Tomorrow is the 1st day of the rest of Summer.

Holy Schnikies!  It's June 6.  Hello?!  Good thing tomorrow is the first day of the rest of Summer!!
And, yes, there is a good chance I'll be saying that all summer long.

I'm just going to keep that attitude up as long as possible:

House is a disaster?
No worries.  Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of summer.
Didn't get the weeding done?
No worries.  Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of summer.
Laundry piling up?
No problem.  Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of summer.
Didn't push myself out the door to run this morning?
No problem.  Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of summer.
Didn't get the kiddies to bed until all hours of the night?
Not to worry.  Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of summer.

Are you picking up what I'm putting down here?  Are you smelling what I'm stepping in?
Fiddley Dee.  Tomorrow is another day and as long as I'm filling up my days
staying busy (even if it's not "on the to do list") it's all good. 
Eventually I will have a day or two here and there and I will get all my junk done. 
Or sorta done, done until the chickadees walk in the door...wait, the chickadees are here 24/7. 
Okay, so maybe I won't get it done--but it's all good.

Last summer was not my best work.  It pretty much chewed me up and spit me out on the curb next to the school bus.  That will not be the case for Summer 2013.

And guess what??  I want to blog this summer.  For reals.  I know I'm an old fashioned gal that way, but really...status updates on FB and all those rad (umm...did I just say 'rad'? Yes, I am so so so on the cutting edge of things) new fancy shmancy things just aren't enough for me.  I quite enjoy rambling.

Summer 2013...let's get ready to rock and roll.
...tomorrow.

The M-day.

I have a love/hate (well, not hate--but dislike strongly) relationship with Mother's Day.  Does that make me a bad Mom?  An ungrateful woman?  I don't know...I don't think so.  Am I a little hesitant to admit that?  Yes I am.  It doesn't sound good.  A mother that doesn't like Mother's Day?  I am, really and truly, grateful.  I love being a Mom.  I don't know if all mom's feel the way I do, or just the really strange ones.  Maybe you get it or you don't, but if you do...you really do.  It's a weird day. I remember how shocked I was those first few years of my own Mother's Days, it wasn't all it was cracked up to be.  I don't know what I was expecting, but it was a shock. Mother's Day seemed so hard for everyone around me.  My dear old hubby and children wanted to make it great, but it felt stressful for one and all.  Every thing about the day felt forced.  It was a relief to have the day over and just get back to normal.  No one wanted my job.  And, frankly, I didn't really enjoy watching them try. I've been at this gig for a few more years since then and I've learned to take the day in stride a little better. It helps that I have a mini me that can cook and clean like a champ. It's still weird.  But, I do enjoy it more than I used to.  I was chatting with me mum about this strange phenomenon the other day and she shared with me a story.  A story that I would like to share with you.  It's well worth the read. I relate to the invisible woman.  That might be my problem with the M-day, it feels fake to make such a big to do out of something so ordinary.  I'm building cathedrals for crying out loud!  Let me do the work I do and just be nice to me every day.  And maybe once a year you can offer to rub my feet. Here it is...enjoy. Perspective on Motherhood: The Invisible Woman

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. By Nicole Johnson It started to happen gradually … One day I was walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross the street when the crossing guard said to him, "Who is that with you, young fella?" "Nobody," he shrugged. Nobody? The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only 5, but as we crossed the street I thought, "Oh my goodness, nobody?" would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to my family - like "Turn the TV down, please" - and nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, "Would someone turn the TV down?" Nothing. Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We'd been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, "I'm ready to go when you are." He just kept right on talking. That's when I started to put all the pieces together. I don't think he can see me. I don't think anyone can see me. I'm invisible. It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?" Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please." I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going … she's going … she's gone! One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this." It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees." In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything. A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it." And the workman replied, "Because God sees." I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become." At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree. When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there." As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

Hi and Bye.

I had this great idea to catch up on thee ole blog.  (Okay, let's be honest...not 'catch up'...I'm not a 'catch up' kinda gal. I'm more of a 'start where you are and go from there' kinda gal.)
I've been working double+ my normal hours for over 2 months now, on Monday I switched back to my regular shift.  Working the longer shift is great and not so great at the same time.

