This may come off a little preachy. If you aren’t in the mood for such, just skip this today and come back tomorrow when I shall share some of the lessons I’ve learned on the “farm.”

Being at the kids school every day has brought me into contact with all kinds of people. Single people. People dealing with ugly divorces or custody arrangements. Rich people. Poor people. Really insane people. Angry people. Happy people. People with AND without kickball skilz.  I have gotten to know many of them on a more personal level. Some of them have very hard lives and at times, it is painful to hear the stories they tell.

Today, I visited at a congregation also made up of all kinds of people. Most of it was quite positive. But there was one row of about 10 young people…either late high school or early college…that almost sucked the joy out of everything good. They were unfortunately directly in front of us and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t tune them totally out. I honestly have no idea why they were even there. One guy gave it up altogether, slumped down in the pew and went to sleep. Another guy hunkered down and played an hour of Angry Birds. Three people compared whether or not they were all double jointed. All of them talked…the WHOLE time. One checked his facebook account. And they almost got a smackety smack from me. Even my kids noticed how disrespectful they were.

And so, on the basis of my recent people watching experiences and getting to know people from all walks of life, here are my assessments. You don’t have to agree. I know I’m not always right. But I’m a 41 year old mom of 4 who knows how to sit quietly in any kind of formal assembly, believes in keeping her word, and still has many of the same friends I had when I was 19. Also, I scoop chicken poo like a champ. Whatever credibility comes with these things is the credibility I have.

Life Lessons according to Missy:

(1)    Honor your commitments. This one actually might NOT make you more peaceful. Sometimes sticking something out—whether it’s a bad game of Duck, Duck, Goose, a job you took, a friendship, a task you said you’d do for someone, or a marriage—is harder in the short run. Sometimes sticking it out is the tougher option. But if you said you’d do it—if you committed to it—then you should do it. Don’t break your end. How many others suffer when we quit? Almost always, others do. Sometimes for a day. Sometimes for many months. Sometimes forever. Many times the other party messes it up or lets go of their end of the rope. Don’t let go first.

(2)    If you aren’t sure you can honor the commitment, don’t make it. You don’t have to say yes. If you say yes, mean it. But then, we’ve been down this road already.

(3)    Choose God. I honestly don’t know how I’d live without Him. I don’t know how people do it. Life can be very heavy and very challenging. Sometimes life can try to kill you. It hasn’t tried to kill me yet, but it has sat down on me a time or two and I’ve been through enough to know that I won’t do it without God. I’m watching some friends live through some pretty bad stuff. Even in the bad stuff, God is with them.

(4)    Choose your spouse wisely.  Choose them before you have their babies. And then work to the bone to make it work. I know there’s tons of extenuating circumstances. I know I don’t know people’s situations. I know it doesn’t always work out. I’m not judging. I’m just saying that if you are still searching for that someone, search carefully.

(5)    A thing is only as good as its investors.

(6)    Just because someone doesn’t believe in it, doesn’t make it unbelievable.

(7)    Your actions—whatever they are and however insignificant they seem to you—impact others. If you pick your nose in the car, you are not invisible. Even window tinting cannot guarantee your safety. People see. If you play thumb wars in church in front of a family trying really hard to get something out of the service, you may be utterly ruining it for them.  Almost never do our actions affect only us. Almost always they ripple out. So consider others. In our own living rooms, I guess it doesn’t matter so much. But in a theater, or school auditorium, or church building, or in line at the grocery store, people see and are either made better or worse by what we do.

So don’t be a dork. 🙂

Long time, no post.
Most people haven’t noticed.  A few have. Most of them see me regularly and know that I’m alive. They also know why I’m not posting. I spent 10 weeks trying to clone myself unsuccessfully. Had I succeeded, I could have sold my extra self for, like, $15. I can’t decide if having a $15 clone of me would do your family good or harm. Sometimes I lose keys and wallets and spill things.

The answer to that question is of no consequence, because I have managed to be in only one place at one time and that place has mostly been the kids’ school.  I even took up subbing, because I figured if I was going to be there all day, every day, I might as well take home some pocket change at the end of the day. I asked for $39,000. They said no. They seem to know about my propensity for losing keys and wallets.

