Whatcha Readin' Wednesday

I'm in the middle of a series of fiction books, which I intend to talk about next week, but I was at the library today returning some non-fiction (Temples,Tombs, and Hieroglyphs by Elizabeth Peters/ Barbara Mertz) and I just couldn't help myself -- I checked out Silks by Dick Francis and his son Felix Francis. I haven't actually started it yet, but I've been enjoying Dick Francis (who is a steeplechase jockey turned racing mystery writer) since Nerve and Dead Cert in the late 60's, so it should be a good, fun, and also quick read. I'll let you know!

Tasty Tuesday -- week zero

Tommy has a band concert tonight, and because he's in the jazz band as well as the drum line as well as the regular band ..... well, anyway, supper had to be early so he could be back at the school by 5:15 for a 7PM concert. Fortunately, I've had years of experience with band concert nights, so I planned ahead for a quick and easy meal (which also happens to be one Tommy likes): Chicken Quesadillas.

All you really need are some flour tortillas (I buy mine in bulk at Sam's Club and freeze), leftover chicken (all leftover grilled chicken at our house is automatically sliced and frozen for quesadillas, but any kind will do), and shredded cheese ( I prefer to freshly shred equal parts extra-sharp cheddar and Monterey jack, but bagged works, although it doesn't melt as well.) Place a tortilla on a griddle (mine's electric) or frying pan, add chicken and cheese, top with another tortilla, and grill dry -- no oil needed) on medium-high heat until the cheese is melted and both sides are slightly golden. That's it!

You can, of course, make them fancier. Some of us like minced jalapenos added with the chicken, others don't. I serve them with salsa, sour cream, shredded lettuce, diced tomatoes and guacamole, but Tommy uses just salsa, and thinks they're perfect. A pizza cutter wheel is nice for slicing them into quarters, but a knife is fine.

Best part? Other than a minute to pull some things out of the freezer this morning, it only took me 15 minutes to put dinner on the table. Awesome!

Musical Monday - trial run

Since starting on Saturday I'm going to be posting every day, I've decided to use this week to work into things. And Musical Monday is a good place to start, since last Saturday night Roger and I attended a concert. Arwen and Bryan were also there, but our seats weren't together because they bought their tickets months ago, and we got ours more recently, as a belated anniversary gift from our kids. They had planned to send us to a baseball game, but by the time of our anniversary, there were no home games left that fit our schedule. That was fine with me, because I'd wanted to go to this particular concert since I'd heard it was happening.

The concert featured Fernando Ortega and Phil Keaggy. I thought that was an odd combination when I first heard about it, but.... Yeah, it was odd, but it brought together two whole eras of my life. I first heard of Phil Keaggy when I was still in college, and when I was working in a Christian restaurant/bookstore in the late 1970's, he was part of the background music of my days. Fernando, on the other hand, was opening for Michael Card on one of the many occasions our family has attended his concerts, and we became instant fans.

Fernando, for those who don't know, is a classically trained pianist who specializes in new arrangements of old hymns, and mellow slice-of-life songs. Phil Keaggy is an awe-inspiring guitarist who does old-fashioned rock and "Jesus music." And you know what? The concert was odd, and it was wonderful. And I hope I get a chance to hear either and/or both of them again soon!

Thursdays

Since 50% of the input I've gotten on my NaBloPoMo plans -- some in the comments, some elsewhere -- has suggested "household tips" for Thursdays, I hereby declare "Tip-line Thursdays" for the month of November. I'll even take requests! Current ideas include menu planning, weekly scheduling, stain removal ideas, and holiday tips, but I'm open to most anything I actually know anything about!

NaBloPoMo Approaches!

In a fit of enthusiasm (madness??) I went and signed myself up for NaBloPoMo for November. And I suspect that if I’m going to have any success at this at all, I will need more of a structure than I had last year, which was “Uh, family biographies if I can’t think of anything else?? ‘K, bye!” SO I have decided to choose a theme for each day of the week, which may also help me for the rest of the year!

Musical Monday – what I like or hate, what new artists I’ve found

Tasty Tuesday (inspired by Taco Tuesday at a local Mexican place) -- recipes and such

What’cha Readin’ Wednesday (via The Summa Mamas) -- what I’m reading, maybe old favorites

??? Thursday – I need some help here! It doesn’t have to start with T!!

