Society is to blame.

I'm reading a book called "Quiet," which concerns how our society doesn't value the input of introverts as highly as that of extroverts.  I've read nearly 100 pages so far, and here's what I've learned:

Introversion is not a sin.

Introversion is not a character flaw.

Introversion is not a disease.

I feel free just typing these words.  Maybe I don't have to feel guilty for staying out of the action sometimes, for needing quiet time to recharge, for being content to sit and watch others have a conversation.

I'm not broken, I'm normal.  (Also, I should have been Asian.  They respect the introspective, quiet, knowledge-able type.)

In This Twilight, Our Choices Seal Our Fate

The sheets are dirty.

The dishes are greasy.

The kids' nails need clipped.

Crumbs stick to my feet when I walk through the house.

Our yard looks shamefully cluttered and unkempt.

Dirty laundry is everywhere.

The trash needs emptied.

The dog is un-brushed and un-played with.

Thistles once again threaten to overtake our fields.

The kitchen cabinets are sticky.

The bathroom is grimy.

I can't remember if I've paid all the bills for the month, and don't have time to check.

We've eaten out too many times this month for health, sanity, or frugality.  (But less than last year!)

I haven't overseen the kids' homework for a couple of weeks.



Can you tell it's October? 

Only a day or two more of massive overtime production...and then some peace and quiet.  I keep making little mental lists of all the activities I'd like to do when we may live again.  I remember having friends, a love life, spending time with the kids.  I look forward to those things.

I am grateful for the income, don't get me wrong. It's just that working intense overtime all day, every day from home with one's spouse is uniquely stressful.  Every time, we try to think of all the ways we can be more prepared to deal with the rush and handle it more gracefully.  I think we have made huge progress, but I still feel at the end of my tether. 

Two more days.

(Whispering from the rooftops).

"Let me tell you about my diet."

Doesn't that phrase always make you cringe?  It does me, anyway.  It's usually someone telling me about how they lost ten pounds in the last week by only eating grapefruit with peanut butter on it...or something.  There are books to buy, classes to attend, points to count, a magic food to eat, or an evil food to avoid.  I think we all know that person who is always on some new miracle diet...for about a week.

Here's the deal:  I am on a diet.  It is hard for me to say, because I don't want to announce it for all listeners to silently, inwardly roll their eyes and wait for it to pass.  I want to share it because it's a radical idea, at least to me. 

It's not that I have not ever tried to adhere to a diet before.  I've been vegetarian and even vegan for a few months.  I have tried eliminating carbs (South Beach, not Atkins...that crap is crazy).  I have fastidiously entered every morsel I consumed onto SparkPeople, and calculated my daily intake.

I have made major changes in the way I eat, at least a few times in my life...and I always gave up on it eventually.  I can tell you all the reasons/excuses, some of which are even valid.  It is difficult to cook for a large family and prepare separate meals for me.  It is difficult to change the way everyone eats, just for me.  It is exhausting to enter every thing I eat into a calorie tracker, especially as most of the things I eat are homemade, and not in the database.  I LIKE BREAD.  I make awesome bread.  Also, I like meat.  Cheese, amen!

So, are you curious about how I eat now?  Here are the rules.  I can do it in four lines:

No Sweets.
No Snacks.
No Seconds.

Except, sometimes on days that begin with "S."  (Special occasions, within reason, are "S" days, too.  Like birthdays and anniversaries.  Yay for big families because it's always somebody's birthday).

That's it.  Here is the website, if you're curious about it.

Here's why I like it:

Nothing is off limits.
It's cheap (free).
It's easy to remember, I don't have to look up everything I eat.
It makes me think about food less. (Hmm...looking at all these healthy recipes has made me hungry).
Special days are special days.  (I can eat cake and ice cream for somebody's birthday...just not every day).
Regular days are regular days.  (I don't have to have a treat just because I'm bored, sad, tired, etc.).

Did I lose ten pounds in the first week?  No.  Have I steadily lost about half a pound as long as I've been doing it?  Yeah, I have.  Do I feel like I could eat this way forever?  Yes, I can.  Not because I suddenly have willpower, but because it is easy. 

I eat whatever I want, just not until it's all gone.  I'm never more than five days from getting to eat ice cream, or whatever gooey thing I'm looking forward to for the weekend.  I don't eat because I'm bored, or because I read that some expert recommends snacking to boost metabolism.  I eat when it's time to eat, reasonably healthy things that I serve my whole family.  I eat what's on the plate, then I'm done.  It is surprisingly easy. 

I'm kind of doing this for my whole family, too.  We have been terrible about letting the kids snack when they're hungry, then throwing away food at meal times.  This also makes the house cleaner because kids aren't dragging food all over the place to forget about it and then it rots or attracts mice and ants.  We eat when it's time to eat, and that's it.  Maybe they'll have less issues with food than I do.  That's as important to me as my own fitness/health.

Whatever it is, name it after me.

It's the child-photographing equivalent of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle. 

According to Heisenberg, you may either determine the velocity of a particle, or it's position, but you cannot know both at the same time, because by observing either, you are changing the situation.

I hereby postulate that any time a child is performing some adorable or hideous or adorably hideous act, they will repeat it for hours...until you find the camera and the right camera setting.  Then said child will freeze and stare dully at the device, as if all sparkle and sunshine have left them entirely.

Cuteness and permanent record are mutually exclusive, except in rare and amazing circumstances.

First Day of School and Tonsillitis.

These kids had the fun one, I had the other.

I have heard a lot of memorable things from the kids this week.

Ivy, looking around her kindergarten classmates:  "I didn't know I had so many friends!"  I have raised a sociable child!

Maggie, in her best cute matter-of-fact voice:  "Friday is our new Thursday."  (The day Aunt Laural visits.)  I have raised a kid who likes routines!

Hollis, in the back of the car:  "I'm going to spend all day Saturday reading!"  Oh, it warms my heart to see that reading has finally caught fire inside him.  I have raised another reader!

Liv, also in the back of the car:  "We finally got to play our instruments in band and have new really hard Can-Can music."  She has been very dedicated to her trumpet this summer and has practiced without being reminded to do so.  I have raised another band geek!