Great: double+ the pay.
Not so Great: double+ the time away from home.

Luckily I really like my job and I have a pretty fabo husband who has played Mr. Mom like a champ.  He has been the breakfast maker, errand runner, doctor/dentist appt taker, laundry swapper and all around great guy while I have been away from home.  I'm super, super grateful to have this job.  And I'm super, super grateful to have the job of stay at home mom before this. 

Wanna know a little secret?  I think working full time has the potential to create selfishness...at least it does for me.  I haven't been available to just be around to help out with things.  I've felt out of the loop.  I can't drop what I'm doing and take kids or fix food or take a phone call or whatever.  It's just more about me than I really like to live my life.  But, on the other hand...it's not like I'm working for me.  Me, Me, Me.  I wouldn't even have taken this job if we didn't really need the  income. Which, btw,  I am hoping really and truly will be extra income in the next little while if we can get a little something up and off the ground, a little something that would provide for our lives in general so that we could use my income to put towards Adam's mission.  Gah!  Adam's mission!!  Wow.  Can't go there right now....

I'm just rambling here, it's all good.  

The job is a blessing and the extra hours are a blessing and I'd be crazy to think that working this much wouldn't impact my family and my life in one form or another.

Okay, I'm done with that side track, anyhoo.....
So, as of Monday I went back to my regular shift.  That means I am here in the mornings to get the punks off and get my house in order before I head to work.  Honestly, I think Mike has enjoyed it even more than me. He will come inside and tell me he just really likes having me around.  I have oragansized and cleaned my little heart out this week.

However....it was short lived.
I'm switching shifts again tomorrow.  The plan now is to take it a week at a time and see.  The lady I am switching shifts with had some surgery and came back a little too fast so she is backing off again.
Which is great and not so great.  But probably more great for me than not so great so I will take it and say Thank You.
For now, Hi Ho Hi Ho it's off to work I go! (in the morning anyway)

Spring Break laundry epiphany.

Facts you need to know...
1- It's late so this will be short and to the point.
2- Currently there are 10 people living in my house. (long story, tell you later)
3- Two of those people are my cute little nephews that were only planning to stay one, maybe two nights.
4- The punks are on spring break this week and I am not, therefore I am gone the majority of the day.

So, here's the deal...Porter and William only brought clothes for a couple of days.  Do they just live through the field and could I go sneak into their house and  pick up some more clothes?  Yes.  Have I done that?  No.  Do these kiddos play super hard and dirty all the live long day?  Yes.  Do their clothes show it?  Yes.  Is it necessary to put on clean clothes every morning?  Yes...especially when the creek bed, corn pit and mud puddle are your play ground.

Every night I have been throwing in a load of laundry basically containing the days play and work clothes...and voila my laundry is way easier.  I am seriously considering hiding all of my children's clothes (minus two outfits) over the summer.

It's survival 101.
And we all know Spring Break is just a precursor to summer....a little bit of a reminder of what is very shortly coming.
Kids home ALL DAY EVERY DAY.

Good thing I love the little punks.
Thanks Life, for throwing me a curve ball and teaching me a little something at the same time.
Your good at that.

Some Day.

Here's the deal-E-o, I really do have a lot to chat about.
Here's the problem...I have no time.
Well, I do have time.  Everyone has time for crying out loud!
The past couple of weeks my time has been sucked up by me not feeling so great.
Gotta love a good head cold, right?
And my time has been sucked up by me working a longer shift.
Gotta love a bigger paycheck, right?
Today I am feeling much better, so much better that I spent the entire afternoon
being domestic.
Gotta love cleaning, laundry,errands, laundry, sweeping, laundry, mopping, laundry, brownie baking, laundry...
did I mention laundry?  That's my super duper favorite.
And now, dear friends, I have burned up my afternoon so much so that I am T-minus 4 minutes to the punks getting off the Big Yellow Ticket to Solitude.
But I do have a lot to talk about.
Maybe since I was such a good little hard worker today I'll have more time tomorrow.
Ha!  HaHa!!  I'm so funny.  Did you catch that??  I think I might have more time tomorrow.
Silly, silly farmgirl.

