My one day

So, monday through friday I get up at 5;00a.m.  As ridiculous as this sounds, I get up, get on the treadmill, read my bible, get the kids ready, get myself ready and go about my day.  On Sunday, I get up, Tyler needs to be at church at 8:00a.m., we do big breakfast and we all go to church.  This leaves me one day.  One day to sleep in.  One day to not rush around like a crazy person.  One day.  Saturday.  Saturday is sacred.  It's not like I sleep until noon, I am usually up by 8:00 or 8:30, but it's more about the freedom.

I don't have to make lunches.  I don't have to drive someone early to school.  I don't have to go to work and make coffee for the masses.  I can watch some silly movie on Lifetime or sit in my pajamas until noon.  Although, I do sometimes drive Tyler to church in my robe and slippers.  Who is really up at 8:00a.m. on a Sunday morning?  And who are they to judge me on the Sabbath day?  If it has snowed over four inches, and there is a possibility that I may get stuck, I get dressed.  No one wants to see some lady in her P.J.s pushing her minivan out of a snow drift.  Tragic.

Saturdays make me happy.  For no reason at all except that there is no rhyme or reason to them.  It is a relaxing day.  A possible no shower day, although I usually give in by 4:00, just to be clean.  I hate the greasy hair thing.  It's why I don't camp.  Greasy hair.  Yucko.  

Which day of the week is your day?  If you don't have a day, I say claim one.  If you have really small babies, this is going to be impossible, but know that your day is coming.  I promise you will some day have your day.  I never thought I would either, but it is a possibility.  Saturdays for nothing do exist and they are worth it.  Take a pajama day, it's totally worth it.

What is your indulgence?  Sleeping in?  Staying in?  Movie marathon?  What is it, tell me, I would love to know.

God bless you and yours.

The Lenten Season

Okay, so officially, I am not Catholic anymore.  I did grow up Catholic, spent fourteen years in Catholic school and tried desperately to find my place in the Catholic Church.  Didn't happen for me.  I realized after the third person walked into Starbucks with black stuff on their forehead that yesterday was Ash Wednesday.  For those of you who do not know, this signals the beginning of the Lenten season.  The forty days before Easter.  You will see signs for fish fry's on fridays.  People will give stuff up for Lent.  Could be coffee, could be chocolate, could be fast food.  The funny thing is, most people will stick to it.  

That meant that Tuesday was "Fat Tuesday".  This can take on many different roles.  Your last day to gorge on chocolate or big macs or whatever.  Here in Michigan, with a very large Polish population, it means it is Packzi day.  That is pronounced poonchkies.  I never knew what that was until I lived here.  If you don't live around a large Polish population, you probably don't know what it is, let me explain.  A packzi is a deep fried donut filled with about ten pounds of filling that is only made on Fat Tuesday.  This is not your mommas jelly donut.  This thing is the size of your hand and weighs at least half a pound.  Traditionally, they were filled with prune filling and every polish person you know says these are the best kind.  We as Americans have totally changed it.  You can get any fruit filling you want and of course, the piece de resistance, custard.  Not frosting.  Custard.  At least half a pound of custard in a deep fried donut.  Everyone brings them to work.  People stand in line for hours down in Hamtramk (a city here mostly made up of Polish people).  After all, they only make them one day a year.  You can even get them at Wal-mart, but those don't really count.  You need an old polish grandma making them in the back to count.  The local news will also let you know they have 30 grams of fat in each one and at least 800 calories.  Everyone still brings them to work.

I don't know the history of of who started what, but usually in every culture, you gorge before Lent.  It's your last chance.  I, being the rebel I am, always vowed to do something for lent, not give something up.  Lent has a great message of sacrifice and self denial in memory of Christ's self denial and sacrifice for us.  It is a great concept.

Think about it.  Maybe you could vow to read your bible daily.  Or vow to exercise daily.  Or give something up.  One Lent I gave up fast food and lost twenty pounds.  It's a good thing.  Or eat more veggies or whatever.  It may have gotten watered down during the years, but it was originally a time of fasting and pledging your life to God.  That is never a bad thing.  

So what are you going to do today to honor God?  Somedays it is just rolling out of bed and making lunches and making sure the kids are all on the bus.  We all have days like that.  That honors God.  Did you give up anything for Lent?  Did you vow to do something?  Let me know.