Lochlan:  "I want to wash my hands."  I have raised a hygienic child.  For a kid who refuses toilet #2's, he is surprisingly fastidious.

Cora:  "Puppy!"  Also, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHhhhhhhhhhhh!"  It means up, but she's not very polite about it.  I have raised another impatient English-speaker!

A New Hope.

Bonus points for laughing at my nerdy title.  So, as you can see, I've sucked a bit lately at posting every day.  We've been super-productive at work and trying to get the kids back to school and taking a mini-vacation to St. Louis with my parents.  More later on all that, if you're lucky.

I've been wanting to do something fitness-wise for the past several months, and today we started doing it.  I found a simple "Couch to 5K" schedule and we did the first round today.  Five minutes of brisk walking to warm up. Then, 60 seconds jogging followed by 90 seconds walking until twenty minutes have passed.

Friends, it sort of kicked my butt.  All perfectionism aside, I know that as much as I would like to be in decent enough shape to set the bar higher...I am not.  But I am doing something, and that's where the hope is.  I hope in a couple of weeks a few minute-long intervals of jogging won't fry me.

Hereditary Music

The first song I remember hearing on the radio was Elton John's "Yellow Brick Road."  It always sticks in my mind with a trip my family took to the Grand Canyon when I was about three.  This song still fills me with a wordless nostalgia, even though I don't like it much.

We moved to Missouri when I was seven, and lived right next door to my Mom's parents.  Grandma loved to sing, a kooky mix of Depression-era songs, Methodist hymns, and ditties of her own invention.  I didn't know "Big Rock Candy Mountain" was a real song until I watched "O Brother, Where Art Thou."  That movie has so many of her songs in it that it always brings a lump to my throat.

When I was ten or twelve years old, my family owned a red 66 Chevrolet Impala for a while.  Dad would have us all pile into it and go cruisin'.  We'd listen to the oldies station, to the Rolling Stones and those girl groups that had four girls in graduated sizes in matching shift dresses and bouffant hairstyles.   We'd roll the windows down and just drive.  Oh, the days of cheap gas.

Some of my favorite songs from that time?  Del Shannon's "Runaway," "House of the Rising Son," "Spirit in the Sky," "Paint It, Black," and probably anything by The Beatles and The Beach Boys.  By this point in my life, I'd had almost no exposure to the day's pop music, except for a neighbor kid before we moved to Missouri who listened to Michael Jackson's "Bad" all the time.

There were some brief encounters with country music, mostly in the form of a heavy Garth Brooks rotation in late Junior High.  There was also some Accapella (instrument-free Christian music).  I blame the crowds I was hanging out with.  Lets face for the moment that I was an innocent kid growing up in a very rural area.  I didn't know any better...It was probably about this time that whatever music my parents were enjoying seemed not so hip.

Then I went to High School, and found my true calling as a Band Geek.  Mr. Smith was a fun teacher and we Geeks loved him.  I dropped out of Ag and switched to playing drums in the Jazz Band as soon as I could, much to the chagrin of my grandparents.  They gave me a hard time about leaving a class that "would prepare me for the future" and wasting time with "the little old jazz band.''  Either they were resigned or impressed the first time they attended a performance, though, because they never complained about it after that.

When we played "Hey Jude" my freshman year, I experienced a thrill of recognition.  This was my music.  I started listening less and less to the pop station and more to the classic rock station.  There might have been a boyfriend who liked Aerosmith.  I fell in love with the oddness that is They Might Be Giants at this time.  I listened to Meat Loaf, Simon and Garfunkel, Pearl Jam, Metallica, Def Leppard, Led Zeppelin, always the Beatles, and Queen.  Mr. Smith showed us the music video to "Bohemian Rhapsody" once for a holiday treat.  I told you he was awesome.

I graduated, started college and was married within a few months.  Toby has always been the type to love the electronics, so we drove a crappy car with a loud stereo for a long time.  (Now that we have kids, I can only turn it up when I'm in the car alone, so almost never.)  We still listened to the classic rock stations, up until a few years ago.  I don't know if I was getting old and boring, or what, but suddenly the station seemed to play the same fifty songs on a constant loop.  Yes, I love "Stairway to Heaven, "   but I don't want to hear it every hour every time I turn on the radio.  Then, I also have to hear stuff I hate, like Springsteen.

Instead, I like to turn on Slacker or Pandora and see what happens.  I don't even know what's cool anymore, since every time I turn on the local pop station it's all rap.  If rap is cool, I am not.  Internet radio has brought me some new favorites like Muse and Ok Go.  It has renewed my interest in old favorites, too, like Weezer and Queen.

We have a friend we meet once a year at the festival in Muskogee.  He's twenty years older than Toby and I are, but he doesn't seem to be.  Late one night, we were all sitting around in a frozen yogurt shop and he started singing and dancing to a Lady Gaga song that was playing over the Muzak system.

That's when the light bulb went off for me:  It doesn't matter what age you are, you can enjoy new things.  I sort of had it in my head that I was too old to find any new music to love with the passion of a sixteen-year-old.

I still love most of the music that I've been loving for years.  But I'm looking for new things, too.  I have realized that as I look back, I have intense memories of what was going on in my life when I heard a certain song frequently.  I don't want to stagnate my songs, because then all the rest of my life will just be repeating previous ones.  It is hard for me to branch out into new things, but it is worth it.

This last year, I've been listening to Mumford and Sons...obsessively...like a sixteen-year-old.  It has been the soundtrack to Cora's first year, to the Dresden Files books we've listened to on audiobook, and to me being a grown-up that still likes new things.  I'm glad I took the risk and bought that album, and I'm looking forward to the next one, and to whatever I find to love after that.

Ouch?

"Mom always said if you married Toby you'd end up a baby machine."

It has been two or three years since one of my dearest high-school friends said this to me.  It still stings, for many different reasons.

Let me fill in some back story.  Not trying to brag here, buy my future was promising in high school.  I scored very well on the ACT and SAT.  I even won the National Merit Scholarship, which was a big deal at the time.  I'm talking I had my picture in the paper and everything. 