Peace Out, Peeps.
:o)

life is blessed.

Last Week....
Me:  cry out in frustration
My Peeps:  rally. send up please blesses.
Windows of Heaven:  OPEN
Blessings:  pour down
Me:  fill with gratitude.  know that I am loved and life is blessed

Things work.  Thank you.  More later.  Work to get to.

The vent.

Is it a grand idea to blog when I'm feeling some what down in the dumps?
Probably not.
Am I going to do it any way?
Probably yup.

I'm feeling worn out.  Tired.  Sometimes (most times actually) I deal with poverty well.
And other times...not so much.
So there.  I'm human.
I just want to feel "normal" sometimes.  What ever "normal" is.
I don't want to tell my kids no or later to everything they ask about.  And they aren't asking for much...face wash, a couple dollars here or there for this or that, toothpaste -for sensitive teeth.
I want to walk in the grocery store and just, you know...buy food.
Its been so long since I just put food in the cart I can't even remember what it feels like.
Everything I put in the cart is added up in my head and I know exactly what I can spend and I do not go over.  I can't go over.  There is no 'blowing the budget'.  It's not a bad thing, it's actually a good thing to know how to stick to a budget, I'm just tired.
I'd like to pick up something frivolous like cold cereal, bananas, yogurt or pudding for the kids.
You know, spend more than $20/week.  Cuz that's what I spend.
Well that's what I'm spending lately.
Mike's only been working one day/week and frankly it's not enough.
Just doesn't cut the mustard.
It's barely enough to keep gas in the car to get to and from work let alone pay bills or buy fancy things like meat or peanut butter.
Grrr, just frustrated here.
And btw, I think I need to stay out of public as much as possible.  Really, it makes me feel so much worse.  People are just being normal people doing normal people things and talking about normal people stuff.  But sometimes I just want to scream...Really?  REALLY??  Does any member of your household have a full time job?  Because my dearest and I TOGETHER do not have a full time job.  PAH-LEASE.
I feel like I am in a sinking ship and I am tired of bailing out the water.

Okay, deep breath here.
Deep breath in and out.
In and out.
In and out.

Its just gotten really hard this last little while.  As long as Mike works about three days a week we can stay on top of things.  But we need those three days.  And we are not getting them.

I am working longer shifts right now and we will get our taxes all figured out and hopefully get a lovely little return.

But none of that is now.  I only get paid once a month so it'll be a good six weeks before we see the effects of a longer shift and our taxes are slower than I anticipated. Although, I can't complain there...one of the nicest people in the whole wide world takes care of our taxes and I understand that we are not top priority.  I'm just feeling anxious. And I'm not a good waiter.

I am not a good waiter AT ALL.  Truth be told I hate and I do mean HATE living my life in 'The Waiting Place'.  The waiting place is killing me right now.  It is a slow and painful death.

Okay, enough weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.
Oh, and we do have a plan.  Or the beginnings of a plan.
Things will all work out in the end, it's just not the end yet.
Thank Goodness for that.

One more thing, I know I need to get a grip.
I will.  I just needed a moment to vent.
Don't really want to complain to Mikey.  He is already painfully aware of the situation.
So thanks for letting me release.
I need to feel the love.

Peace out.

A thousand drops of water.

We all know I'm not so techno savvy, so it shouldn't come as a surprise that I haven't changed much on my phone since I got it.  

The setting it came with to notify me of a text or a post on my face book wall is a drop of water.  

My birthday was filled with the sound of water drops.  

The drops of water started at 5:30 in the AM and didn't stop until, well...after I feel asleep that night.  

I felt loved.  It was a good day.

And because I have very little shame I will share with you the photos my kiddos took to remember the day....

 

Aren't I a beauty?

