How NOT to go camping with the McDonalds.

Pack four hours for a 24 hour getaway.
Wash and dry all your sleeping bags.
Discover that the cooler wasn't washed properly last time we used it.
Wash the death-smell out of the cooler.
Set tent up in yard, to see if it is still in one piece.  It is.
Realize an hour later that the wind blew said tent over and broke one of the fiberglass poles.
Toby fixes tent pole with a layer of duct tape, a layer of cable ties, and another layer of duct tape.
Leave three hours later than expected.
Realize the car is nearly out of gas, so stop to fill up, making everyone even later, if possible.
Drive for one hour, with kids asking when we'll be there.  How is this still annoying, having been asked so many times?
Try to find a cool spot in the nearly-empty campground.
Park in one, and realize that it's right next to a tiny cemetery.  Awesome!  No really, goth camping!
Realize that the super-cool goth spot is reserved.
Find another two campsites adjacent to one another.
Set up tent in the dark.
Make hamburgers.  With no salt.  Because we forgot that, too.
Enjoy salt-free hamburgers, because food always tastes better outdoors.
Walk a half-mile to the bathroom, where a giant hairy spider awaits.
Realize that we forgot the bag with sunblock, toothbrushes, and toiletries.
Figure out where kids all want to sleep.  Change arrangements a billion times.
Give up and go to bed at about ten thirty(crappy air mattress).
Enter possibly gay rednecks from nearby campsite.  With ZZ Top's Greatest (and Most Obnoxious) Hits.
Listen to them repeat the CD of the Apocalypse infinitely, while popping open many beers.
For about THREE HOURS.
Wish for death.
And again.
Cheer inwardly when Lynn finally asks them to turn down their music.
Sleep for fifteen minutes.
Thunderstorm.  No, really.
Get soaked when the rain cover blows off the tent.
Feed Loch in the car while Toby fixes it.
Wait to be struck by lightning.
Decide to die with the rest of the family,
Try to find one scrap of blanket to cover up with that isn't sopping wet.  There are none.
Feed Loch, try to sleep.  Try to lay him down.  Fail.  Repeat until sunrise.
Pass out for two hours, while everyone else makes/eats breakfast.
Bacon and sausage and pancakes do make the whole thing seem worth it.
Let kids play in the lake, about forty feet from our campsite.
Count to five, to make sure they haven't drowned.  Repeat every two minutes for the rest of the day.
Eat way too much food.  Jello salad:  not a salad.  But good, anyway.
Get into bathing suit.  Play in water with kids for a couple of hours.
Have legs nibbled painfully by stupid fish.
Try not to think about how many corpses have been dumped in lakes, historically.
Put sunblock on, trying to counteract farmer tan.  (Bad idea.  Now instead of brown and white, I'm brown and red).
Walk a half mile to the bathroom.
Drink a bee out of a can of Coke.
Play tag with campfire smoke and chair placement.
Walk a half mile to the bathroom.
Pack everything up again, discovering bag with sunblock and toothbrushes.  It took longer than that, but I'm tired of typing.
Go home, ignore the fact that I need to wash and dry the sleeping bags again.
Fall asleep at eight.
Promise with self never to go camping again.

Different Worlds

There was a bit of an altercation today in the sewing room.  I was working and talking to Toby, and Olivia was coating the ends of the boning for me.  She calmly said to me:

"Mom, did you know you have a spider on your back?"

People who have no phobias don't understand that it doesn't give you enough time for rational thought, or a decision-making process.  I didn't say to myself, hey, let's ride this one out and see how HUGE that spider on my back might be.   No.  HECK NO!

I brushed my back frantically, then whipped my shirt off.  Sweet, huh?  Very cool.  Then Toby said I should have stood still and let him get it off me.  The problem is, I have no idea if we were talking about a little harmless spider or one like in this post.

Let's just say my knee-jerk reaction wasn't going to let me stick around to find out.  Huzzah for an impromptu strip-tease to break up the monotony of the workday, though.

Country Road, Take Me Home.