In the amount of time I’ve been away from my blog, here are the things I haven’t told you:

I have taken up and immediately given up exercising 7 times.

I have gone back to Diet Mtn. Dew and love it as much as ever. Don’t be judging. At least I’m honest.

I have gone on several diets and gained 4 pounds.

Hahahahaha. Shut up. It’s hard being me. Actually, I think I’m finally FINALLY in the zone. Maybe having some success. But it’s Thanksgiving week and –well—you know how that goes. Let’s all hold our collective breath. If I do that, I won’t be able to open my mouth to eat pie. Actually, lucky for me, I hate pie. All pie. It works for me during the diet season. It works for the people that eat with me, too. They get more pie.

The subbing thing has been interesting. I will share with you a few lessons I have learned from subbing.

1. I am not as cool or as funny as I thought I was. Or maybe I am and you have to be 20 to get me. Or maybe you have to be at least 20 and sort of “off,” if you know what I mean. You do know what I mean. But probably I’m just not as funny or as cool as I thought. Duly noted.
2. Subbing is not as easy as I thought it would be. It should come with a massage. It doesn’t.
3. Laundry will not do itself. Neither will vacuuming or grocery shopping. Total bummer.
4. Third graders are the perfect balance of skilled, intelligent, and innocent. All except one. And I had her shipped away to a place where she’ll have to earn her shoes and a right to eat. That girl was a bad seed.
5. The shipping thing from Item #4 is my own personal dream. Leave it alone. Let me have it.
6. First graders are really, really bad at P.E. Their main sport is to run willy nilly in all directions while yelling or weeping. Technically, that is not a sport. It IS however what we mostly did.
7. Insane people cannot play kickball.
8. First graders definitely cannot play kickball. Do not attempt this. You will need a strong drink of something afterward. I went with Diet Mtn. Dew.
9. First graders cry during Duck Duck Goose. Always. Every time. Multiple people crying. Big, salty, why-does-the-world-hate-me tears. This one was a surprise to me. I made it through 3 rounds, each time. During those three rounds, all 20 tiny people had hope that they would be picked next. Next time, SURELY, it would be them. They would get to be the goose. But after three rounds, they all lost hope. In one fell swoop, hope was dead. And I couldn’t revive it even with systems and processes and blue prints and bar graphs. So.Much.Crying.
10. If for some reason, a person wearing a woodchuck costume decides to walk the car line at the end of the day to promote school spirit, you can pretty much quit whatever it was you were trying to do on the field. Even if there’s bleeding or vomiting, they won’t come back to you. It’s all Woodchuck at that point.

At one point, while still under the impression that I would be able to make Olympians out of a particularly maladjusted group of first graders, I had them warming up against the fence. And I attempted to teach them a cheer.

I said to them, “I’m going to cheer something and then you are going to repeat it back to me. I’ll say ‘I’ve got skills (SKILZ), yes I do, I’ve got skilz, how ‘bout you?’ And then you will cheer back to me, ‘We’ve got skilz, yes we do, we’ve got skilz, how ‘bout you?! OK? Ready?” They said they were ready. They nodded their heads enthusiastically.

“OK! Here we go!  I’ve got skilz, yes I do, I’ve got skilz, how ‘bout you?” And then I pointed to them for them to say their part.

“YES!” They all yelled in unison.

“No, no, no,” I said. “Remember? When I finish my part, you are supposed to say it back to me? Repeat what I say. OK?” Again, they nodded.

“I’ve got skilz, yes I do, I’ve got skilz, how ‘bout you?” I pointed to them.

“YES!” They all shouted again.

They did not have skilz.

Then the woodchuck came out.

You know the rest of the story.

But I got a paycheck yesterday. So, booyah.

So I was supposed to start exercising when Numero Quatro started preschool. And give up twinkies. That didn’t happen.

I did go running today, though. I was not a gazelle, but I got it done. You have to go through that first phase before becoming a gazelle. My gazelle days are coming.

