Midwestern Housewife

My Pransome Hince was teasing me yesterday about finally getting to be a Midwestern housewife. This was never a goal of mine.  Housewife, yes.  Midwestern, no.

As I sit here, my fingers numb from 60* interior temperature exposure (too cheap to turn up the thermostat), I contemplate the geographical direction my life has taken.  An Army Brat for the first 17 years of my life, I pride myself on being able to live anywhere for at least two years, even in some truly tough social/geographical/familial situations.

It occurs to me now, that other than a brief stint in Washington when snow was really fun, I've never lived this far north.  In fact, the last time I lived somewhere that had truly terrible winter weather, I vowed to go to college in Arizona.

I kept that vow. 
I wonder how many more vows I will take in the coming winter.

With friends like these...

A funny poem came my way from a beloved friend.  Wanna read it?


my coffee mug sits in my hand
so warm and aromatic
it gives me feelings of delight
it clears my head of static
the emblem slowly comes into focus
a green and yellow thing
it's a john deere mug, a present
it makes me want to sing -
a light, or a melencholy air?
i can't really decide.
it reminds me of our friends
and so makes me glow inside
it took away our friends
and so i want that deere to die!

(not really, it just rhymed...sort of)

 
:D

Shy? Me?

I think I know how all those actors feel when they don't go see themselves in the theatre.

I know, I know, it's not like my blog is big stuff.  No one's reading this, and my words aren't anything anyone's hanging on to, so why should I get so embarrased to share it with others?

BUT, what if someone DOES read it?  What if they think I'm too...too?  It's not that I write this for other's enjoyment, but for my own (I'm perfectly happy if someone does enjoy it, however).  So, why should I care?

In high school, counter to most everyone else, I honestly didn't put much value on my peer's opinions of me.  One of the "drama freaks" I liked myself, my friends liked me, so if I got a little wild and crazy (read: hyper and rambunctious) I didn't much care that others were rolling their eyes.  That's certainly not the case now.

More is at stake? I certainly value my good name more, and that of my family and children.
I respect and admire my peers much more now than I did before, too.

I felt this way about my fuquavision skit.  Everyone liked it.  I got a million complements (especially by those who got the Flight of the Conchords reference).  I was proud of it, too.  I was also mildly embarrased and bashful about sharing it with others not in the Fuqua scene.

I feel like the same person--but I'm not!

Failed Gardener Tutorial

1. Go to Sams.  Get lured into the spring bulbs.  Forget all about black thumb's score (BT: Everything  Plants: none).
2.  Collect info on dividing plants. 

3.  Wait till naptime, get out huge shovel.  Spend 45 minutes digging holes and scattering bulbs.  Yell at the squirrel scout.  Pat back prematurely.
4.  Divide daylilies.  Decapitate a few.  Shrug and plant in holes anyway.
5.  Ignore audible crying from second story.
6.  Plant bulbs in second bed.  Yell at the squirrel scouts.  Start digging holes deeper.  Tersely answer myriad questions from escaped oldest child.  Continue to ignore noisy second story.
7.  Clutch back.  Belatedly remember past 4 years, 3 pregnancies and 3 labors.  Leave gardening mess for husband to pick up.
8.  Clean up poopy mess on second story.  Glance out window.  Yell at snooping squirrels.
9.  Limp downstairs.  Make dinner, set table, greet husband.  Glance out window.  Yell at poaching squirrels.
10.  Google daylily dividing.  Discover in dismay that you did it at the wrong time in the wrong way.
11.  Go to Teske's.  Buy more gardening things with hope in your heart.

The Slap Dashery

We love getting things done in the right way don't we?

There's nothing better than making a plan, getting everything out, accomplishing our tasks according to plan and in an orderly way with no interruptions, attaining a perfect product, and then putting all our things back from whence they came.

This is not the way of the stay at home mom.

Planners or not, cleanly or not, organized or not, creative or not, what we start out doing never ends up completed in a consistent process. The stay-at-home mom's life is of constant interruptions.  It's not a full time job, it's an all-time job.

Case in point: My three lovelies are currently gathered around my kitchen desk. Button is screeching for more cherrios, Chicken Lu is pleasing to have a book read and Boy wants to brush my teeth with a spitty toothbrush.

Why am I starting a blog?

"Screech! Screech!"
"Please Mommy, read this book to me!"
"Brush, Brush"

It's anyone's guess.