My Fashionista

Again. I should have known.

He was about 3-years-old the day he walked into my bathroom, crumpled onto the floor in a crying heap and loudly bemoaned the fact that he didn't "look good". Nevermind that he was only in his pajamas. He was not to be consoled by my assurance that I thought he looked good and that I was the only one who was going to see him.

The clothes he wears has always been an obsession of Karson's. Each season, he would choose 2 or 3 favorite outfits and could not be steered to wear much else. One year, he even became enamored with the outfit that had spent the last year in his preschool cubbie as his "just in case" change of clothes. It spent the year in the cubbie because it was an outside-the-family-hand-me-down outfit that I thought was ugly and didn't mind sacrificing. Who knew?

As a second boy, Karson hasn't had much in the way of new clothing. Through most of his nearly 10 years, he's been wearing his brother's hand-me-downs. Several years ago, however, he started to notice. He'd notice every time I brought home clothes for any of his siblings and would proceed to pout. Wanting to speak his apparent love language, I started occasionally bringing something home for him, too - even if he didn't really need it.

Fast forward to last night. We took the 4 youngers shopping with us, stopping at several stores. As you might suspect, Karson never minds clothes shopping. At one point, I went to the checkout while Kevin was still looking at something. Given the choice to go with either one of us, he requested to remain in the men's section to look around.

We spent the most time at the Gap outlet. As an aside - I love the Gap. Although I'm not into labels, per se, I do appreciate quality clothes at a good price and Gap's sales are unbeatable. I can usually find things cheaper on sale at Gap or Gap outlet than I can buy them new at Wal-Mart or Target (or even used at a consignment sale!)...and they've always held up better for the inevitable handing down.

Anyway, I didn't pay much attention to what Karson was doing while we were there - the kids were under Daddy's watch for the most part - but apparently he kept himself busy (even though he was disappointed to hear that the store only carried grown-up clothes) As he was heading to bed last night, Karson showed me the stack of clothes on the end of his bed. He told me he'd put together an awesome outfit that was nearly exactly like one he'd seen on a mannequin in the store. He'd studied the mannequin and was certain he had similar items at home. Sure enough -
dark jeans, a striped button-down shirt, a charcoal grey half-zip sweater, and a hoodie zip-up vest. It was a pretty awesome outfit. Apparently he has more talent than gymnastics. My son - the fashionista.

What If We Lived What We Believe?

James 1:27 ~ Pure and undefiled religion in the sight of our God and Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.

Matthew 34-40 ~ "Then the King will say to those on His right, 'Come, you who are blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry, and you gave Me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you invited Me in; naked, and you clothed Me; I was sick, and you visited Me; I was in prison, and you came to Me.' "Then the righteous will answer Him, 'Lord, when did we...?' "The King will answer and say to them, 'Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even to the least of them, you did it to Me.'

One of the sons the Lord has given me was carried in the womb of another woman. I didn't even meet Kurtis until he was nearly 6 months old, and couldn't call him "mine" until he was more than 2. The circumstances by which he came to us - through being foster parents with Social Services - was something Kevin and I volunteered for, even though it's a system that we don't wholeheartedly support. As strong believers in parental rights, we don't take lightly the fact that the state can step in and take a child from his parents. We even cringe a bit at the thought of being party to such a system. Yes, I do know that it serves a good purpose and saves many children from fates that no one wants to think about, but as with anything in this world, it's far from perfect. Sometimes justice is served and sometimes the innocent get the short end of the stick. I've come to the belief that it's too often the poor and uneducated who do not find justice within our system. I think that both my youngest children are mine because of little more than the socio-economic situation of their parents. Both they and their parents were among "the least of them."

I have always believed Kurtis' birth-mom to be innocent of the abuse that landed Kurtis in the hospital with the injuries he had when we met him. However, she did lie about what had truly happened. Perhaps she was scared of losing her son, the way she had recently lost her older 2 boys for not protecting them from the severe beating by her boyfriend. In the end, she lost him anyway. When the 14 months of Social Services standard operating procedure had elapsed, "A" was on the short end of the stick. She had missed all of the hoops that Social Services had asked her to jump through and had continued to make poor choices. Genuinely wanting what was best for her son when faced with being asked to sign away her parental rights, A asked if we would adopt him. She knew he would be safe with us and that seemed worth more to her than continuing to fight for his custody. I said we would. She then asked if she would still be able to see him. I answered yes again. I held back tears and walked away.

