She thinks the socialization argument is the lamest thing she's ever heard, but she has to word it nicely so no one gets offended. Because homeschoolers are frowned on enough. 5. She may or may not wear denim jumpers. Her choice

Breakfast. Raspberry yogurt. I can't decide if this picture is gross or not. Thing One read me this book. It only took him about 48,000 years. Lunch School My time. Love me a good creepy book. Text from Seth Leaving the house! That doesn't happen often. Blurry photo, but we listened to our favorite song on the way to dinner. Candy after dinner. Hanging out with relatives Cousins

The more I see of the world, the more I appreciate my parents. When I was younger, I lived in a bubble. I thought all families I knew had happy homes like I did. After all, the majority of families I knew were Christian ones. With Christ at the center of a home, how can it not be happy? I'm older now. I've learned that not all Christian families have Christ at the center. I've learned that sin and ugliness can reside anywhere, even under the shiny veneer of a "good Christian". I know that a lot of families harbor secrets they're ashamed of, drama just under the surface waiting to explode. And then there are the families without Christ. I can empathize with these families, because I have helped people close to me face crises that can destroy homes. But I cannot relate through my own childhood experience. My parents weren't dramatic. My dad especially was unflappable, which is handy in a home full of girls. Even my mom, whom I knew could get frustrated with

1. My children have been wearing pajamas, often the same pajamas for several days at a time. We only dress if we're leaving the house. 2. They have also watched the same movie, ("Dis-mick-a-mull Me) three times in as many days. 3. The Awana Grand Prix is Monday. We haven't cut Thing One's car yet. 4. Three words: The laundry situation 5. Last night, I couldn't find socks for Thing Two to wear under his galoshes, so he just went without. 6. There aren't any clean teaspoons in this house. 7. I often send them to shower or bathe simply because it keeps them busy for twenty minutes. 8. When Thing Two wakes up at the crack of dawn, I don't greet him with a smile. Instead he gets "Why are you up already?" 9. The other day they spent the majority of their waking hours stabbing a big empty cardboard box with pencils. It delighted them. This has to reflect poorly on me somehow. 10. Thing Two's face at this moment is so dirty, he looks a bit like a stre

This is not the post I'm supposed to be writing. The post I'm supposed to be writing is an in depth look at a spiritual topic I'm struggling with. I started writing it the other night. And then I watched Fringe on DVD with Seth. I tried to go back to it yesterday. But I got stuck and bored and played Scramble on Facebook instead. I have the tenacity of a slug. I sort of feel like I'm in limbo. Pregnancy does a number on my mental status. I still have deep thoughts, I just can't seem to express them in spoken or written word. I feel like a clammed up teenage girl who instead of engaging in conversation about her feelings just rolls her eyes at the world and declares everything to be "lame." I'm definitely alert enough to notice what's happening to my kitchen. There's something evil going on in there. Seth has taken over dish duty while I'm sick, which means the dishes get done every 4 days or so. The clutter of dishes has invited dirty litt