As I ponder the thought of disregarding lawn work for up to four years, it makes me feel an edenic peace. Don’t get me wrong, I like my lawn to match the height of my neighbors, which honestly is the only thing that keeps me mowing it. I used to sweat and labor over keeping mine shortest first so the neighbors had to keep up with me, but that ship has sailed. We all agreed this summer we would mow once a week. I may even be stretching it to once every ten days.
When I was a kid, I never mowed the lawn. There were certain people in my family who commandeered the task and I was happy to avoid it. But when hubby started working overtime and the kids got older, I had no excuse to avoid it any longer. That thing is more temperamental than a woman…well you know. I get all suited up, ipod in pocket, nasty shoes on, and the darn thing won’t start for me. Of course when I lament to my husband later that evening, he sighs at me, walks outside, and starts it with one pull.
I’m the one who insisted we have a push mower. “It’ll be my fitness-for-life plan” I said. I figured with shoveling in the winter and mowing in the summer, I could stay lean and trim practically forever.
Which also leads me to consider eyebrow waxing and who came up with that? Am I simply keeping up with the Joneses with the length of my furry brows? Maybe we should leave it all as God intended. Or maybe not.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
The UN in UNsolicited
When you tell people you are moving to a foreign country, it is somewhat similar to being eight months pregnant. They look at you like you’re best friends and then it happens….unsolicited comments. Being that I had the privilege of being eight months pregnant four times, I remember the lack of respect for one’s physical space and/or capability as a human being.
It goes like this; “Kids are expensive.” Really, I had no idea. I thought they came out of an egg made of money that paid for them. Bummer. Too late now.
Or, “You’re so young.” How would they like it if I told them they were so old?
Or my personal favorite;”You sure have your hands full.” It seems that this comment usually comes from a complete stranger in a super-market where in fact, I have a cart full.
So it goes when people hear you’re moving across the world.
“It’s cold there.” Oh, man! I just bought a bikini because I thought it was on the equator. I haven’t even checked a map or the weather patterns to see where I am taking my whole family. Really? Is that the best you’ve got?
“How are you planning to get there?” By boat, of course. Air travel is so bothersome and slow.
“What are you going to do with the children?” Spread them out among family members and leave them here. No, honestly though, they’re coming with us. I thought that was natural, but maybe not.
Forgive my sarcasm. Someday I know I will be older and wiser and will come across those who haven’t seen my life experiences. And when I do, and they inform me of their adventures in life, I will kindly smile and say “good luck with that.”
It goes like this; “Kids are expensive.” Really, I had no idea. I thought they came out of an egg made of money that paid for them. Bummer. Too late now.
Or, “You’re so young.” How would they like it if I told them they were so old?
Or my personal favorite;”You sure have your hands full.” It seems that this comment usually comes from a complete stranger in a super-market where in fact, I have a cart full.
So it goes when people hear you’re moving across the world.
“It’s cold there.” Oh, man! I just bought a bikini because I thought it was on the equator. I haven’t even checked a map or the weather patterns to see where I am taking my whole family. Really? Is that the best you’ve got?
“How are you planning to get there?” By boat, of course. Air travel is so bothersome and slow.
“What are you going to do with the children?” Spread them out among family members and leave them here. No, honestly though, they’re coming with us. I thought that was natural, but maybe not.
Forgive my sarcasm. Someday I know I will be older and wiser and will come across those who haven’t seen my life experiences. And when I do, and they inform me of their adventures in life, I will kindly smile and say “good luck with that.”
Monday, June 7, 2010
Only the beginning
Today is the first day of summer break. I can tell it’s going to be a good one. Number 3 descended the steps this morning with a new hairstyle; let me clarify, a new self-inflicted haircut.
This use to be an everyday occurrence, but from the girl who has finally grown it out long enough to French braid, it came as a shocker. More so because she is the flower girl in a family wedding in a few weeks.
And so I’ve reminded myself these small people, who look like me, are no longer in the hands of capable educators; they are in my hands. It’s ironic that I have been warning this child that if she continues to chew on her hair, I will cut it all off. Maybe she was saving me the trouble?
Unfortunately, when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, the punishment was made. I didn’t have to give coarse words or any discipline because the reflection she saw was horror enough. I feel the same way sometimes. I would rather have somebody slap my wrists than make me deal with the physical consequence of my errors.
Be that as it may, I am optimistic that this little one desperately needs my care. Homeschooling her will the challenge of the century. But before that, we have many more summer days.