To be honest, I wasn't entirely comfortable with having an open adoption. I wasn't sure that I could trust A to not overstep the unspoken boundaries I had in mind. Afterall, I'd just spent the last 14 months being told one thing by social services (though what I was told was extremely limited) and being told another by A. I never stopped feeling compassion towards her, but her situation seemed so steeped in a lifestyle I knew nothing about, let alone knew anything about delivering a person from! I wanted to help, but felt crippled to do anything more than be a mom to her son.

I decided to release information about us slowly and gradually. First a phone number and meetings in neutral locations, then a birthday party at her apartment, then I gave her our address and let her come to our home. The unspoken boundaries were never crossed - there have only been a handful of times in the 2 1/2 years since I made those promises that we've seen A and only another handful of phone calls. My trust increased. Still, selfishly, I hoped she wouldn't call too often or that someday she might move on with her life and give up on maintaining a relationship altogether. My discomfort was not only having to deal with a birth mother, but with the socio-economic status that birth mother dwells in. It's a whole other culture that I can't relate to. The bad decisions, the immorality, but, being the squeamish girly-girl that I am, it was the stench of cigarette smoke over EVERYTHING that made me the most uncomfortable. The emotion of compassion met it's demise against the self-centered, mere-toleration of her more often than I'd care to admit.

Not long after we adopted Kurtis, J came into A's life. By then, A already had another little boy by another man (neither Kurtis' or her older boys' fathers), but J was undeterred. A big, heavily tatooed fella with, what I imagine, was a heart to match. He was with A to stay and he loved her son like he was his own. He was a hard worker who dealt all in cash because he "didn't trust banks", but wanted to provide for his little family. They got engaged. She got pregnant again, this time with her first girl. It's far from the picture perfect story....there was still the lack of education, the poverty, squalor, and the cigarette stench, and some in society would be apt to cry "she should have her tubes tied!", but somehow I felt encouraged that life was going to get better for them and happy that they had each other....and the mother in me rejoiced over a baby girl. What is a visual reminder of hope more than a new little life? I felt hopeful for them.

The last time we saw them, A and J had moved to Richmond and we had been invited to Kurtis' half-brother's birthday party. It was February. We went and spent a couple of hours trying to hide our distaste regarding the filthy surroundings. Would it be too obvious if we didn't sit on anything?? I didn't hear from A again until early November. I'd begun to think that she had given up. Far from it - she'd just been busy...and couldn't afford to get her cell phone turned back on to retrieve our number. She and J had gotten married, she'd survived the traumatic emergency c-section birth of their daughter, and they'd started going to church, resulting in them both being baptized and both children being dedicated to the Lord on Mother's Day! She and J were new creations in Christ! What could be a better start to their life together? A then told me she and the kids were back here staying with her mom for a while and would like to get together to give Kurtis his birthday gift once her children were over their current illnesses. I didn't think too much about her explanation of J staying behind in Richmond because "he still had some things to take care of".

It turns out that the thing J is taking care of is a 12 year prison term on trumped up drug charges. Having had a brother who died of an overdose several years ago, J, with A by his side, took on the mission of ridding the world (or at least their corner of it) of drug dealers and de-toxing their addicts. Unfortunately, J acted from his heart, seemingly forgetting his head. He was working diligently, on his own, undercover, to inform the police of a drug dealer....a dealer who, unbeknownst to J, was already working for the police as an informant, and was, in turn, informing the police about J with every "deal". I don't understand all the details, but I do believe A's story of J's innocence. Again, the poor, the uneducated, the man who has already served time and so continues to struggle to make a better life for himself, does not find justice within the system....a system that includes dirty cops who do drugs themselves and don't mind sending a man to prison to save their own hides.