Tonight, I was driving the back roads, picking Liv up from a girls' fishing activity for church.  I passed a little red-dirt road named Raven, and was lost in memory.

Senior year, my Chemistry teacher nominated me for some science-y award at the local junior college.  I don't remember why I was driving myself, as I rarely did so, but I was in my Grandpa's car.  I have pictures somewhere of that evening, smiling next to Mrs. Gillispie, me with crazy hair and a tie-dyed button-up shirt that was about six sizes too big.

When the ceremonies were over, I drove home.   I'd always loved knowing my way around the back roads of the area, having been driven over them most of my life.  If I didn't know where a road came out, I'd give it a try and then drive until I knew where I was again.  So, I didn't take the main highway home, but instead chose take a shortcut that was more scenic.

Oh, Raven!  What a cool name for a road.  I wondered where it came out at the other end.   I'd headed home sooner than I'd expected, it wasn't dark yet, and I thought I'd check it out.

The road started fairly respectably, but soon narrowed to two graveled ruts with thick grass growing between them.  Even worse, we'd had rain recently, and the road was increasingly sloppy and muddy.

You know that feeling, when you start to realize you've made a terrible mistake?  And then you think you'll just keep going, because it'll probably get better in just a bit?  Yeah.

Soon, the mud gave way to monstrous puddles, and the car was stuck.  I'm talking REALLY stuck, in water that was coming into the floorboards a little.  Pa-Pa always took good care of his car, he even kept it in a garage with a cover on it.  Now I'd gone and mired it in the middle of nowhere, and I was starting to panic.  No one knew where I was, and would think to look for me in this place.  I was all alone, and not many people had cell phones at the time.  Oh, crap.

So I did what I could.  I carried my shoes and waded to the edge of the puddle.  I didn't remember any friendly seeming houses for a good while back the way I'd come in, so I kept going the way I was headed.  The strappy sandals I'd bought for Prom were not built for walking and I ended up carrying them.

Finally, an intersection.  I knew where I was!  I made it to my friend Ann's house, and shyly knocked on the door.  I will never forget how nice they all were to me, and be grateful all the rest of my days.  But wait, there's more.

Ann's Dad took us back with his tractor, to pull the car free.  Apparently, the desolate-looking road had been noticed by other dumb teenagers, and deemed the perfect drunken-fighting-fornicating party location.  We had to cross through all of them to get the car out.  The atmosphere was just, for lack of a better term, evil.

At last, we were free!  I thanked my rescuers profusely, and headed home.  I'd neglected to call my family because I was distracted about getting the car, and probably delaying the retribution as long as possible.  And, oh, there was retribution!  Mom was starting to worry that I'd eloped with Toby.  It was not a happy evening at home that night.  And Pa-Pa's car always smelled a little bit funny after that night, too.

Not for Arachnophobes.

This was in my bedroom.  IN. MY. BEDROOM.

Please don't hold me responsible for jitters, heeby-jeebies, freak-outs, strong men weeping, wailing, gnashing of teeth, incontinence, girly screaming, etc....

I warned you.

Post Name or Something.

We are slowly making progress toward moving into our new house. We're down to finishing a few things in each room, and then time to pack up our belongings and go.
Vea has graciously traded tomorrow's Hen Day to me, so we can all work together to make it so.

Last week, I was tired and worn out and kind of resented the time-suck the Ivy House has become. We have decided it's neat enough and sturdy enough to live in indefinitely, so we're trying hard to finish things before moving. We've learned the very long and hard way that it's much harder to work on any home improvement projects while occupying said home.

Some projects have dragged on past funny. I'm talking to YOU, sanding the wood floors. Some projects have popped up unexpectedly, like hanging new sheetrock on the dining room and bedroom ceilings. Mostly, it's just lots of work and not enough time. I spend a lot of time half-handedly trying to accomplish something while Loch hangs from my hip.

Today, I walked around the house and fell in love with the place again. The setting is lovely, in a little cup of a valley with a nice mix of run-down fields and trees. All the leaves are coming out, and when the sun warms up, everything smells green and wonderful. I inherited two lilac bushes, and roses, and four fruit trees of some kind. Out behind the tumble-down shed, there are wild blackberry bushes with tiny nubs of green berries already growing.