I planned a brilliant career in Engineering or Astronomy.  I was going to fulfill the dream of all rural kids:  I was going to GET OUT.  I would be a success, by leaving the land of my childhood far behind. 

Toby and I began dating at seventeen.  We decided to get married the summer before our Senior year.  I had not been looking for a life-long, life-changing relationship.  It started out that I liked him and he liked me, and then things snowballed.  It wasn't complicated, but at the same time it was VERY complicated.  What was going to happen when I went away to school?  Was he going to go on a mission? 

If you have read my blog very many times, you have probably realized that I am the type to over-think every situation.  I worry endlessly about making decisions and whether or not I'm choosing the best thing.  It was never like that when deciding if I was going to marry Toby.  I felt sure about that, more sure than I have about most everything since. 

I have regretted so many decisions I've made.  But not these seven.  Not the ones that brought Toby and each of our children into my life to stay.  It hurts sometimes to think of the people who are disappointed in how my life has gone.  I know it is very different from what I envisioned for my future. 

It's easier for me because I know what I got in return.  I have lots of interesting things going on at all times.  I get to laugh at invented grammar in kids who aren't old enough to speak as conventionally as the rest of us.  (Examples:  Loch says "we's" for "ours" and Ivy conjugated "freaked me out" into the past tense, "frucked me out.") 

It's not just the funny stuff, either.  I have had a baby to snuggle for the past twelve years on a near-constant basis.  How many people get that?  It's almost enough to make me take it for granted.  I certainly have.  I have six kids who are not perfect, but I think they will make the world a better place than it would be without them.  I am proud of them.  Dang proud.

Sure, there are downsides to having a lot of kids.  I would love "sleep through the whole night" as my default setting.   I would love to have a conversation with my husband without scheduling it on the calendar.  Couch that doesn't smell like urine?  Count me in.  Drive a car instead of a gas-guzzling people-mover?  Oh, heck yes.

It should not matter to me what others think.  It is my life.  Women have the right to choose school and work as their path, but act like the decision to have kids is only for the ignorant and unambitious.  Heaven forbid a woman might actually choose to have more than two.  Obviously, we had six kids because I married a Mormon, not because I think my kids are so awesome the world needs more of them.

When my friend dropped that conversational atomic bomb on me, I didn't know how to react.  I don't remember what I said in reply.  I wish I had said something breezily inappropriate and sarcastic, but I probably blushed and looked at my feet instead.  I wish I had said instead:  "When I married Toby, my ovaries high-fived the universe."

Tired and Cranky.

Only one of us is teething, but neither of us can sleep.  YAWN.

Snail's Pace.

I'm still sloowly accomplishing things around here.  I posted last night, but the internet ate it somehow. 

Yesterday, I managed to get henna applied to my hair and Maggie's hair.  No pics yet, but if you want to see my hair before, you can look at the jam-making post again.  I had Laural bleach the back underside and the underside of my bangs.  I did like the platinum blonde, but it was a bit too contrasty with the rest of my hair.  I had contemplated letting the henna color grow out, but then when it does, I remember just how mousy blond-brown it is.  Auburn with orange highlights is more my style.

I had a few minutes to myself while Liv prepared supper.  She insisted that she could make spaghetti without help.  I was in the middle of cutting and sewing some cloth napkins when she came in and asked if it was all right to put in the tomatoes before the sausage.  Oh, I hoped that didn't mean what I thought it did. 

"Did you already put the noodles in, and the sausage is raw?"  I asked.

Yes, that is what happened.  How were we supposed to cook the raw sausage and not mush-ify the noodles at the same time?  I told her to spread it all in a baking dish, cover with cheese, and bake it for a long time.  Supper was an hour later, and it was good, and I don't think we'll get worms.  Hooray!

Also, napkins.  I hate using paper towels, since we'd go through ten rolls a week if we used them for napkins.  We could tear them in half, like my grandpa always did, which is a running family joke.  We could use our dish-cloths, but they are ugly and usually mostly need washed at all times anyway.  I especially love to see my offspring using their shirts as a napkin.  Mostly Ivy, but I've seen them all do it to some degree. 

I used this tutorial, the one with un-mitered corners.  Mitered corners are pretty, but square corners are faster for the win.  Thanks to the raw-meat spaghetti, I had enough time to make six napkins:

Notice that I chose dark, busy fabrics.  That's so they won't look gross as quickly as white cloth napkins.  We're realistic around here.

Peach Jam Making Days

 This hasn't been the project of one day, but rather many days of smaller projects.  We picked the peaches about five miles from our house, so yay for local food!  Then we brought them home and got so busy they sat and festered in the dining room because we didn't have room in the fridge for all of them. Finally, I decided they were all going to go bad unless we did something, and SOON.  So, I did all the sturdy survivor-type peaches up into freezer jam, which is awesome because the fruit doesn't get cooked too much, so it's more fresh tasting.

 I worked in a few small batches while other things were going on...one batch was actually made at Mom and Dad's house while we also made supper.  The next two batches I made while Toby made breakfast or lunch.  It turns out, I can make a batch of peach freezer jam in about the time it takes to prepare a meal.  I didn't count exactly, but it seems like I made about sixteen pints, plus two almost-quarts.  We also had some leftovers that were eaten immediately.  Oh, and I gave some away, to Laural, Mom and Dad, and Jerry and Mary. 

 Also, cute pictures of Cora!  And me, with mascara smudges!

Today is a LOOOONG workday, as in, we just bought pizza to keep the kids happy and so we don't have to spend time cooking tonight.  We'll probably work a few more hours before bedtime.  My plan for "changing something that will last" for today?  I will install three switchplate/outlet covers over open electrical fixtures in the bathroom and kitchen.  See?  I'm still going.

Dinosaur teeth.

We can always tell if Cora bit the watermelon.  She has a distinctive bite profile:  two giant teeth on top and two tiny teeth below. I will be a bit sad when this girl's grin becomes more populated. 