God bless you and yours. 

Kids are weird

Okay, if you have kids, and they are not in the baby stage, you have discovered how completely weird they are.  Seriously, weird.  They don't want to brush their teeth.  We on the other hand love that smooth minty feeling in the morning and at night.  And sometimes in between.  I have an eleven year old boy that would never bathe if not for my nagging.  He just does not care.  I am patiently awaiting the time he discovers girls are cool and do not have cooties, then the bathing shall commence on a daily basis.  Just ask my fifteen year old  boy.  

The collect odd things.  We have friends in Arizona whose son collects walking sticks.  We have even found what we lovingly call a "Luke" stick.  When he is out roaming, if he sees a proper stick, he takes it home.  Unfortunately, an overeager landscaper threw out his collection.  But he started again, after the tragedy of losing his favorite ones.  

The oddest and most bizarre collection comes from my nephew.  When he was four or five years old, my sister found something.  It was about the size of a golf ball, maybe a little bigger.  When asked what the odd looking thing was, as my sister was holding it in her hand......., the little guy announced it was a booger ball.  Pause here so you can run around the room screaming in disgust.  He had been collecting his boogers in a ball and was quite proud of it.  That is so out of our realm of something we could think of, but perfectly normal to any five year old boy.  If you own a five year old boy, he may be collecting weird things, just hope they are not live creatures, you could be in for an invasion.

Kids don't think like us, that is why they have mothers.  No one is going to marry a booger ball collecting college student.  We have to calm our inner gross out and admire booger balls and then make sure they lose that little collection at the proper time.  I still shudder when talking about that.  Cooper used to collect "diamonds".  He and his friend Griffin would go out at recess and find all the white rocks on the playground.  "We're gonna be rich mom" he used to say.  I still have a jar of diamonds packed in a box somewhere.  Hey, it's no booger ball, but it is something.

What have your children collected or done or not done that is weird and whacky?  I am dying to know.  Nothing is too gross, we are all moms here, we have seen and heard just about anything.

God bless you and yours.

Dinner for new parents.

Okay, I do love to cook.  I admit that.  So I am on this list at our church to make meals for families in need.  Someone just had surgery, a new baby, whatever, we try to fill the void.  I don't think this makes me someone special, I feel I am repaying a debt.  I have four wonderful children , including a set of twins.  Every time we had a baby, or babies as the case may be, someone made us dinner.  What a relief.  There I was, no shower, no sleep, I could not even think to make a can of soup.  Dinner is always a wonderful, wonderful treat when someone else is cooking.

I have gotten some of my best recipes from dinners cooked for us.  Tater tot casserole.  So yummy, not incredibly good for you, but definitely a comfort food.  One neighbor made us home made spaghetti sauce.  Coming from the Irish/Pennsylvania dutch/English heritage, I had never had from scratch spaghetti sauce.  Except at Amy's house.  She was one of my grade school friends who remains today.  Her dad, God rest his wonderful soul, made sauce from scratch.  It was always amazing and he would not part with his secrets.  I actually craved it during one of my pregnancies, and if I remember right, he made me some.  Anything made by someone else's hand always seems to taste better.

I do have a couple of pieces of advice.  Try to stay away from pasta casseroles.  I know this seems the easiest, but if you are not making it from scratch, believe me, the family will get pasta.  You see, everyone goes to pasta, it is easy and transports well.  My sister was on bed rest for four months with her last child.  Her church arranged for meals five nights a week.  That is awesome and she was grateful.  She also did not eat any pasta dish involving red sauce for a good three years.  You can only take so much Ragu, even well intentioned Ragu. 

My second piece of advice is to go to the dollar store and buy foil pans.  If you are so sleep deprived you can't remember your own name, how are you supposed to remember whose tupperware is whose?  It is a scary thought.  Or, if you are like me, you just forget to give it back and turn into that neighbor who stole the corning ware.  If your children are around three and you cannot figure out where that pan came from, it is probably someone else's.  

So, if you like to cook, and like to feel good, I say sign up for that meal thing at church.  I don't make them every time a call goes out.  That is the beauty of the list, there are enough people on it, that you can choose a time when you actually have time to make a meal.  It is a wonderful gift to those who need it.