I now have a route I really like, which is comforting somehow. About halfway down one of my sidestreet country roads, I saw an older couple standing out in front of their property, inspecting some vegetation. It looked like a garden of sorts. The leaves coming up were a deep, healthy green. As I ran by, I said,

“That’s quite a crop you got there.” I was proud of myself. I had spoken. I had used the word crop. And I had seen humans. All in the same place.
The lady chuckled at my comment. Why is she chuckling, I wondered.

“What is it?” I asked, following up on my crop question. I was guessing broccoli in my head.

“These are elephant ears,” she answered blankly. “They spring up naturally.”

oh.

I totally knew that.

 

 

 

Text of the day:”I’ll try that,” = “I’ll Terry heyday.” Because obviously THAT’S what I wanted to say.

If you are going to be a dork, at least be symmetrical about it.

My cardio workout for the day was trying to pick a horse’s feet. My 11-year-old was giving me advice. If you measure success on actually picking the horse’s feet, then I failed. Utterly. She wouldn’t even make eye contact with me. It’s like I wasn’t even there. I prefer to measure success on how many times I get kicked in the head, how many bones I break, or how many times I hear something pop inside an arm or leg.

Times kicked in head = 0
Bones broken = 0
Times I heard something pop = once, but that was inside my head when I thought I had to cut and laminate 100 tiny cards. Pheww. Dodged that bullet.

So I call that success. Todd picked her feet later. The right way. She respects him.

I filled up my van today for $3.28. Booyah, Winn Dixie Fuel Perks. Thanky, kindly. I’ll have that with a BOGO pork cop and some fried typist.

 

 

 

I have often said about myself: I may make a lot of dumb mistakes, but I never make the same dumb mistakes. I can be taught. Unfortunately for me, there are so many new ways to make dumb mistakes, I never quite feel I’ve arrived. There is no peaceful sigh followed by, “I remember when I used to be dumb.” Instead, I just wonder what it’ll be today. In what way will I shame or endanger myself? Every day is exciting…

I walked into Winn Dixie this morning to buy bacon. We were out and there are at least 2 people in my family that are carnivores only. Baconivores, if you will. Porkivores? Well, whatever. I went in to buy bacon and to get something for dinner tonight. I figured some sort of culinary spirit would move me. What moved me was the Buy one, get one on most meats in the store. Wow. I wanted to pass this up, because I didn’t really feel like shopping. But I couldn’t pass it up. I had to start throwing meats into my…little tiny basket. That lasted all 1 roast’s worth of space.

So I set my basket on the floor and went to the front of the store to get a cart. Then, I returned to tossing meats into it. At wild abandon. Awesome.

I decided this little find was exciting enough to text about. So I pulled Gladys out of my back pocket and texted Todd. I typed, “I think Winn Dixie is my new favorite store. BOGO on all meats. I am buying chicken, steak, pork chops, and roasts.”

I was about to hit send when I remembered the breeding and pottying. So I stopped myself cold and read back over the words that were about to hit Todd’s phone. It said, “I am buying chicken, steak, pork cops, and typists.”

Well, now. That’s a very different type of sale, now isn’t it? I’m not sure I even have any good recipes for pork cops or typists. So I corrected myself. You see? Only dumb once, in one area.

I checked out and rejoiced in my $50 worth of free meat. Then I went to load everything into the car.

Everything but the bacon. Which I forgot to get. Because the free cops and typists were so distracting to me.

Shoot. Back into the store I went. This time I bought bacon on sale and some crackers. Mmm. Bacon and crackers.

Checked out again, with the same cashier. That’s always unfortunate. I’m sure she’s seen this before, though.

Then I walked out to my car to go home and the driver’s door was wide open. Huh. Well, would ya look at that? I did that. Remembered the bacon and walked back in to buy some without shutting my door. Fortunately, the 2 ipods and 2 cameras were still there. Because if you save $50 in meat but lose $600 in electronics, you are $550 in the hole.

And though they might be tasty, the free pork cops will not sing your Merry Kicksmas playlist to you when the holidays roll around.