Left behind is the wife, struggling to keep a stiff upper lip while still rehearsing the dreams they must've lain in bed at night talking about - of her being a preacher's wife someday. And the children - a 2-year-old who has only been told that Daddy's in the hospital, because his mother doesn't know what to tell him, and a 7-month-old who's never even known him. All living in one room of her mother and step-father's home while their "stuff" remains on the front porch getting wet and "spidery". They're, of course, on government assistance and waiting for government housing to open up, but, with her history of her children being abused when left in the wrong care and the lifelong consequences of such, she's afraid to leave them in order to seek work. The portraits that her husband was drawing from prison to bring in a little money have ceased with the new inability to use his hand - broken by a guard.

As I re-read what I've written so far, the same old thought of "what if she's just made it all up...what if she really isn't to be trusted...what if their conversions weren't real?" comes to mind. What if? Would it lessen her or her family's personhood one iota? Would it change at all the fact that she is still this society's "least of them"? No.

My heart is burdened for this family...this family that I believe, no matter how uncomfortable that is to me at times, is indelibly linked to ours by God's sovereign hands. After I hugged A goodbye and had kissed everyone's cheeks, my mind was racing. I had already promised to be their "Angel Tree" family this year, but it seemed a small gesture in comparison to their great need. The proverbial "be warm, be fed, I'll pray for you". Could we do more? Not only as followers of Christ, but as conservative-minded citizens of these United States, who profess to believe strongly in personal responsibility and that "cradle to grave" government care is NOT the answer!

Could we live what we believe? Could we afford to "give" A our vacant apartment at a rate similar to that subsidized sub-standard housing she's waiting for? Could we be the "subsidy" ourselves? Could I juggle babysitting her kids, so they have a safe place while she works? Could we have them over for dinner regularly? Could we make them more like family than people we tolerate? Could we risk being thought foolish and being taken advantage of? One answer comes to mind: only by God's grace. If that's where He leads, Kevin and I know that's where we'll follow. Not because it's comfortable, but because the places where the "least of them" dwell are not comfortable.

Neither was the cross.

With the Tulips in Spring

Whether it was born out of a desire to avoid the literature paper she had hanging over her head or hormones gone wacky or something entirely off my radar, Kylie was "in the mood to clean" yesterday. Her helpfulness never comes at a wrong time! As I was stuck in front of the computer screen in my robe and pajamas, still finishing up the PEACH newsletter, Kylie was like a whirlwind. She washed dishes, did laundry, cleaned bedrooms, picked up messes, packed clothes for the little ones and generally held down the fort the entire day. We were able to depart for Thanksgiving weekend only an hour or so behind, leaving a nearly spotless house in our wake. I told her she did a "mommy job" of it and rewarded her with a strawberry smoothie at our dinner stop on the way to Nana and Pop Pop's house that evening.

At lunchtime, after feeding Kara-Faith and Kurtis, Kylie sat down to eat, too. Still hanging out in the kitchen, Kurtis became curious about the cheese grater on the table. He pointed to a particular side of it and asked what it was for. After explaining it was for slicing cheese, Kylie warned him not to touch the blade or his finger would fall off. Undeterred (and stubborn as usual), he ran his finger over the blade anyway.

Insisting her bluff was true, Kylie feigned concern. "Oh, no! Now your finger is going to fall off later!"

"No, it's not." Kurtis also insisted, but with obvious hesitancy and growing concern as his finger did, indeed, start to bleed.

They went back and forth with the yes-it-will-no-it-won'ts for a bit.

Kara-Faith, observing the whole scene, found Kylie's story more believable and inquired as to whether fingers grow back.

"Nope. Once they're gone, they're gone. They don't grow back," Kylie assured her.

Apparently Kurtis had been thinking hard about his situation. Maybe she's right, I imagine him thinking, but I'm still certain it's going to work out all right in the end...."It will grow back! It will grow in the flower bed," he stated triumphantly.

Who knew? Right next my spring tulips, I suppose.