She has the most mischievous, nose-wrinkling smile.  I love how her ears flip out at the top.  Her eyes are huge and round, and sometimes I think she is cute because she's a wee bit goofy-looking.  In a wonderful and endearing way, of course.

You know you're an introvert when...

...You're me.  

Toby and I have both had family visiting in the last week.  It was also my Mom's birthday on Saturday.  We have had play dates with two sets of friends and attended a Fourth of July party.  I love all of these people dearly and I'm always glad to see them and spend time with them.   

However, I'd really like some time alone.  I'd also enjoy a day to get my work done, as I can feel the weight of the orders that need to be shipped like a physical pressure on the top of my head.  Other things on my list:  time to make jam out of peaches that are rapidly going spotty and changing my sheets.  

On a happier note, I think we're getting a puppy.  Thats sounds more upbeat, doesn't it?

It Still Counts As Monday, Right?

I am up way too late.

We had a nice visit with BAWb and Amanda tonight and I didn't get much done besides that and work today.  I'm still checking in, but that's about it.

Good night.

Still Moving.

I'm still here and still writing most everyday.  We did a lot of housekeeping yesterday since Josh and Tami came to visit us and watch a Mystery Science Theater episode with us.  PUMAMAN!  It sure was nice to have Liv back from Girls' Camp.  For my project yesterday, I put dirt-catching mats down outside both doors, to keep dirt from coming into the house.  See, Rebecca, I listened!

Today, I am taking a day off.  If I feel like overachieving, I might just change the sheets on my bed because some kid keeps eating toast in here secretly.  MMMMMMmmmm.  Crumby.

Yesterday's Results:

 This is what the north wall of my kitchen looked like before:

 What, you wash the dishes and clean the sink before starting a remodeling project?

The little girls spent an hour finding old clothes they could wear while painting.

 Masonite board in place, pre-painted and needing touched up.  Sink still filthy.  Notice Hollis helping Cora drink from a shamefully large styrofoam cup.

 The kids took turns painting the bare, un-taped sheet rock in this corner with a crappy  little foam brush.  It looked terrible while wet, but surprisingly fine when dry.  I know you're not supposed to just paint it, but it looks a mile better than it did, and I doubt it will ever be finished the right way, so why not make it look pretty anyway?

 Uh, I forgot to take a picture of it all cleaned up, because it hasn't happened yet.  Here's a picture of the boys instead.

How Can I Be Moving So Much...

and not getting much of anywhere?

I'd like to write a long, well-reasoned blog post about why I don't ever seem to get anything done besides the minimum.  Problem is, over-analyzing the situation has got me nowhere, just more frustrated, and more than a bit irritated at others.  So I'm not taking that road today.

Here's the deal:

Each day, I will do at least one thing that will still be there tomorrow. 
It must not be cooking, cleaning dishes, washing laundry, sweeping the floor and the like.  While those things are all well and good, they are fleeting and I'll just have to do them again tomorrow, anyway.

It can take two hours or it can take five minutes, depending on what I've got to give.

I have to write it here on the blog, so I can remember and see what I've been up to.  Pictures optional, but appreciated.

Now I am off to put a masonite backsplash in the kitchen.  It's cheap and won't last forever, but this house's days are numbered anyway.

Bibliophile.

We took the kids to the library on Saturday.  I warmed my nerdy little heart to see how excited they all were to pick out some books.  Hollis wanted some of the Percy Jackson books, Maggie wanted some of the Little House books, Ivy chose two picture books about chickens, and Loch picked books about trains.  Olivia, having her own card, selected five or six young adult books.  I was also like a kid in a candy store, and instead of the two or three books I planned on searching for, I ended up with a pile of my own.

I have been going to the Neosho library since my family moved here when I was seven.  It used to be in an old church building a few blocks from where it is now.  There were always lots of beautiful rose bushes planted out front and all along the side facing the parking lot.  We'd always go in the side door, to the ground-level basement under the ex-sanctuary.  That's where the childrens' section was located.

I spent many, many a happy hour digging through the racks.  I remember the day I discovered that L. M. Montgomery had written more books about Anne.  Oh, happy day!  It was like having my best friend move in next door.  Ironically, as a child, I wasn't as interested in Anne after she married Gilbert and had children, but now those are some of my favorite books in the series.

I must have read Laura Ingalls Wilder's books a hundred times.  Ma and Pa and Laura, Mary, Grace and Carrie were as real to me as my own family.  I loved My Side of the Mountain and The True Adventures of Charlotte Doyle and Charlotte's Web and The Boxcar Children.  I would read anything I could get my hands on. I read books about paper airplanes, the Black Stallion series, Ferdinand the bull, how to make toys out of cardboard boxes, and...you get the picture.

After choosing the books I wanted, we'd take the windy little stairs up to the adult library section, where the checkout desk was located.  Being a former church, it was a big long room that had pendant lights and tall frosted windows.  There were lots of tall racks and dark oak tables and chairs.  Plus, libraries always have those neat round stepstool things, which we were not allowed to play with, even though they looked fun.

I always checked out ten books, the limit on my childrens' library card.  I'd lug the pile out to the car, and then make myself carsick all the way home, schizophrenically trying to read all the books at one time.  It was not unusual for me to work my way through several of the books at once, instead of reading them one at a time.  I'm a binge-reader.  I was always ready and eager to go back to the library and get more books at the end of three weeks.

I now realize how grateful I am to my mom for taking us to the library so often.  Thanks, Mom!

Jumping Right In.

Toby and I have kicked around the idea of having some livestock, but we always get bogged down by business.  If we have to travel to a show, who will care for them?  Our family has been caring for a large half-Siamese, half-fluffy cat for several years, and we've managed him okay.  Maybe, just maybe...later when we're not so busy.

Our family has made several steps toward growing and making more of our food, and procuring it locally whenever possible.  We sound like such yuppies.  What I mean is that I'd rather give my food money to the guy who produced something by the sweat of his brow than to the Walmart corporation, who make money by being Nazis to their employees.