Yes, I still had to go to work on the big day...

that's okay, we had cupcakes for lunch.

 

  

Awaiting the big b-day gift reveal.

Mikey and the kids gave me an electric blanket.

Umm, hello?!? 

Best thing ever.

EVER.

When I say EVER I mean really EVER,

like...where have you been all my life?

And btw doesn't Mike look so excited for me to open it?

He loves me.

 

  

This pic is to document that I have matches on my cake.

Classy.

Nothing says party like burning the house down with 38 matches.

(and just in case any of the pack of chicks are reading 

and/or wondering...

yes, that is indeed the shirt from our wicked trip a 

mere 5+ years ago. what? I like it)

 

And finally we have my super awesome cake.

One of my YW made it for me.

Chocolate Goodness.

I said I like chocolate and she delivered.

The punks made and decorated sugar cookies while I was at work,

but we didn't get a picture of the 

"Happy B-day Mom!"

cookie line up.

It was pretty great.

A good day all around.

38...here I come.

Guess Who....??

Up until about three weeks ago when she read one

of her highschool besties

blog about this bestie's daughter

talking about her mother

turning 38

this year

actually thought she was turning 

37 

this year?

As in, she's been 36 for the

last eleven months

and will be celebrating

her 37th birthday in just two days.

Not, that she has been 37 for the last 

eleven months and is turning the

ripe old age of 

38

in a mere two days. 

Guess who??

Come on, just guess!!

Umm...did you guess this girl:

Cuz, you'd be right!

And that's what my face looked like 

when I realized I've been thinking I

was 36 all this time.

Peeps, I've aged a year in just three weeks.

 

Hello!?!
It's a crying shame to need to age so quickly.
Maybe if I thought about my age a little more 

often these sorts of things

wouldn't be such a shock to me.

But, you know how it is...

once you reach a certain point in life 

you just don't really think about how old you

are on a regular basis.

(p.s. that 'point in life' being when people quit
asking or guessing cuz they assume it's
just not something they should
bring up--cuz YOUR OLD)

 

Eh, well.

I spose I can rock 38 

just as well as I could rock 

37 the second time around.

My beef with toilet paper holders.

I know, this is totally random.
I know, really I do--that probably nobody is loosing any sleep wondering about my beef with toilet paper holders.
But...this is my blog so here I go:

Granted, I don't get out much.  That's no secret.  In fact, Walmart, Sam's Club and Home Depot are about the extent of my store venturing.  And I only go to Home Depot with Mikey on our super hot dates, cuz we're cool and awesome like that (and yes, running errands is the date).

Here is my observation about public restrooms, all the toilet paper holders are hung so as to dispense the paper at toilet seat level...or below.   Do you get what I'm saying here?  Too low, People.  TOO LOW.

Now, I do understand that I am a wee bit taller than the average gal.  But, when we are sitting down aren't we all roughly the same?  Really, who needs the toilet paper that low?

Not a big fan of the bending way over to retrieve the toilet paper.
Just sayin'.

 FYI saying just sayin' drives Mike crazy.  If you ever want to make him a little nuts just say just sayin' after you say something.  It's pretty entertaining.  Actually, he mostly hates it because it is slightly overused by our eldest child.
Just sayin'.

And just so you have a real firm grip on how totally random this is, I haven't even been to Logan (where all these fancy stores are located) for almost 2 weeks.

Hello??  Random City, population: farmgirl.

And while we are discussing randomness, how did I ever become so popular?  I am smart enough to know that if I want to blog I should get it done while the punks are at school, but I figured this would only take a minute--which, btw, it would of if I hadn't been interrupted a minimum of 74 times.  And how do they know I am doing something?  Or I'm on the phone?

I swear if I sat and watched dust collect on the shelf nobody would say Boo to me, but the second I make a move toward something I need a little concentration for --BAM-- Miss Popularity.

See, I always knew Class of '93 lacked vision.  I'm totally Most Popular material.

p.s.

i am so glad you can

all embrace the crazy

that lives in my

brain and love

me any way

:o) Peace out.