**Updated 2 days later**

Kurtis is still wearing a band-aid on that finger, even though the cut is rather minor. I went to clip his nails today and he told me not to take off the bandaid. I took it off anyway and when I did he sort of gasped and said, "Oh, it's not fallen off!" Maybe Kylie's comment got to him more than he let on : )

In It For The Long Haul

I should have known.

At about eighteen months of age, it began with him jumping off the sofa. I remember distinctly being quite hesitant to discourage this behavior because I had, by this time (3 years into boy-momma-hood and 2 boys deep), realized that boys have more energy to expend than do girls. Not being the outdoorsy type myself, I was also hesitant to spend hours outside supervising said boys. Couch jumping it was.

Of course it didn't stop there. By 2, he had taken to jumping off of the 5-foot-high stone retaining wall that runs the length of our driveway. Of course, I questioned the wisdom of letting him do it, but he seemed to land just fine. I spent considerable mental energy pondering whether boys just have an innate need to propel themselves and other things through the air - something I would never understand as a female - or whether I should protect him from the possibility of injury. In the end, I decided that I would not put a stop to his 5-foot free-falls, so he kept landing them.

Fast forward about 4 years and I experienced the same heartbeat-skipping, mental quandary when my youngest demonstrated his back handspring for me for the first time - in the middle of the living room. Not as part of a running, cart-wheel-propelled stunt, mind you, but from a standing still position! My 6-year-old got enough "air" to do a back handspring in my living room. Yes, I feared for his neck, but not enough to make him stop (on the contrary, we enjoyed showing him off!), so he kept landing them. He did NOT, however, land the spontaneous back flip off the the backyard swing. That one landed him...with a nice, bright orange cast for about 6 weeks.

It was about that time that we decided to "get that boy some training", in order to prevent further injury. My research in and around my rural small town turned up nothing in the way of real gymnastics training, so I had to look a little farther. It took me almost a year to find just the one, but I finally signed Karson up for a gymnastics class during the summer of '07. A few classes into the 8-week session, it was quite obvious that he had something his classmates his age were lacking. I decided to ask his teacher what level I should register him in for the next session. He told me I needed to speak with the owner.

Coach Joe sat me down in his office and straight-forwardly said, "I see a lot of natural talent in your son. We'd like him on our competition team. What's your family situation?"

He pantomimed being shot in the heart with each of my answers. "We live in Staunton (45 minutes from the gym) and we have six kids."

Apparently "team" requires more commitment than was easily compatible with our family situation and Joe knew it. Long story made a bit shorter, we did enroll Karson in some pre-team training (once Joe found enough boys talented enough for and interested in a pre-team) from January to June of '08. Looking, once again, at the "team" commitment for the coming year against the backdrop of the rest of our life, forced us to take Karson out of gymnastics. I cried. Joe assured me that talent like Karson's doesn't fade and that he would take Karson back anytime we could make it work.

Unbeknownst to us, during the next nine months, good things were developing. At an appointment with my chiropractor, I learned that his son had been going to Classics Gymnastics and had been invited to be on their team. "Carpool" lightbulbs went off in my head (my chiropractor and his family live right down the street) and I promised to call Joe up to see if his offer still stood for Karson.

It did! As a member of the Classics Gymnastics boys level 4 team, Karson has been working hard in the gym for 9 hours a week since June. The whole reason I even started this post was to share about his intra-sqad meet last weekend. It was not open to spectators, even parents, so we didn't attend, but our carpool friends were quick to report the results when they brought Karson home. Their son received 2nd place out of all the boys with a score of 79 points. "Guess who got first?" they asked.

Apparently, all the boys received overall scores somewhere in the 70s, save Karson. Karson received an overall score of 89! Congratulations, Karson! We're proud, excited, certain the Lord has given you this talent for His good purposes, and realizing that we're most likely in this for the long-haul.

I should have known.

A Concordant Opinion

Kendra came home very excited from choir on Monday night. At the last minute, she had decided to go ahead and join the others who were staying late to audition for available solos. She tried out for two songs, along with many others. Eventually the large groups of hopefuls were narrowed down to only five singers in each bunch - Kendra a finalist in both. In her re-telling of the scenario, she still seemed very surprised. She must have appeared so to the choir's parent helper, too, who commented, "You didn't know you had such a pretty voice, did you Kendra? Everything...your tone, your pitch..."