Even better, of course, is to make our own food by the sweat of our brows.  Progress made:  we recently acquired chickens, 25 or 26 of them (they don't hold still, and many look alike).  Now we're discussing finding a dog to protect the chickens.  I've realized that I don't actually dislike dogs, as I previously thought.  I just don't like misbehaved ones.

The thing is, I want a dog that will (non aggressively) scare people who don't belong here, protect kids and chickens, and be laid-back and calm.  Toby's sister has a Great Pyrenees who is a really nice dog.  The larger animal guardian dogs tend to be naturally protective of livestock and gentle with kids.  I hope that we don't manage to find the only one with the temperament of a chihuahua.

It's Late and I'm Tired.

You heard me.  Well, you read me, anyway.

I'm trying hard to keep up the habit of writing, so that it becomes one.  I'm trying fuzzily to think of something...

Toby and the kids and I went to the library yesterday, and I checked out way more books than I planned, as usual.  I have two or three fiction and about six nonfiction.  Cookbooks count as nonfiction, even though I read them like novels.

We worked yesterday on blowing insulation in the attic of the house, so that maybe some of the cold air we're paying to make will stay in the house.  Cellulose insulation is messy and gritty and itchy to install.  Toby climbed up into the attic with the end of the hose, and I opened the bags and fed them into the blower machine.  It only took a couple of hours, and we woke up early to get it done before the day really heated up.   I kept worrying that Toby would pass out up there, I wouldn't realize, and just keep stuffing the machine with more insulation, smothering him.

The playhouse for the kids is nearly done.  Today we hung an old canvas drop cloth over where the roof will be.  It might have walls later, but for now, it's open for any breeze that might happen through. We put an old orange chair in it, and the kids brought out a little table.  They played out there for about an hour, even though it was sweltering.

Next week will be busy.  We've got Girls' Camp, Josh and Tami visiting, 4th July, lots of orders to make and ship, and a birthday barbecue for Toby's brother.  I should sleep.

Crippled by Perfection.

Our family has had this inside joke for years.  We call someone "crippled by perfection."  It means a person who is so concerned that things won't be just so when a project is done that they never start it.  Now that I have my eye out for it, this is something I see people do all the time.  It is definitely an issue for me at times.

I recently had to teach a lesson at church and I can't remember anything else about it (post-traumatic stress), except this quote:  "Anything worth doing is worth doing well....FALSE.   Anything worth doing well is worth doing badly at first."

I hate making or doing something that I feel is substandard.  If I decide to play around with a new skill, I will spend hours, days, weeks researching it.  I'll obsess about which way is the best way to do whatever it is, weighing options, trying to avoid failure.  In the meantime, what have I accomplished?  Not much.  At some point, abstract knowledge isn't enough.

When I was a kid, I would watch my Grandma make pies.  She was a master of the art of pie-making.  She learned through trial by fire.  Back in the day, the threshing crews would travel around and spend a few days at each farm, threshing all the wheat.   This meant the farm wife had a huge crew of hungry men to cook for each day.  In addition to a huge spread of good home cooked everything, she would make several different kinds of pie, because hungry men like pie.

I would sit and watch her sifting a pile of flour onto the cutting board, adding salt and then cutting shortening into it.  She'd add just the right amount of ice water, toss it all together and roll it out into a smooth perfect disc.  Every pie tin was filled with dough and given a delicate fluted edge.  Each move was easy and swift, because she'd been doing it so long that she didn't have to think about the mechanics anymore.  It looked effortless. I didn't ever try to help her, but I felt like I knew how to make pie.  After all, I had watched hundreds of pies be made, right?

I didn't try to make pie myself until after Grandma wasn't around to advise me.  When I did try,  oh, was that a rude awakening.  I made crumbly pellets that wouldn't roll out.  I made sticky gummy messes.  I realized that I had not, in fact, been lucky enough to learn pie skills by simple osmosis.  Alas.

I need to give myself a break and realize that learning is as admirable as perfection.  It is comforting to think that more knowledge will guarantee a more favorable result, but past a certain point there is no substitute for actual, real-world experience.  I'm trying to remember this, even if it's just as simple as thinking "What can I do in fifteen minutes that I've been meaning to do forever?"

This weekend I printed, framed, and hung two pictures on our family picture wall, and started painting some board to put up for backsplash in the kitchen.  They are not perfect, but done is better than perfect.

Writing Every Day

It's time for me to face the fact that I'll be far more successful journaling online than I have ever been on paper.  As part of my continuing effort to do SOMETHING that will be here tomorrow, to show for today, I'm making it a goal to blog daily.  I apologize in advance for over-sharing and run-on sentences.  Possibly also for excessive use of parenthesis and dashes and ellipses.

We had friends over for supper tonight and they were kind enough to bring the food, so all we had to do was be presentable.  We failed  a bit.  The air conditioner/furnace went out on us today, and we spent all day scrambling to find a temporary fix. I should mention that it has been in the very upper 90s for a week and will be at least that hot for a week more.

 Our guests arrived just as Toby was trying to rinse the dirt out of a borrowed AC window unit and dropped it, slashing his fingers on the sheet metal housing.  Our dining room table was covered with debris from when he brought the beast into the house, only to realize it was dirty and take it out again.

I was standing in the bathroom, putting on makeup when he stepped into the room with an ominous look on his face and a towel wrapped around his hand.  That is never a good sign.  He said he'd cut his fingers up and maybe broken the air conditioner, too.  I calmly finished putting on my makeup because freaking out wouldn't have helped much.  Besides, if we were going to have to get it stitched, I didn't want to look like white trash.  I contemplated if our guests were going to be willing to watch kids for us if we had to visit the Emergency Room.

Luckily, it was just a flesh wound.  One that made me cringe to look at.  In fact, my toes are curling now writing about it.  As a woman who married a man who does lots of manly dangerous sharp and hurty things, I should be used to it.  Three months before we were married, he lopped the corners off two of his fingers in a power miter box building houses with his dad.  He once mangled the pad of his thumb enough that I'm not sure there's a fingerprint left on it.  What I'm trying to say is that Toby is used to getting hurt, and seeing blood.  