Family Friday – finishing Katie and Tommy’s bios, and maybe some grandkid pictures

Sloppy Saturday – this is where I may even just post links!

Spiritual Sunday – some kind of reflection suitable to the day

So, what do you think? All suggestions are welcome!

Quick Political Giggle

I've never actually mentioned here who I favor for president in this upcoming election, and I'm not going to do so now.* But let it be said that there is a sign in my front yard, and signs in other yards along my street. There is one sign with which I vehemently disagree. But I smile every time I go past that house anyway, because the house is also decorated for Hallowe'en. There is a great big black and silver sign saying "Beware!" And I guess they weren't paying attention, because the arrangement is such that the signs say "Beware [insert candidate's name here]." And with that, I heartily agree!

*If you read this post, you should be able to figure it out. You're all smart and logical, or you wouldn't be here reading my blog. ;-D

Just to clarify: I don't care if my regular readers know who I favor in the elections. I consider you my friends, and this is only one of the many things friends can talk about. I just don't want somebody to be able to randomly Google a candidate's name, and then come here expressly to heckle me.

Wings, Fluttering above the Nest

Tommy went to his first semi-formal dance last night. He and some friends met at one of their houses for pictures,went out to dinner, and then to the dance. Although Tommy is only 15, he skipped a year in school, so most of his friends can drive. We would have gone out to take pictures, but he insisted we not waste the gas. Translation --"Hey folks, I really don't want you there." But his sisters had insisted on seeing pictures, so we compromised on his taking the camera and letting some other parent use it.

The pictures are pretty standard: three girls and three guys lined up alternately. Most of them are grinning, because these are long-term friends. The exception is Tommy's date "Kathy". (Actually, he informed us a couple of weeks ago that she's his "girlfriend", although as far as I know this is the first time they've actually gone anywhere together.) Kathy, while smiling, looks a little tentative. This is new territory for her; she's a freshman, and the others are two juniors, a senior, and two grads.

Tommy is perhaps the brightest of our children (possibly outdone by Maggie, and all of them are way bright), and as the youngest has constantly been exposed to his older siblings' friends. Kathy is the younger of just two (perfectly nice and certainly bright) sisters, and I hope she gets comfortable with this group of kids, because they're great! But spending time with Tommy means you will be challenged to justify everything you think and believe. I wonder if she had a good time last night?

But she's not my concern, and actually, neither is Tommy. It's me. My BABY is dating. My BABY is a junior. My BABY will be gone in less than two years!

In truth, I'm probably going to love having an empty nest. No nagging about laundry or trash. No shoes or drum sticks in the middle of the living room floor. No waking up in the middle of the night and realizing he's fallen asleep on the couch again. (That seems to be a family trait -- my brother did it so often my dad dubbed them "camper nights.") But the transition; well, he's my BABY. God grant me the grace to let him become a man!

Range Rant

Today I'm doing having a very domestic day, which includes a lot of cooking. I have a post percolating about it, but I thought that first I'd let you see what I wrote to the manufacturer of my stove yesterday.

Dear Jenn-Air people:

My husband has already written the logical, masculine letter regarding the failure of our stove. This is the other side.

When my mother died in 2004, I came into a modest inheritance. My parents were simple people, a teacher and a pattern-maker, and frankly, my brother and I were surprised that they had managed to save so much. We used the money to pay for our daughter's wedding, and paid off our credit cards. And I had some left, and since our stove was old and worn out, I decided to replace it.

Our local, trusted appliance shop had lots of choices in stock, but the owner recommended that I consider spending a little more than I had planned. He knew that we are the type of people who use appliances until they are worn out, and suggested that this Jenn-Air stove would serve us better and longer than some of the other models I was considering. Boy was he wrong!

In the last four years our stove has needed repair THREE times. The first time was under warranty, and that was fine, but last year the same part (the right front burner thermostat) failed. That repair cost us almost 20% of what we paid for the stove. This summer, the same part failed. My husband , knowing that the stove was no longer under warranty, contacted you and asked if there was anything your company could do on this obviously defective product. You DID pay for the visit of the same repairman, who confirmed that it was indeed the same part. His comment was “Yeah, they fail all the time.”

Since we bought the stove with inheritance money, there are now no spare funds to pay for repairing it AGAIN, and likely again in another year or two. Why bother? I will limp along, using that burner for things like boiling water for pasta, where the temperature doesn't matter. And I won't ever buy a Jenn-Air product again. (The representative on the phone offered us 25% off on another stove. Why would you think we'd throw more money away?)