Although she didn't reply out loud, she recapped her thought process for me. Something to the effect of, "My parents have been telling me that for years. Now that I have a 'professional' opinion, I think I might just believe it!"

It's about time! Kevin and I have only been saying it since she was about two-years-old! I knew then that she had great pitch. While many two-year-olds were not even talking much, Kendra could sing! Not just two-year-old-ese sort of singing, either. She could hit the correct notes for any song I threw her way - from her ABC's to Sinatra. We talked about voice lessons for her before she was even potty-trained.

In recent years, Kendra has also learned to play the guitar. About a year ago, she sang a solo at church while accompanying herself on guitar, joined by Kylie on keyboard. They did such a great job! Kendra got all sorts of compliments. Even so, after that experience, she declared that she hated singing solo and never wanted to repeat singing alone before an audience. I just don't think she wanted to deal with that nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach ever again.

I'm so thankful that she stepped out of her comfort zone and was so greatly encouraged. I don't even mind that my opinion didn't matter until it was concordant with someone more experienced.

Play by Play

I read a play-by-play of another mom's day this morning on her blog and thought it might be fun to do myself, so here goes my attempt at journaling today's happenings:

6:30 I arise, head to the computer and check email (printing off pertinent ones for today's PEACH board meeting), Facebook, my favorite blogs, read a couple of articles and a couple of devotionals at John Piper's website: desiringgod.org. I then go to our bank website and my online budget program to work on getting the checkbook up-to-date before our bank's big switch-over to a new online banking system tomorrow.

6:45 Kevin comes upstairs to shower after making us muffins for breakfast before he heads out at 7:15 for a 12 hour day at Kroger in Charlottesville.

7:00 I'm still at the computer when the two earliest risers (Karson and Kurtis) ask if they can start in on the muffins that are on the table. I tell them to hold off, so they request to watch a DVD instead. Weighing brain mush vs. the thoughts of what trouble they might get into and what noise they might make over the next hour.....I give in to brain mush.

7:45 I head downstairs and start making the calls for breakfast. Peeking my head in the girls' room, I'm greeted with "Be Quiet!' from Kendra. Once in the kitchen, I set Kurtis to the task of setting out paper plates while I remember that the meat I left out on the counter all night needs to be put in the crockpot for tonight's roast beef dinner. I set about making that happen, while Karson rounds up the still sleeping kids from upstairs.

8:00 Everyone's at the table except for Kara-Faith, who soon groggily wanders in. Karson asks some question about the bulge in her pants and I'm reminded to remind her to go change out of her pull-up. She complies, the rest of us pray over the meal and dig in (except for me, I'm still searing meat and chopping onions).

Talk of the day's plans ensue. Kody announces that he needs to pack today for his camping trip tomorrow night. I make sure that he still wants to go despite the dismal weather and continuing rain through the weekend. He assures me he does. Once again I, his procrastinating mother, discourage his plan-ahead plans by telling him he doesn't really need to pack until tomorrow. The others are discussing their make-believe play. Kendra has set up office as a lawyer named Mr. Shen who declares today's weather "a good day for suing someone." Kylie is her secretary and Karson and I have gone into business together and will be opening up "Food Central" around lunchtime. Although, today will be rushed and I may have to back out of my end of the deal.

8:10 Kara-Faith returns. Somewhere in there, Kendra calls her "pull-up girl" and I chide her for her insensitivity. Kara-Faith is sitting at her place not touching the 2 muffins on her plate. I finally hear Kylie tell her that we've already prayed and that she can say her own blessing and eat. Kara-Faith starts quietly crying. Probably a combination of Kendra's comment and feeling left out of the meal's beginning. I scoop her up and take her away from the table to hold her for about 5 minutes. She's never able to identify why she's crying, but she keeps it up, head buried in my shoulder. She refuses the offer of going back to the table to eat, but agrees that she'd like to go lay back down until she feels better.