Toby and I used to discuss our ideal "dream property." Our wish list included rolling hills, big trees, a few acres for kids to run, seclusion, location near both sets of parents. We have everything we wanted, and more. I must remember that, when I get impatient. This will be a great place for us all to play and grow up.

Did I mention that Sunday,the kids spent HOURS outside playing? How awesome is that?

Lost.

Last night, our family attended the ward's Blue and Gold Banquet for Scouting.  Hollis will turn eight and be a Cub Scout next fall, but I'm the member of the Primary Presidency that's responsible for overseeing Scouting now.  The leaders asked us to judge cakes that each family made for the 100th birthday of Boy Scouting in America.

The night started off without a hitch.  We ate good food and watched them hand out awards to the boys who earned them.  We judged the cakes and gave out funny prizes for everyone.  The kids played more or less quietly with the piles of blue and yellow balloons that were all over the cultural hall.

Suddenly, I couldn't see Ivy anywhere.  Toby and I both went into the halls to look for her.  We ran all over the church, checking the bathrooms, the nursery, her Sunday classroom, anywhere she might have gone.  Each time our paths crossed, Toby's face looked a little more sick, and I knew mine was the same.

Where could she have gone?  Surely not outside by herself?  Did I remember hearing the doors to outside open and close a minute before?  I ran into the parking lot, no longer trying to be quiet.

"IVY!"  "IVY!"  It was dark and quiet.  I ran all around the building to make sure she wasn't out there. 

Back into the church.  I found Toby again, and he hadn't found her, either.  I was beginning to panic.  Did she wander off, or did someone take her?  I couldn't even begin to think of the possibilities.  We finally agreed to go disrupt the show, and get everyone present looking for Ivy.  I stood out in the hallway, trying not to be sick.

"Found her!"  Toby called back out the doorway of the cultural hall.  When he'd gone back in to raise the alarm, he found her sitting at our empty table, placidly eating her dessert.  She must have been under our table, or one of the other ones.  She probably never left the room.

Now, I've only seen this happen in movies, but did you know that massive relief can make you weak and dizzy?  I had to go sit down.

I'm Too Lazy to Name This.

Dishwasher:  broken.

Dishes:  filthy and all over.

Clothes:  dirty and clean mingling everywhere in unfolded piles.

Kids:  barely in bed, an hour late.

House:  cold.

Mom:  sick and cranky.

A typical day.

A Letter to Loch.

Dear sweet little boy:

First, we're all very happy to have you here, and we can't imagine life without you.  You are a source of cuteness and joy in all our lives.

But you are incapable of sleep, and that is really starting to grind us down.  Mom, especially, is weary of feeding you several hours straight at night to keep you from screaming.  The problem is, she can't fully sleep when you are eating, because she has to make sure you remain attached and happy.  Your Dad is tired of having you shoved at him at five AM, with Mom saying she needs SOME sleep before morning.  We're exhausted with the two hours of screaming this then entails.

Last night sucked.  It wasn't all your fault, since Olivia began the festivities with vomiting.  Then the crankiness began as soon as our heads hit the pillow.  We all said things we didn't mean to each other.  You scratched Mom's face and pinched her chest.  Your parents may have told you to just shut up and go to sleep.  Not anyone's finest hour.

I'd also like to address the daytime behavior.  You are happy if one of us holds you, or you are nursing.  Please be informed that this is not healthy for the family income, your chances of attending college, your Mom's sanity, or your physical development.  Studies have shown that nine times out of ten, when Mom picks a fight with Dad, you have been crying.  Give her a break, she's got issues.

Remember a few weeks ago, when you had naps during the day, and slept at night?  By the way, this means a nap longer than ten minutes, preferably more than once a day.  Remember happily watching Mom and Dad work for minutes at a time from the safety of your swing?  Remember lying on a blanket, exercising your little round body and playing "Catch Those Toes?"  Let's see more of that, please.