Sincerely,

(OK, yeah, I'm trolling for a little sympathy from you guys. What else is the internet for?)

Fluff and Nonsense

Since that last post was so heavy, I thought that this one should be just what the title says. I was going to talk about "The Lotion Song", but Arwen pretty well covered it in her post. (But read the footnote* here after you've read the backstory.)

George has returned "home" to his apartment in Duluth after the big cruise. I would post a picture of him passing by upstream, but it happened at 9:15 at night in a rainstorm. We went down and waved (we could barely see him; he could see us because of streetlights), but we left the camera at home.

The other big event of last weekend was the great-crosstown-rivalry football game. Our team (the blue) was defeated by the red team 20-14, in a downpour. Roger and I were there, sitting in light rain, for the pre-game show --which included our band's halftime show, since we were "away" this year (our schools share a stadium)-- and the first half. But we skipped out at the start of halftime, because it had started to POUR, and Tommy assured us he could get rides, first to Pizza Hut, which is the band's after-game hangout, and then home. Unfortunately, he doffed his uniform in the car of the friend who gave him the first ride, and came home with someone else, so we didn't get the uniform back until Tuesday. Phew! It's going to the cleaners after this week's game, but I would have had to pay extra for rush service -- only one cleaner in town can safely do the uniforms -- and Tommy can live with it for this week. It looks OK (I pressed it) but smells musty.

I just realized that since I haven't finished Tommy's or Katie's stories yet (NaBloPoMo here it comes!) most of you may not know that Tommy is a drummer, or that Katie was Drum Major these last two years. Obviously I need to get my act together. (I just tried to post band pictures, but no luck.)

I have been sewing madly on a wedding present (personalized aprons, place mats, napkins) for a long-time friend of my daughter Maggie's, and also altering her mom's mother of the bride dress. As another friend who knew us all way-back-when, and with whom I recently reconnected on Facebook, says "What! 'Joyce' getting married?? Isn't she only 10 years old???" But the bitter truth is -- nope, they grow up. Both Rosie and Arwen were married younger than Joyce is now.

Incidentally, if those (few) of you readers who I "know" fairly well here online would like to connect on Facebook as well, email me, and I will let you in on my "real" identity. And I'll probably do something dumb like send you "rolled heel marching shoes" with the "Marching Band Geek" application. ;-D Or if you like word games, challenge you in "Ladder Mode" on Word Twist. (What, you think it's odd that a grandmother is on Facebook? My mother-in-law, a GREAT-grandmother, is on Facebook!! We are up-to-date old codgers!!)

My (three) typing fingers are getting tired, so I will end this post. And I hope to be back sooner, even if it's just more fluff.


*I personally think "My bottom is over the lotion.." fits the melody better. But then I've had more than twice as much lifetime to practice parody as Bryan has. :-D

It's Not Really about Politics

As my sidebar "About Me" section says, I live in Michigan. We're the 11th largest state, and the eighth most populated. (If our largely-unoccupied Upper Peninsula was as densely populated as the rest of the state, we'd be fifth.) Unfortunately, we are also the state with the highest unemployment rate, which means that many people are moving elsewhere to find work.

The "Big Three" automakers are responsible for much of the employment slump here. But some people also place blame on the state government, which is currently run by Democrats. Of course, when we had a Republican governor, people blamed things on him. I'm not a student of economics; I even avoided taking a class in it in college, which was unusual for math majors. And I have never liked dealing with the political process -- in fact I was over thirty when I voted in my first presidential election. But over the last twenty-odd years I have become very well informed on Michigan (and national) politics for a very simple reason: I'm pro-life.

My husband, who grew up in Michigan, remembers his parents working hard to defeat a ballot proposal which would have overturned Michigan's laws against abortion. That proposal went down to defeat by a two-to-one margin. Unfortunately, that was in November of 1972, and the following January the US Supreme Court handed down Roe v. Wade and Doe v. Bolton, which overrode the abortion laws of all fifty states. Since we have been married, Michigan has dealt with votes on taxpayer funding of abortion (not anymore!), informed consent (yes!), parental consent (with the mandated judicial bypass), assisted suicide (NO --70 to 30%), partial birth abortion (still being fiddled with), and more.