8:23 Everyone else has finished and evacuated the kitchen, Kara-Faith returns, blows her nose and she and I sit down to eat. Bailey streaks into the kitchen and, quick as can be, steals a muffin (muffin-paper and all) right off of Kara-Faith's plate! I manage to smack her hindquarters as she's making her get-away, but the muffin is gone.

8:30 I announce that I'm going to go take a shower and do some laundry (my hope always is that they'll get the message that I'm going to be unavailable for the next 1/2 hour, but I'm thinking I need to be more specific). Then I get the brilliant idea to start this blog post....although I really need to be showering and working on the massive laundry pile.

8:50 Blog post is finished up until now....so NOW I'm heading to the shower and the laundry room.

8:54 My cell phone rings in my purse, so Karson runs it up to me. I miss the call, but it's a message from our internet company saying that our automatic billing, which has been messed up since February and for which I've called them every month since, is now fixed! Woohoo!

9:12 I'm out of the shower, but apparently 18 minutes is all they can give without a knock at the door. This time it's Kurtis asking if he can play Playdoh. When my answer is no, he whines about not wanting to go. I'm confused...what's that got to do with Playdoh: "Go where?" He manages to whine, "I don't know!" Apparently he's confused, too.

9:28 I've managed to get dressed and blow-dry my hair. Another knock at the door brings Kylie, posing as Miriam Schenowshky, Mr. Shen's secretary. Standing next to me in the bathroom, she "calls" me from the pen she's holding to her ear and we converse via fake phones regarding setting up an appointment with Mr. Shen. He'd like to see me at 10:30. I agree.

9:36 I'm almost done updating this when Kara-Faith shouts into the room: "Hey, Mommy, have you done laundry yet?" I have about a week's worth of clothes backed up. Better get to it! Instead I decide to glance over what I've already written. Another 5 minutes goes by and Kody has a question about his writing assignment today and Kara-Faith yells into the room again: "Mommy, when are you going to do laundry?" Right now, apparently.

10:30 I've put in a load of clothes, helped Kara-Faith get dressed and with some cursive, dictated some spelling words to Karson and checked his work from yesterday. I proceed to meet with Mr. Shen. He (she) requests that I be the judge at a trial at 11:00 and doesn't need my qualifications or references - "You have a lot of kids, right?" seems to be her only requirement. I accept the job.

11:00 By now, I've helped Kylie with algebra, switched the clothes to the dryer, and made several long-needed phone calls to make appointments: well-checks at the pediatrician as well as dentist for Kurtis and Kara-Faith, a hair appointment for myself, and a call to the piano tuner. I also call the other gymnastics car-pool mom to see if it's okay with her husband (filling in for her today as she's leaving on a missions trip to Uganda) if I drop Karson off at their house early. I wish her well on her trip and head to the "courtroom" (den).

11:15 The trial of Waterloo vs. Kar has concluded with Mr. Waterloo (Kody) accusing Mr. Kar (Karson) of turning out the bedroom light and throwing balls at him. A couple of witnesses are brought forth that seem to have been coached in their testimony (Kara-Faith and Kylie). An expert witness psychiatrist (also Kody) with questionable credentials is brought forth to declare Mr. Kar not-guilty by reason of "anger issues". I dismiss the court for 5 minutes to make my decision.

11:20 Court is now in session whereupon I declare my verdict that Mr. Kar is guilty and that I don't buy the "anger issues". I share a bible verse regarding anger and sentence them to hug and make-up. No one is impressed with my judge skills (overheard: "see if we ask her to be judge again") and a very rough man-hug turns into a fight with Karson getting hit in the head with the bailiff's (Kurtis') rifle. Karson screams and storms off. Maybe I was wrong about the anger issues. I think I'll stick to laundry. Time to put in another load.

11:30 The requests begin: "Mommy, when is my breakfast going to be ready?" Kurtis is still confused about which meal is upcoming.