All was well with some super glue holding the wound shut.  No ER visit today. We managed to take a deep breath and enjoy supper and a visit. Now it's bedtime, and the AC in the dining room window is happily whirring away.  Somewhere, our electric company is smiling.

Three, sir!

This little guy turned three.  Let's see what Loch is up to these days, shall we?

You are my only snuggler.  All the other kids were too interested in thrashing around and running off to really cuddle.  You are a master at sitting down in my lap with a contented-puppy wiggle.  Then you'll gaze up soulfully at my with your big blue eyes and flutter your amazing eyelashes.  You are a major flirt.  How can I say no to that?

You love Thomas, but you also love anything that moves on wheels, and all types of tools.  Your favorite thing in the whole wide world is to help Dad fix something.  For your birthday, we got you a big red toolbox with a tiny wrench, screwdrivers, tape measure, hammer and wee drill.  All day, you would answer questions  by making sounds with the drill.  It speaks for you now.



I had the idea of letting you pick out a can of spray paint at the hardware store to personalize all your tools and make them your own.  You picked white, of all colors.  Today, Aunt Laural asked what color cake you'd like...white.  Frosting color....white.  Grandma happened to have bought vanilla ice cream, so that was white, too.  I guess you're having a "white album" kind of birthday.

You are very particular about how you think the world should be.  You CAN NOT handle when things don't turn out as you expected.  There are lots of meltdowns some days.  However, when things work out as you hoped, you can be transcendently happy and busy for a long time.  I look forward to appreciating your tenacity later. 



You are getting much more understandable at speaking.  We've been working a lot at getting you to open your mouth, instead of just whining with it closed.  I've joked that if we were like the hippies and let a kid name himself at three, your name would be "UUUUUuuuuhhhhhhhhmmmmmmm.

You like to have clothes on, also unusual in our family.  For a long time, you got very upset if we didn't have shoes and socks on you.  You love to pick out the clothing you're going to wear, and when I get you dressed (and you like how it looks and feels), you always run off to show Dad or the older kids how nice you look.  You don't like shorts, for some reason.  Every time I try to put them on you, you whimper and tug at the hems, endeavoring to put them in the rightful place at ankle level.  Sweatpants are wrong, too, because they might hitch up over your calves and stay there...the horror!



You have a funny way of looking at things.  Example:  One day for breakfast, Toby was making you some toast, and you kept asking for something to go with it, and he couldn't tell what you were saying. He finally realized you were requesting "toast-top."  (Butter).  Guess what we call butter at our house, now.  You like to talk about how the ticks want to suck the juice out of you.

Little Loch, you have a lot of nicknames.  We call you the little boy, Lockin, Lockerbee,  and Loch Ness Monster (my personal favorite).  You are a perplexing mix of laser-beam focus, hair-trigger emotions, and endless sweetness.  We are lucky to have you and can't wait to meet whoever you will be every day.

Goals: I have them.

In spite of haunting the internet daily, I have left behind few traces on this blog.  Life has been very real around here lately.  Do I make the laundry list of what we've been up to? Unfortunately, it's pretty mundane after considering the oddity of making corsets for a living.  Since school is out, Liv asks almost every morning what we're doing that day, and the answer is almost always the same:  working.

I've decided I'd like to have something to remember the time by, instead of just knowing that we made it through in a blur of business...busy-ness, I mean.  We are up to a few other things at this time.  Remember previously when I said we were trying hard to eat better food?  I'd say we have been mildly successful.  We planted three or four times the garden this year than ever before. We have had lettuce, mesclun, spinach, radishes, peas, asparagus, and beans already.  All of those are either gone or need to be pulled out since they're not handling the heat well (aside from the asparagus, we're not THAT clueless).  We are waiting on the tomatoes to really start ripening, and have a few cucumbers, squash and peppers that are growing nicely but not producing yet.  There are onions that we pull up as needed, too.

I like having a garden.  I feel it represents visually and culinarily the work we've done to have it.  I like going out in the mornings and seeing what's up, what's edible, and what requires water.  In fact, it would be perfectly idyllic to check on the plants each morning if there weren't so many invisible ninja thistles scattered throughout the yard, or if I'd wear shoes.  Blasted thistles.

We've had baby chicks for a week today as well.  We bought fifteen meat birds and ten egg-laying types.  So far, so good.  Toby built a nice safe little coop for them to be in while they're little, with an attached yard for when they get a bit bigger.  Ultimately, we plan to make portable shelters for them, so that they can be moved each day and eat tons of bugs and grass.

The kids love catching grasshoppers and feeding them to the chicks.  Ivy will spend hours doing it, or just watching them through the wire-mesh ventilation holes in the sides of the coop.  The chicks are trained, Pavlov-style, to expect food when they see her.  I'd been a bit worried about the kids getting all attached to these fluffy little birds and not wanting to eat them, but considering how bloodthirsty they all are feeding them bugs, I don't think that will be a problem when the time comes.

I have been reading tons of books by Joel Salatin, who raises pastured poultry, pork and beef.  He is a vocal advocate of local food from sustainable farming practices.  Add to the mix a distrust and disgust for the whole industrial farming/huge corporation/government subsidies/junk food quadfecta (like a trifecta, right?), and you have us baby-stepping our way out of the system.  Oh yeah, it also appeals to my control-freak streak.

Next, I plan  to work on getting more hot weather things planted in the garden and possibly getting some other livestock.  I'd love to rehab our fields and we need something grazing and pooping out there  to do it.  I think sheep would be interesting, a bit cheaper than cows, and safer around the kids, but that's still in the brainstorming phase.  Now lets see if I can keep up with all of it while recording it here online.  Maybe with pictures, even.

My friend Rebecca, from Marvelous Pigs in Satin, nominated me for a blog award, so here I go with my Q and A. 

The Questions: (which I totally changed, via permission to break the rules above)

1. What is your Favorite color?  
Definitely green.  It's the color of trees and grass and life and happy.  I have to limit myself so my wardrobe is not entirely green and black.  It's a good thing I also love orange and blue and yellow and red and brown and sometimes pink.  I was once called a Circus Goth. 