I know some people for whom working on these campaigns is a challenge but a joy, because all this political stuff is right up their alley. Me, I do it because it's right, not because I like it. And this year I get to do it again.

In all the election years when Michigan didn't have some kind of a specific vote going, I still worked hard for the election of candidates at all levels who believe that life and death should be in the hands of God, not a doctor or any other individual. And this has been on both sides of the political aisle; my current state representative is from the "other" party. And he knows me by name and face, even though we disagree on just about every issue but this.

But this year Michigan pro-lifers have a bigger challenge. Yes, we will work to get candidates elected. Our main focus, though, is on the innocuously-named Proposition 2. Prop2, for short, has an attractive website called "CureMichigan". You can go there if you want (it's dot com), but I won't link there because I refuse to inflict the half-truths you'll find there on anybody without a warning. The crux of the matter is that the proponents of Prop2 are claiming that if only Michigan would relax its archaic (passed in 1978) law banning research on embryos which is not for the therapeutic benefit of the embryo, lots of other non-embryonic people would be cured of everything from diabetes to Parkinson's disease.

The facts don't bear this out. This site shows the large number of cures achieved with non-embryonic stem cells, while so far embryonic stem cell (ESC) research has come up empty. But leaving that aside, (and also, if you like, the morality of ESC research), the most dangerous part of Prop2 is "in the fine print."

Prop2, which is a proposal to amend the Michigan constitution, says in part :

All stem cell research and all stem cell therapies and cures must be conducted and provided in accordance with state and local laws of general applicability, including but not limited to laws concerning scientific and medical practices and patient safety and privacy, to the extent that any such laws do not:

(i) prevent, restrict, obstruct, or discourage any stem cell research or stem cell therapies and cures that are permitted by the provisions of this section; or

(ii) create disincentives for any person to engage in or otherwise associate with such research or therapies or cures.

That's a bunch of legal language which boils down to "and nobody's allowed to make any new laws which might stop us from doing any of this, or even make us fell bad about it." So this would be a constitutional amendment that could never be changed. Even scientists found out we didn't need to do any of this stuff. Even if the culture changed, and most people agreed it was wrong.

History shows that at least some laws always need to be amended. As far back as Biblical times, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednigo wound up in the fiery furnace, and Daniel in the lion's den, because the king couldn't change the laws that put them there. And the American constitution has needed to be changed. When my mother was born, my grandmother had no legal right to vote. When my grandmother's mother was born [she's the one for whom I'm named] African-Americans weren't even citizens. Those things needed to be changed, even though they were "sensible" at the time when they were enacted. But Prop2's framers figure they're wiser and more enlightened than America's founding fathers.

So this election season I'll be out there dealing with yard signs and get-out-the-vote phone calls and fund-raising and all the other stuff of a political campaign, and hating it. But I'll be doing it anyway, because it's not really about politics -- it's about Life.

If you live in Michigan and are interested in helping -- or even if you think I'm off-the-wall --log on to MiCause.com and see where you fit in. And for those of you who live somewhere else, all prayers are appreciated!

Down the River We Go. . . .

The title of this post is from a song that was in one of the music books my elementary school used. I don't remember which grade, but the series was published by Silver Burdett, before they merged with Ginn. If anybody half-remembers it, the lyrics are here. I can remember singing this song with great verve, which is rather funny considering that the largest bodies of water I had seen at that point were some creeks (pronounced "cricks"), a couple of ponds, and the murky, muddy, "lake" in which I learned to swim, more or less... Roger would say less.

But then I married my man from Michigan, and now live in a town on the shore of a Great Lake. And although it's not the O-hi-o river from the song, we also have a river. It's a big enough river that our town hosts its own tall ship. And we have lots of sidewalks right at the river's edge, from which this picture was taken. And this morning, Roger and I were down there with our camera.

George was on board this cutter, headed down the river. He's the tiny little dot about halfway up the superstructure, directly above the G in Coast Guard. He waved, we waved, and then down the river he went. And I, of course, went on my morning errands with a little bit of a tear in my eye. (In a week or two they'll be coming back up!)