12:00 I've put in another load, gotten lunch ready for the little ones and fixed myself a cup of tea, while listening (over and over and over again) to Kody plunking out Ode to Joy on the piano. (Kody, the boy who was kicked out of piano lessons several years ago for non-compliance). I decide to appreciate this as it isn't last week's song, Axle F (the theme song to Beverly Hills Cop). There is a break during which I hear Mary Had a Little Lamb. Turns out, it's Kara-Faith! Pretty good for just having been taught by her big brother, Karson, who just started piano lessons himself (I'm hoping he has a better go at it than Kody). Not to be outdone, Kendra comes into the kitchen with her guitar and plucks Ode to Joy.

12:20 Kody man-handles Karson, who screams, his screechy scream. I lose it and pump some foam soap into his mouth letting him know that I would very much appreciate NOT spending my elderly years deaf due to his high-pitched invasions on my ear drums.

1:00 I have updated my journaling, folded a few of the now dry clothes, put a turkey breast (for sandwich meat) in the oven, finally gotten Kurtis dressed and searched high and low for a match to the one shoe in my hand from his newest pair. I decide to move the heavy sofa in the den. I lift one end then go to lift the other. Not realizing that it had been shoved closer towards the direction of the fireplace than usual, I lift and swing, slamming my hand between the sofa and the edge of the brick fireplace. Not fun. I leave the sofa where it is, maintain my composure, give up on the shoe hunt and head to the kitchen to finally get some lunch before we need to leave at 1:15 for our homeschool group's (PEACH) Activity Day (where I attend the PEACH board meeting). Fighting off the urge to sit with my head between my knees because I'm now feeling faint from the pain, I microwave the leftover green beans, eat a handful of cashews and start in on eating an apple. More Ode to Joy on the piano.

1:10 Carrying the apple with me, I think about folding more clothes, but in frustration, realize that I'm out of time. I dig out the sewing machine, sewing scissors and seam ripper for Kylie's sewing class, while Kylie digs out coats for the littles and puts Kurtis' old shoes on him. Meanwhile, Karson can't find a tank top (clean OR dirty) for gymnastics. Feeling the time crunch, I suggest that he just wear a t-shirt and explain to his coaches about his mother being behind in the laundry. This starts a crying meltdown that I quickly curtail by finding a loan tank top at the bottom of the laundry basket. Bonus: it even passes the smell test.

1:15 I check email one last time to see if there are any other newsletter submissions that I need to bring with me to the meeting. I pass along instructions to Kendra (who doesn't attend Activity Day) to take out the turkey breast when the temperature indicator goes off and to please keep the laundry work line going by folding the clothes and putting the wet clothes in the dryer.

1:20 Everyone is out the door and in the car. I drop Karson off at the home of the family with which we carpool.

1:28 We pull into the church parking lot where our Activity Day is held. We're actually on time! A rarity. My hand is only slightly swollen, bruised and sore in that one spot.

3:30 Each child has attended a class and I've attended a very full meeting. Everyone present and accounted for but Kody. I'm told that his "backyard ballistics" class is still outside exploding their potato cannons. We load up in the car and drive over to the other side of the parking lot, missing Kody, who ends up searching for us where we just were. We finally meet up and head home.

3:50 Arrive home, Kylie scoots off to get ready for dance class and I finally consent to getting out the Playdoh for Kara-Faith and Kurtis then check phone messages. While we were gone, Kendra went above and beyond and actually put in another load to wash. I can see the floor again! Woohoo!

4:00 I drive Kylie the 4 blocks to dance and am back within a few minutes. Kody greets me in his heavy coat. He says he's cold. Hmm. I then spend time updating this journal, unsuccessfully trying to figure out a problem in Kendra's math book and answering the phone twice.

4:30 Playdoh continues to entertain the littles. Back to the laundry room.

4:45 I've managed to fold one pair of jeans when I decide to go downstairs to retrieve Kendra's bin that is for her clean clothes. I find Kody still in his jacket. Although, in light of tomorrow's camping trip, he says "I refuse to be sick!", I forget about why I came downstairs and head back up for the thermometer. Yep. It's 100.5. I promise Kody he can still go camping if his fever is gone tomorrow morning. I've a hunch that it may just be his body's reaction to being outside in the cold drizzle for hours in just a hoodie during "Backyard Ballistics". Back upstairs to put the thermometer away, back downstairs to get the bin, then back upstairs to the laundry room....well, after a sidetrack to Facebook. Read my home page status updates and watch a couple of very funny videos. I needed that : )

5:03 Folding laundry.