This use to be an everyday occurrence, but from the girl who has finally grown it out long enough to French braid, it came as a shocker. More so because she is the flower girl in a family wedding in a few weeks.
And so I’ve reminded myself these small people, who look like me, are no longer in the hands of capable educators; they are in my hands. It’s ironic that I have been warning this child that if she continues to chew on her hair, I will cut it all off. Maybe she was saving me the trouble?
Unfortunately, when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, the punishment was made. I didn’t have to give coarse words or any discipline because the reflection she saw was horror enough. I feel the same way sometimes. I would rather have somebody slap my wrists than make me deal with the physical consequence of my errors.
Be that as it may, I am optimistic that this little one desperately needs my care. Homeschooling her will the challenge of the century. But before that, we have many more summer days.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Stinky Situation
As Memorial Day was on Monday, my usually scheduled trash pick-up was running one day late. This is no big deal really. We recycle so much that we only actually put about two kitchen-size trash bags in each week. However, we had a yard sale this weekend and after a yard sale, one is able to evaluate what is actually worth something and what is in fact----trash.
Last night, I noticed my overly full trash can was still at the end of the road. My prompt and efficient neighbors had already pulled their cans back up to their houses. Someone must be in the wrong.
I called the trash company this morning and to my surprise and alarm, they didn’t pick up because I simply didn’t pay the bill. After all, how would I pay the bill when it never came? This problem can be traced back to the fact that we use to have a PO BOX and the post office is located not 75 feet from my house, but they refused to deliver to me because it was not, and I quote “on their route.” It took me three months of arguing and refusal to pay my box fee to get them to give me a mailbox down an adjacent street, which is actually farther than the post office itself. When miss-marked mail would arrive, the old post-master would simply forward it on to us.
There’s a new post-master in town.
She’s a rule follower. I know the type---I tend to be one myself. But do we really have to send mail back when there are a whopping 12 people who live on Main Street, six of them contained in my own house?
It’s bad enough that all the farmers in town are spreading and the wind keeps blowing in my windows, but this whole trash situation…well, it stinks.
Last night, I noticed my overly full trash can was still at the end of the road. My prompt and efficient neighbors had already pulled their cans back up to their houses. Someone must be in the wrong.
I called the trash company this morning and to my surprise and alarm, they didn’t pick up because I simply didn’t pay the bill. After all, how would I pay the bill when it never came? This problem can be traced back to the fact that we use to have a PO BOX and the post office is located not 75 feet from my house, but they refused to deliver to me because it was not, and I quote “on their route.” It took me three months of arguing and refusal to pay my box fee to get them to give me a mailbox down an adjacent street, which is actually farther than the post office itself. When miss-marked mail would arrive, the old post-master would simply forward it on to us.
There’s a new post-master in town.
She’s a rule follower. I know the type---I tend to be one myself. But do we really have to send mail back when there are a whopping 12 people who live on Main Street, six of them contained in my own house?
It’s bad enough that all the farmers in town are spreading and the wind keeps blowing in my windows, but this whole trash situation…well, it stinks.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Welcome
Today I started a blog. Obviously you already know that because you are reading it now. If you are family, thanks for your support. If you aren’t, I hope you are amused, inspired, and intrigued by the daily life of a 28 year old woman, mother to four children, ages 3,5,7,& 8, with a husband to whom I often refer as “Tigger” (think…whoo-hooo-hooo-oooo, fun all the time).
We are moving to Russia. The sub title of the blog is a Russian proverb but also an intrinsic part of my life.
From here on after, I will refer to my kids as 1, 2, 3, and 4. I can barely remember the names I gave them and for those of you who know them, you will be able to connect the dots. Everyone else will have to determine for themselves the personalities of these little people who change my life daily. Sometimes I am an active participant. Other times, I feel like being sent to prison could be a good time.
Anyway, it's taken me months to get this far, so enjoy what I manage to create.
We are moving to Russia. The sub title of the blog is a Russian proverb but also an intrinsic part of my life.
From here on after, I will refer to my kids as 1, 2, 3, and 4. I can barely remember the names I gave them and for those of you who know them, you will be able to connect the dots. Everyone else will have to determine for themselves the personalities of these little people who change my life daily. Sometimes I am an active participant. Other times, I feel like being sent to prison could be a good time.
Anyway, it's taken me months to get this far, so enjoy what I manage to create.
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