Cop-Out Photo Post

I think I've had a post like this already, but somebody did ask for pictures, and it's been another crazy week, so here you go, Lindsay! This is Matthew the day of his baptism. He looks very much like Daniel at his baptism, but Daniel was several weeks older. Rosie and Anthony and the boys flew to Idaho yesterday for Anthony's parents' 40th wedding anniversary celebration, so they had the baptism earlier than they would have otherwise. But since Daniel came early and Matthew was overdue, both boys were about the same size. And in ten or fifteen years, nobody will be able to tell the pictures apart. Already we are doing it by what background and which outfit!


This next one is Matthew on Thursday the 14th. I think his new nickname should be "Chubster." He was 8# 1oz. at birth, 8# 3oz. at his four day checkup, and 9# 10 oz. at two weeks. This is a day short of three weeks. Ten and a half pounds, anybody??

This is Rosie with Matthew, at Arwen's house. Although I came home on Friday, (the day Matthew was two weeks old) it was only to help Maggie and Katie pack up their stuff to fly off to college in Florida tomorrow. Since Maggie was scheduled to take the GRE on Friday (yesterday), we drove both girls and a LOT of stuff to Arwen's on Thursday. Arwen and Bryan will take them to the airport tomorrow, after they have (we hope!) consolidated their stuff into two suitcases and a carry-on each. And since due to the rising cost of flying, we won't see them again until Christmas, the whole family except George/Brandon came over for dinner.


There's nothing like a couple of nephews to take your mind off the GRE!!

I Should Have Known Better...

Somehow I believed that even though I am spending the week at Rosie's house helping her with Daniel and Matthew since Anthony is done with paternity leave, I would be able to post. I am typing this with one hand standing up holding Matthew while Rosie is in the shower. See you next week!

Welcome, Matthew Benedict!

Rosie had her baby Friday evening. She had, slow, boring, not-quite-labor all day, and then a very lively time from about 6PM onward until Matthew was born about 10:15. I drove down to be with her in labor, but this is the last grandchild birth I'll try to attend. Sad-but-true fact -- I'm just getting too old. She and Anthony sent me away just about the time things picked up, because it was obvious that I was approaching "basket case" from fatigue. But they did superbly on their own, and Matthew is a sweetie!!

And there is something I'm not too old for -- holding the baby!

Pet Pictures as Per Request

Callebaut above, Joe below






And two of Lucas with Tommy

Response to "George"

As some of you may have seen in the comments, my older son "George" chose to take issue with how I named the pets in the previous post. He said:

"I find it somewhat ridiculous, mother, that you have no problem openly naming Lucas, or putting quotation marks around "Joe", as some sort of pseudo-pseudonym, yet feel the need to fake the nickname of our first dog, Callebaut, aka Cal. Not "Bo", Cal. And while I'm not sure what Uncle Bo called his childhood pet, I'm betting it wasn't "Cal". This internet anonymity stuff is a bit odd, I know, but the 35,600 Google results for "callebaut dog" aren't likely to lead anyone to find out who were really are."

So, for clarity --

Dear Only-slightly-pseudonymous George,

You are absolutely right! I should have just used the real names. But I wanted to avoid explaining how each animal was named, so I started with a never-used call name, and went downhill from there. I was just too lazy to fix it.

So the real names, in order, are:
Calico Snifter Boogie -- a beagle of high lineage but unfortunate "printed' pattern on his nose.
Callebaut -- a half-Aussie shepherd/ half chocolate Lab who was too classy to be called Hershey or Nestle
Aborigine Joe -- never called anything but "Joe" (or "Joe-dog" by Daniel and Camilla), half Aussie shepherd, half black Lab (we think)
Lucas -- a cute little black and white no-breed kitten

And by the way, son, if you don't stop picking on me (and your sister), I will tell the whole world that you don't have a weird name like your siblings, but are actually something totally commonplace and boring, like "Brandon". ;-D

Love you!

Mom

The Tail of a Cat

I have never wanted a cat. Or a dog, either. Or a gerbil or a bird or any other kind of a pet, for that matter. I had one week's custody of the class hamster in third grade. He bit me! And I had one or two ill-fated turtles, before they stopped selling them in every dime store for fear of salmonella, and once an Easter chick that everybody knew from the start was destined to wind up in my grandparents' chicken yard, to provide eggs or meat depending on its gender.

But I didn't mind. My friends read dog stories, or horse stories, or both. I read mysteries, or ballet stories. And anyway, I was "allergic to animal dander." My brother, however, minded a lot. He NEEDED a dog. And so my parents got him a beagle puppy, who lived strictly outdoors, in respect for my allergies. When "Cal" died when my brother was in high school, he was never replaced.