2. What is your favorite animal? 
Hmm.  Hard to say.  I'm probably more of a cat person than a dog person.  I like that cats have a sense of dignity and reserve.  I like knowing that you have earned a cat's regard.  I have met some very nice dogs, but I mostly think of dogs as slobbering for attention while they jump up on you or pee themselves out of sheer excitement.  Dogs try too hard.  Also, barking is obnoxious.

I'd like to have chickens and cows, but mostly so I can eat them.

3.What is your favorite non-alcoholic drink? 
I love hot tea.  Rooibos is a great substitute for the black (camellia sinensis) of my youth.  I found a great recipe for chai tea latte concentrate about three days before the weather warmed up for good.
I do miss coffee sometimes, but I remember it rarely tasted as good as it smelled. 

4.  Do you prefer British or American television?
Oh, British all the way.  UK Top Gear is seriously funny and I don't even care about cars.  I love Black Adder and Mr. Bean, and the old Monty Python show.  I'm an Anglophile all the way.

5.  Do you like Post-it Notes?  
 Yeah, I like them. I don't use them very often, though.  Toby did find a program that allows us to put post-it notes onto our computer screen, to remind us of things.  It's very handy, and we can't lose them. 
Right now, I have one with a list of books to look for at the library.

5. What's your passion? 

I'd like to know.  I think at this stage,  I'm just trying to keep up with life.  Hopefully by the time I have a minute to think about it, I'll  have more of an idea.

6. What’s your favorite pattern?
 I'm going to take pattern both ways.

My favorite pattern is the Steampunk Torian, by Damsel In This Dress.  (It's my sister-in-law's company and we have sort of a Midwest franchise).  I like how this pattern is long and curvy and makes me appear long and curvy, too.  Buttons and trim remind me of my band geek days.

My favorite pattern is paisley, but I also love stripes...and polka dots...and plaid...and florals...and damask.  I like patterns. 

7. What movies could you watch over and over again and still love?
The Princess Bride
Star Wars, The Empire Strikes Back, Return of the Jedi
Napoleon Dynamite
Pride and Prejudice (Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth, please.)
The Quiet Man
Young Frankenstein

8. What’s your favorite number?
42.   It's the answer to life, the universe, and everything. 

9. Favorite day of the week?
Saturday.  We don't usually have to get anyone to anywhere or be dressed or on time.  The kids are home, and we can go or stay as we please.  Isn't it everyone's favorite?

10.  Favorite Flower? 
Mock orange.  It's a shrub that blooms in the spring at my grandparents' house, and it smells AMAZING. 




I was supposed to nominate others, but that's a rule I'm prepared to break.  I ruin it for everyone.

Seven Years of Margaret.

Maggie just turned seven.
Here goes:

I named you Margaret, after my grandma.  She was always violently opposed to "Maggie" as a nickname.  But somehow, it just seemed to fit you, Maggie.  In my head, Margaret is my grandma, and Maggie is my little girl.  Grandma, I hope you understand.

You love babies.  When Loch was a tiny little crawling boy, you hurt yourself somehow, and we found you both on the bed crying.  You had decided you wanted to cuddle him so you would feel better, and he disagreed.


You were so excited to have Cora for our new little baby.  For weeks after she was born, I would wake up with you standing by the side of the bed, just looking at her with a huge smile on your face.  You love to hold her and play with her.  She will play with you longer than any of the other younger kids in our family.

You are tiny.  In our family of hobbit children, even. 


You are very serious.  It's hard to get you to show affection if you don't feel like it.  Since you got it from me, I do understand.

You are photogenic.  You love the camera  and it loves you back.  We have tons of pictures of you with a perfect smile and dainty pose.

You are strawberry blond, with a teeny bit of henna help.  The first time I did henna on your hair, I left it in a little too long, and it was ORANGE.  Your teacher this year told me that last year you hadn't ever said a word to her, but on that day you bounced up to her and said:  "My mom tie-dyed my hair!"


You are the girl that broke my pink phobia.  You love to look girly.  When in doubt, I can always make you happy with something pink and fluffy or sparkly.

Toby overheard this a couple of years ago:  While you were all playing, Hollis mentioned that Pluto was no longer considered a planet.  You blurted out incredulously, "WHAT?!?"

You're a wee bit morbid.  Once you asked if we could listen to "Dead Puppies" because you just saw a dead dog on the road. 


Oh, man.  Those little orange cat-eye glasses slay me every time I look at you.   They go so perfectly with your round earnest little face and big tilted blue eyes.


Maggie you're sweet and funny and quietly complicated.  You're a super-smart girl who loves to help out, and I'm glad we have you.  You also give your mom strength to know that very fussy babies grow up into really awesome kids.

Back to Basics.

When I was a kid, I loved the "Little House" books by Laura Ingalls Wilder.  Heck, I still love them.  Little nerdy me thought it was amazing was how resourceful and capable Laura's family were.  They knew how to provide for themselves everything they needed, except for a few tools, fabric, and sugar.  In the middle of nowhere and need a house?  Pa had one built in a couple of weeks.  I loved watching Ma make cheese.  Laura's descriptions are so good, I think you could use her books as a basic pioneer guidebook in a pinch.  

Let's just say that I have a healthy streak of DIY wannabe in me.  Another thing I loved reading as a kid was a Readers' Digest book called "Back to Basics."  Here's a link to the cover I remember. 
It was big collection that told you "How to learn and enjoy traditional American skills."  Published in 1981, it had a two-page spread on just about every subject a back-to-the-land hippie could want:  passive solar building, raising each type of livestock, making maple syrup, wilderness survival, quilting...  It was kind of a visual companion to the "Little House" books.  


I spent hours reading about all these things, but as a nine or ten year old, there wasn't much I could actually do about any of the information.  My Grandma taught me sewing and quilting, I watched Dad make bread once,  and Laural and I tried to do all the steps of the Cat's Cradle game.  But I mostly dreamed of all these things in abstract, and only did them in my head.  