Love,  your parents.

What's Going On?

I've been quite restless about the fact that even though breastfeeding *supposedly* uses five hundred calories a day, I am pretty much stuck weighing five pounds more than I did before the Loch-pregnancy. Okay, I've actually been restless about a lot of things, but I can't control any of the others much.

I've been faithfully working out on the treadmill for about two and a half weeks and keeping track of my "progress" with a free online fitness journal. I've lost, then regained, then lost again, about two pounds. I'm trying to motivate myself with things like more energy, less depression, etc... It's mostly vanity.

I checked my measurements for the first time since starting, and there is a difference. My bum is about an inch and a half smaller. Bust, an inch smaller. Thighs, also an inch smaller. Waist? No change. Just the flippin' place where I need to lose weight the most. I'm already shaped like the ice cream cone above, if it looked like it had also gestated five kids. Also, it's half Nutella-flavored, just like me.

Where does that leave me? Holding my pants up with a belt, and worried that if I lose more weight, I might not be able to sell corsets anymore, if you know what I mean. I knew I'd been working hard, but was not aware that I've literally been working my a** off.

Lucky to Have a Home.

Last weekend, we visited Toby's parents for a few hours on Sunday. Upon returning, the house smelled a bit funny. I mean, different from the normal urine and spilled milk. Toby went upstairs to put the kids to bed and found.....

This.

And This.

I hate to place blame undeserved, which is why I'm blaming this little girl.

Sure, she looks defenseless and covered with cake and sweet and sleepy and naked. That's her defense mechanism, the cuteness. She apparently turned on one of our photography lights, which was moved close to the mannequin. Also, right underneath this fire hazard was a box full of shredded paper that had been a packing box for some supplies. One tiny drop of hot flaming plastic mannequin....use your imagination. I know I did.

Guess if we lock the door to the sewing room when we're not in there? We do now.

Another Hen Day.

We went to Vea's today, with the goal of making duct-tape mannequins of two of us. I'm trying to be non-specific, since it is kind of embarrassing to have one's form lovingly swathed in shiny gray duct tape. We had a great time and ate some tasty pizza and laughed hysterically about how goofy it all was.

The hens encouraged me to share this story with you on the internets, since they enjoyed it so. Enjoy the suffering, shall we?

We have massive amounts of trouble getting Eldest to keep track of...anything. I know most parents think their kids are forgetful and disorganized, but seriously, folks: I feel hopeless.

She has:

Lost a SHIRT at school. (As in, one she was wearing that day.)

Broken one pair of glasses. (I'm surprised it's only one so far.)

Left her socks and shoes and coat and a book and a pillow and whatever else in the car all the time.

Been the center of a concerted effort on the part of her teacher and myself in making sure she writes in her planner every day, so I know about homework.

Left any number of valuables/horribles in her pockets so they were ruined/ruined other things in the washer. MP3 player, gum, candy, loose change, earphones, key chains, the list continues.

Spent the night at a friend's house, and todayI got the returned bag of forgotten items: shoes, flashlight key chain, and pajamas. Only that?

Don't even get me started about missing homework, lost library books, AWOL jackets, and lost socks/shoes (socks and shoes should be illegal until a kid is 18). Who the crap makes these things in pairs, so that you have to find not one, but TWO items every time kids need to look cared-for?

Have I painted the picture for you?

Last night, we visited my family, and I had the kids bring their homework. Scratch that. I told them to bring their homework, but we had to turn around halfway and come back for it. Homework was duly done, and when it was time to go, the kids gathered up their stuff and we headed for the car.

As we backed out of the driveway, Mom called us back, and Liv ran to the house to get her math homework. Then, when we got home, the same homework was kicked out onto the driveway, and Toby reminded her to get it. Crisis averted? Not even.

Today, when I was leaving for Hen Day, guess what was fluttering around the entry? Math homework. Also? In the Car? Math book. Correct me if I'm crazy, but I think at least two golden opportunities to put both in the backpack were missed.

I pause here to request a prayer, for patience, for me. Because my kids are giving me Tourette's.