Many years later (he was forty-two), my brother married a lovely lady who was a cat person. It was understood that if he wanted her, Gypsy was part of the deal. And as Gypsy moved on to cat heaven, she was replaced by Samantha and Thomasina. One of them (I can only tell which under direct coaching) has adopted my brother. And the other one (I think) usually deigns to jump on me a couple of times whenever I visit. I have always considered that cat exposure enough for me. I choose not to remember that my allergies have departed along with my NOT LAMENTED allergy to chocolate.

However. . . . I also married, a man whose family had a succession of both cats and dogs all through his childhood, and even after he left home. And he is observant enough to know that I don't have my chocolate allergy any more. So ten or so years ago, when our children begged for a dog, I was outvoted seven to one. I could have cast a veto, but I was assured that they were old enough to take care of a dog, and I wouldn't have to do anything. That was as true as most such promises are. But I kind of got used to "Bo", and when he had to be put down because of lymphoma after only four years, I sent a baggie of cheese and chocolate -- his favorites -- along with the brave souls who were taking him to the vet.

We were pet-free for about a year after that, but I, at least, am incapable of telling a group of wistful children "Nope, no dog again ever." We eventually adopted "Joe", who has been a member of our family ever since. He is definitely Roger's dog, which is good because walking him makes my sedentary computer guru get some exercise. But not so good is the fact that when we want to make a weekend trip out of town to visit the grandchildren we have to find someone to take care of him. We have some awesome friends and neighbors who are willing to do this, but as the kids leave home and the grandchildren multiply we'll want to be gone more often, so we had determined -- no more pets.

Allow me to backtrack a little . I have not yet finished writing the Mom's-eye-view of Katie, our fifth. And I haven't begun at all on Tommy, our youngest. This has partly been because I've realized that they are still living through the parts of life I've described for the others. But I need to give Tommy a couple of sentences here.

Tommy is smart, articulate, computer-savvy, and self-confident. He gets his good looks from his dad, and his pig-headed stubbornness from me. He is wonderful with Daniel and Camilla; patient, kind and willing to have their kind of fun. And a couple of months ago, he got himself into hot water. It wasn't a big deal, really. I almost had a sense of relief that now we knew what the "wrinkle" in raising this one was, since each of the other five had had one. (Some of them I've mentioned here, some not.) But the result was that he wasn't too happy with us for while.

But ten days ago Tommy came into the room where I was ironing with an interesting smile on his face. "Hello, dear beautiful sweet intelligent mother.." Can you tell where this is going? He wanted to know if he could adopt a kitten! He and Katie assured me that the kitten was free (true), that it had had all its shots (not true), and that they would do all the work and pay all the expenses (true so far, except that sometimes I have to open a door that we keep closed in the summer for cooling so that Lucas can reach his litter box.) Obviously, I eventually I said yes.

And I'm very glad I did. Tommy, who begged us for a little brother or sister until it became obvious that it wasn't going to happen, now has something younger and smaller to care for. He spent his entire last paycheck on Lucas' vet visit. He wakes up reasonably cheerful in the morning to the sound of a bell on a collar. He cleans the litter box without being reminded.

Of course, right now, Tommy, like all red-blooded American boys, is taking a Sunday afternoon nap. And Lucas, who seems to have an insatiable urge to be "UP" as high as possible, has made his way onto my desk and is blocking my view of the monitor as has chases his tail. I still don't have any desire for a pet. But I guess I don't mind being entertained by somebody else's!

Wednesday Afternoons

(This is the post that was percolating when I pinched my finger into a giant blood-blister trying to remodel a lampshade. All better now. AND the lampshade works just fine.)