Once I was married, I still had homesteader leanings.  I liked cooking because I like eating.  I'd make bread for us occasionally.  Toby worked all the time, and I was going to school and working at the observatory, so there wasn't much time.  Then I was pregnant with Olivia.  I made two little green and blue plaid and flannel blankets with my mother-in-law's sewing machine.  I didn't know if the baby was a boy or a girl, but I had pink issues at that time.  Everyone thought she was a boy for about a year.


Then I gave up on school for a while, and concentrated on being a stay at home mom.  I made food from scratch, baked bread, made yogurt.  I even made soymilk once, just to see if I could.  I made cheese a few times.  I've always been willing to put in some extra time for food that tastes really good.


I also liked making things, especially for the kids.  I sewed lots of things for them because kids clothes are cute and don't take too much fabric, and sew up quickly.  Plus, if something is a little wonky, it still looks cute on a neverendingly moving child.  I experimented with cloth diapers when Ivy was a baby and Maggie was a toddler.  Lucy and Rebecca and I made diapers on many Hen Days, and they were cute and awesome. 

I tried just about every thing I could think of that would help us save money and be more self-sufficient.  Some of it worked, and some of it didn't.  I was proud of doing things myself, and I felt sad for women who worked all the time and didn't have time do these things to take care of their families.  We had Hollis, then Maggie, then Ivy. 



Enter Damsel In This Dress.  Toby and I started making corsets full-time about four years ago.  Wait, was I a working mom?  That term is ridiculous, by the way.  All moms work.  A LOT.  Anyway, then I was pregnant with Lochlan.  After he was born, I had lots of postpartum depression issues for several months.  I could barely take care of the baby and a minimal amount of chores, and that was it.  


I stopped baking.  I gave away the cloth diapers.  We started eating out sometimes, when I was just too overwhelmed to cook.  I'd look forward to when I was done working so I could do something else productive.  By the time I took care of the baby and kept clothes and dishes washed and everyone was fed, it was past bedtime and I was cranky and done.  We were in survival mode all the time.

I'm declaring war on survival mode.  Step one:  I'm getting back into cloth diapers.  We're trying cotton and wool this time, as the synthetic fabrics were hard to clean in our front-loader and gave the kids rashes.  I'm so tired of my bedroom smelling like stale diapers and throwing away a trash bag full of diapers every week.

Other changes we're trying to make soon:  buying local food, baking bread, sending school lunches, growing a better garden, and getting chickens.  I anticipate this being both stressful and hilarious.  I'll try to post often so you can enjoy the pain.

It's Ivy's Turn...Finally.

I had the best of intentions to make a list of the things Ivy is doing right now, just like I did for Livvie.  Then I thought I didn't want to do them one day apart, even though their birthdays are one day apart.  Then we got busy with a million orders, packing for Utah, Christmas, and whatnot.  Now it's WEEKS later.  Now I'm going to do it.

Here are some memories and some current events.

Little "I:"

You are hilarious.

You have had the most amazing and infectious belly laugh since you were only a few months old.  When I was working for Michelle and had to breastfeed you while wearing a bodice, you laughed like a maniac the whole time because you thought it was funny.

I took you to the bathroom at the grocery store a few days ago, and the dryer was one of the ones that is so strong it makes a divot in the skin on your hands where it is blowing.  You kept putting your face under the airflow and laughing maniacally.  Toby was in line to pay for our food and said that everyone in the store could hear you.  They were all smiling.

You are very maternal, but in odd ways.  You love to play with babies, but not dolls.  Your babies are frogs, dinosaurs, and lizards.  You once attempted to breastfeed a toad.

You love animals.  You've begged us for several months for a pet frog, snake or turtle.  I think you'd be disappointed to find that you couldn't carry any of these creatures around in your pocket all day every day.  When we have water in the tiny pond at the front of our house, you'll spend all day catching and releasing tadpoles.

You have crazy hair.  It is light brown and fine and it is very susceptible to static electricity.  We are only now letting it grow longer because it would get bigger, but not longer.  It was Einstein hair.   Sometimes we brush your hair, sometimes we don't.  It all looks the same in ten minutes anyway.  I feel like it's a visual reminder of who you are.  There was a Far Side cartoon about ways nature says "Do Not Touch."  It's like that.

You are unique.  Very unique.  In our family, the boys look very similar, but with different coloring.  Mag and Liv look very similar, and Cora looks just like they did.  You...don't look like anyone else.  You've got my hair and eye color, but in a pointy little elfin face.  We know you're from the same batch, but you're just Ivy.  We can't pin down who you look like.

You are majorly wiggly.  You can move your skinny little body in ways that seem impossible.  Usually these ways involve being upside-down with your panties showing.  We mark every day by the amount of time it takes before we see Ivy's upside-down bum in the air.  (That sounds creepy, but it's not.  We are working on this before she goes to school.)

You are not shy at all.  Once in the checkout line at the store, you looked at the cashier and chirped "Hi, my name is Ivy, and I'm not a bit afraid of you!"  Even compared to Livvie, you are gregarious.  One of your great-uncles asked to hold you in Utah, probably expecting you to decline like our other kids would have.  Instead, you rocketed into his arms, chatted him up, and unzipped his jacket.  The whole while, he was juggling you like you were a little monkey and he had food hidden on him somewhere.

I can't remember if we invented the term "afflictionate" for you.  You are.  You used to spend hours asking Toby a question, then pinching his lips shut so he couldn't answer you.  You don't snuggle, you waller.  You seem to always be pushing the boundary of the acceptable.  Is that annoying?  What about that?  Is it annoying now? 

You like to mess with people.  Loch, especially.  When we took you for kindergarten screening and they asked you to name the color of different objects, you said:  "I can't say yellow."  You also told them your last name was Doodle.  That's probably our fault, since we call you "Ivy Doodle" all the time.  Michelle's kids call you "Even Ivy."  Your other nicknames are Ivysaurus Rex, Iveline, Ivy Nadel, and Ivy B.  Also, sometimes, "The Evil I."

You are happy almost all the time, and we love the excitement that you bring to our house.  Stay crazy, little girl.