What was the nicest thing someone did for you when your baby was born?  Let me know.

God bless you and yours.

When I grow up.....

When I grow up I want to be a doctor.  Seriously.  You all know I was sick last week.  It takes quite a bit to get me to the doctor, I hate going to the doctor.  But my face felt like it would explode, so I went.  I am glad I went, because the antibiotics worked and in a day and a half, I was feeling much, much better.  That being said.......

I get there ten minutes early for my appointment.  That is courteous and what I believe to be just the right thing to do.  It says that I respect other people's time.  It's about respect.  My appointment was at 1:10pm, so I got there at 1:00pm.  That was in case I had to fill out forms, etc.  They called me back at 1:25, fifteen minutes late.  The first thing they do is weigh me, rudeness to the extreme.  Then the nurse asks me a series of questions that are listed in the computer in front of her, then she lies to me and says the doctor will be in in a couple of minutes.  Liar.  At around 1:55, a doctor who looks about twelve years old comes in.  Calls me "young lady", like I am going to flattered or something.  He spends exactly three minutes asking me questions, listening to my chest, looking up my nose and then tells me I have a sinus infection.  Amazing, I told that to the office gal that answered the phone this morning.  

So I get the fact that we can't just diagnose ourselves and prescribe meds to ourselves.  That could be dangerous.  Especially to us mothers, we would prescribe valium on a regular basis just to get through some of our roughest days.  I get that.  But if you are going to bill my insurance $200.00 dollars, I deserve some time, for you to be on time, and at the very least, a little consideration.  Sitting on that table for half an hour makes my back hurt.  I was afraid to lie down, my head could explode from the pressure.  When did all of this go haywire?  My mother in law waited three hours one day, then another hour in the back.  Really?  Four hours to run some routine tests to get the thyroid medication she has been on for years, but the doctor wants to "check" her every three months.  What the heck?

So, when I grow up I want to be a doctor.  I would not have to be on time, I would not have to spend a lot of time with sick people, and I would make six figures and up by the time I am 35.  I know, I know, I am generalizing everything.  And I know we need doctors and doctoring and all that stuff.  I just want my time to be respected.  I showed up on time, so should you.  It was not an emergency room.  I am pretty sure if something was horribly wrong with a patient, they could go up the hall to urgent care.  It's literally up the hall from my doctor.  And my doctor works in urgent care, so figure that one out.

Being on time or not on time is a pet peeve of mine.  What's yours?  Let me know.

God bless you and yours.

Momma Down, Part II

Okay, now I have to take a couple of days off from blogging to lay in bed and moan.  Be back on Thursday or Friday.  Sorry for my faithful fun filled chicks, but I can barely stand.  

God bless you and yours.

Momma Down

I am sick.  Really I am just getting sick, but the bad stuff is coming.  I can feel it.  And I don't have time for it.  Seriously.  We are kicking off the cookie dough fundraiser on Thursday for Tyler's youth group's mission trip.  The cookie dough lady is coming this Sunday so we can give everyone samples of the yummy cookies and make enough money so our children can expand their horizons and help people.  I seriously do not have time to be sick.   I have a meeting tonight about said cookie dough fundraiser.  The laundry is piling up and my head is going to explode.  If I take any more cold medicine, I will explode.  I do not have my sure fire cure, cranberry juice and diet sprite.  I drink buckets of it when I am sick.  Nothing.  I don't want to go to the store because that would involve moving and I am pretty sure if I move, my head will explode.  So I will just sit here and try not to move and blow my nose another hundred and fifty times.

I hate being sick.  It wrecks my system.  My house system of keeping up with stuff goes out the window.  It will literally take me ten days to catch up.  So I will drag myself down and do the laundry and keep the kitchen clean and make sure the kids eat.  I won't take a nap and let the kids run amok.  I will just drug myself up and keep on going.  I am a mother, I cannot quit.  

We just keep on going, we are energizer bunnies on crack when we need to be.  I just wish I felt better.  Maybe I will feel better tomorrow.  Since I have to go to work and be a mom and keep a house tomorrow. 

Just a small side note, it appears the dogs know I am sick, I have one laying on my head, one on my lap and one by my side.  Good puppies.  They care.  

So, my love to one and all and God bless you and yours.  Send some chicken soup my way.