I am a creature of habit. My kids would probably tell you that I am rigid and stuck in a rut, and Roger will politely say that I'm "not as spontaneous" as he is, but the truth is that I am just more comfortable when I have a general idea of what's coming on any given day. For the next year! We have a giant wall calendar in our kitchen that literally has "Major Grocery Shopping" written on every other Thursday from here through December -- which is when it ends -- with deviations for things like Thanksgiving. Somewhere on September is written "buy new planning calendar", because I need a while to get all the birthdays and regular monthly meetings and grocery days and suchlike transferred before November, so that I can start writing in things for January as soon as I find out about them. I prefer to believe I am organized! ;-D

So it should be no surprise to you that I have a regular weekly "plan of action". Sundays are big family breakfast, mass (unless choir sings on Saturday night), dinner, and our couples' group once a month. Monday is music planning stuff, or sewing, or nasty big jobs like cleaning out the basement. (The rationale is that I'll be well rested after the weekend.) Tuesday is laundry, ironing, and menu planning and grocery list. Wednesday is changing beds, sheet and towel laundry, and bathroom cleaning. Thursday is grocery shopping (and maybe some random stuff like mending on non-major shopping weeks), and choir practice in the evening. Friday is more laundry and ironing, plus going over the schedule for the upcoming week. And I usually cook an extra-nice dinner because some of the family fasts breakfast and lunch most Fridays. Saturday is mopping, vacuuming, housecleaning. Lather, rinse, repeat.

To be perfectly honest, most weeks are not that cut-and-dried. This week, for example, I did grocery planning on Monday because we have a funeral to attend on Tuesday. And in the summer, the kids do more of the work than during the school year. And when that next grandbaby arrives, I'm out of here no matter what day of the week it is.... But getting back to what I was saying, I like knowing what's on my agenda for any given day.

Those of you who work outside the home probably are thinking "That's all she does?!! I do all that stuff in my evenings!" But I promise you I don't sit around and eat bonbons and watch soap operas. For one thing, we don't have a television. For another thing, I need to be frugal with my grocery money, so I cook mostly from scratch and spend several hours with the weekly ads figuring out which of the things I need are cheapest where this week. (I have a regular route that includes five to eight stores on one loop with no gas wasted. When we had six kids at home "major shopping" took about five hours, with another two or so for putting things away.) But I spend $160 a week for our current family of four, including all paper, cleaning, and hygiene supplies, which is only $16 more than the government's "Thrifty" plan for just food. And we eat VERY well. I could probably cut back to below the thrifty level, and we'd still be healthy and happy. I'd just have to bake cookies more often instead of buying them!

When I had six kids at home, especially when all of them were under twelve, the weekly schedule listed above took ALL my time. In fact, at that point I didn't have time for choir. The kids started helping as soon as they were able, but some things (changing the sheets on top bunks for example) were just not in their ability range. And that Wednesday list of beds, bathrooms, laundry took the whole day.

Somewhere along the line, though, it got easier. Even when a kid can't make a top bunk, he can strip it. And when older siblings can entertain younger ones, you stand a chance of getting a bathroom cleaned all in one shot, instead of stopping several times for childcare responsibilities. About the time Tommy started kindergarten, I discovered that I could (usually) get out of the house for a Wednesday mid-morning Eucharist. I would then grab a Coke or a mocha at the Tim Hortons' drive-thru, pick up Tommy, and finish my work. Later, when he was gone all day (waaah, all of my kids are gone!), I had a mental breakthrough. If I worked REALLY hard I could finish all the work (except maybe folding that last load of towels) before time to leave for the noon service. And then I'd be free until school was out. To go to the library. To go sit by the river and watch the freighters go by. To hit Barnes and Noble, make a list of new books to look for at the library (frugal? me??), and get a real mocha in the cafe. Heaven!!

Tommy will be a junior next year. He's the only kid without a driver's license. It's been years since I needed to be home by the time school let out. I can go places any day of the week, and I often do. But I still clean bathrooms like a dervish on Wednesday mornings, because Wednesday afternoons?? They're all mine!

Just in Case You Didn't Notice . . . .

When I got home from the weekend, I was too tired out from having fun with Daniel and Camilla to do a proper post. But I did manage to change my blog header. Did you notice?

I am now the grandmother of FOUR! Arwen and Bryan let us know that Camilla will have a sibling, due in February. Hurrah! Rosie and I wouldn't mind at all if we had to share our birthday. Maggie thinks that she should get to share hers, since we already have someone to share with. Actually, any February birthday will be fine! (And as Tommy's birthday is at the end of January, that's a possibility too.)

New grandbaby! Thank You, God!

Where I'm spending my weekend

I have an actual post percolating, but I hurt my finger while trying to modify a $6 lampshade to fit an antique lamp that only $60 lampshades fit, and I'm typing with three fingers instead of my usual four. But I'm going to have a great weekend hanging out with these folks and their parents, and will be back next week, unless Daniel's baby sister or brother arrives!