5:37 Realize I'm late picking up Kylie (her class ended at 5:30) - rush out the door.

5:45 Dinner prep. I pay for the last 2 hours of peace with about 20 minutes worth of cleaning up Playdoh. Totally worth it!

6:30 Kevin comes home early bearing gifts of pints of Ben and Jerry's ice cream!

6:45 We sit down to dinner, but not before Kurtis is certain to tell me that he is a "wiggler tonguer" and proceeds to demonstrate by wiggling his tongue side-to-side. He can also touch his tongue to his nose. I take pictures: (bandaid leftover from yesterday's head-on collision with the door jam)

7:15 We've finished dinner. The girls have clean-up duty, but not until after Kendra makes me take about 25 pictures of her to get just the one of her catching a grape in her mouth. Daddy gets the little ones ready for bed and I set to slicing the cooked turkey breast. I make it about 3/4 of the way through, but ask Kevin to finish up for me when my hand is bothering me too much.

7:45 I take some more time to update, Kevin finds me at the computer and proceeds to read about our day. Intermittent chuckles. Karson arrives home and eats dinner.

8:00 Time to break out that Ben and Jerry's (S'mores and Chocolate Fudge Brownie) and sit down to finally watch some of Ben Hur (we've had the Netflix DVDs sitting here for more than a week, but haven't had time).

9:30 A little more than 1/3 of the way through Ben Hur and everyone is enjoying it, but that's all for tonight. Daddy carries a sleeping Kurtis upstairs and the rest are also off to bed. Good-night kisses and tucking-ins ensue.

All in a Mommy's Day's Work

Last Saturday I took my oldest girls shopping for the entire afternoon. Later, Kylie even told me it was one of the best times she's ever had. We certainly did have a wonderful time!

Nearing the end of our excursion, we stopped by a large display in the mall where a couple of people were displaying, describing and selling "Pocket Pets". They're actually a small marsupial called a sugar bear or sugar glider. Kendra was immediately smitten. She spent the evening and following day reading up on this "sweet" new pet and decided that she really wanted one. Since she solicited my advice, I told her I was going to save her from herself by requiring her to submit to a waiting period and either getting rid of her two rats or waiting until they die.

In the end, the waiting period is still on-going, but the whole occasion did spur Kendra to do something about the rats. These weren't just any rats, these were PEW* rats (*pink-eyed white) and neutered males to boot (Does the question of "who would neuter a rat??" come to mind - uh, huh, me too.) AND, they were obtained from a small-animal rescue in Maryland. The "rat lady", as I affectionately refer to her, drove all the way here nearly a year ago to drop them off to Kendra with the agreement that they come back to her if Kendra ever changed her mind.

Fast-forward a few days and my usually, mostly-free Friday became the only convenient day for the "rat lady" to meet me half-way to pick up the little darlings. Unfortunately, unrecognized by any of us here, the little darlings were not in very good health anyway. Seems I could've saved myself the trip and let "nature" take it's course.

Three hours round-trip later, I was greeted at the door by Kendra's real love - Bailey, the SPCA-adopted Cocker Spaniel-German Shepherd-Border Collie. I no sooner turned around to set the mail down when I heard a sound like Bailey smacking her lips. Turning back towards the door, I realized Bailey had just thrown-up a couple feet from where I was standing. Nice.

Now, I'm not much of a dog person, so I'm not fluent in "dog", but I'd swear she seemed to be saying, "Welcome Home, Grandma! Thanks so much for running that extraordinary errand for Kendra. Oh, and by the way, Kendra's not here to clean this up, so could you do it (before I'm tempted to lick it up myself)??"

Sure, dog. No problem. Rat delivery, dog vomit clean-up....all in a mommy's day's work. Apparently.