I think I’ve been under a false impression for quite some time. I think I allow myself to believe what I need to believe just to get by sometimes. We have to live with ourselves somehow.  But then there are moments where you stare in the face of something: something big, or ugly, or troublesome, or scary. Just something. And you ask yourself “where did THAT come from?” And because we have to have answers, we trace that thing, whatever it is, backwards. We try to figure it out. Sometimes we can. Sometimes we can’t. But that’s when I realize, again, the thing I always knew: everything matters. Everything leads to something. Good or bad. Everything counts.  Think about it. Don’t you think this is true?

Minutes wasted lead to hours wasted or days wasted. The Golden Oreo (why did they have to come out with THESE?) leads to the Twinkies which leads to the bigger size jeans and to not feeling so great.  Every thought I have, every word I say, every half hour I spend, every bite I put in my mouth…every choice I make is propelling me in a certain direction. The problem I have is that I can’t see the end. I can’t see goal; the destination. The thing I’m working toward seems so far away that I can’t in my mind link the Oreo to it. The end of my life seems years away so what I do today doesn’t matter. I can get it right tomorrow. Or not. It feels out there. Ethereal. Intangible.  So I just roll along. In these jeans. With the TV on in the background. With things in my kids that I need to work with them to change. Things in my own life I need to change.

But the real problem is that I’m waiting for some big opportunity. Some BIG something. And it probably won’t happen that way. You don’t make these changes in fell swoops (I am SO happy I got to type that!). You make them 5 minutes at a time. One choice at a time. What I’m doing right this minute may completely impact what happens with my kids at 4 p.m., good or bad.

A year from now, I’ll be able to see clearly which direction my small choices moved me. I’ll be able to trace it back like I’m watching a movie. Looking forward, it’s a whole lot harder to do.

I have to do this. I see it. I have to do it. I need to identify what’s important and throw out what doesn’t help me achieve that. Along that line, I’m turning off the TV. Before I do, though, I have to ask: What is with all the hugging on Price is Right? Do they bond on Contestants Row? High fives would be a whole lot less awkward…

 

You’re so vain.
I bet you think this blog is about you.
You’re so vain.
I bet you think this blog is about you, don’t you, don’t you, don’t you?

Those raised in the 80s will now be singing this song for approximately 23 days. I’m sorry about that. It had to be done.

I can’t help perusing. At least I can say I am not shopping for iPod nanos at the moment. Right now I’m looking for free pets. Not because I want one or intend to get one. Just because.

Cuz.

Maybe I do it because my other alternative is to watch a full-length documentary film about Sushi. Yes. You read that right. When I went upstairs and told AG it was lights out time, I said, “Daddy is watching a show about sushi.” His reply was, “Daddy watches awkward TV.”

Amen, son. Amen.

Anyway, so I started shopping. Here is a listing from the Pets section of Craigslist:

Hello this is Blue the bunny rabbit. We are finding him a home where he can be loved on and played with alot more than what he does now. He is a very sweet rabbit but needs the love and attention. I already have a male bunny rabbit and 2 males do not get along. So Blue will come with his cage, food bowl, and water bowl. I will also throw in a ziploc bag of food and some rabbit treats. There is a rehome fee of $50 and that includes everything I have listed. If anyone is interested please email me or call me at 8136446455. He will be a great pet for a child or just someone who loves bunny rabbits. Not for food.

This one made me laugh. I have a few comments:

1. It is a LOT…not ALOT. Please, bunny rabbit owner and world at large…PLEASE hear me on this one. Alot is not a word. When you are saying a lot, you are saying a LOT, which is a group of items. OK? OK. Pheww.
2. Is anyone else disturbed by the frequent use of the term “Bunny Rabbit” here? It’s very unnatural. I felt stuck in a really terrible family-oriented, low-budget cartoon that was designed to teach tooth-brushing habits.
3. Rehome fee. What in the world is this really? I see it all the time. Call it what you will, it’s a PURCHASE PRICE. You can’t live with yourself if you sell your pet? Does the term “rehome” help you sleep at night?
4. Not for food. That one made me laugh.

And here’s one I didn’t understand:

sexty cute doggie stroller…zebra (holiday)

used three times nice stroller…call ___________________

Is there such a thing as a sexty stroller or was that supposed to be sexy? Dog strollers are not sexy. They are stupid. So I am going to just assume that sexty is a word that means “weird.”

And then there’s THIS one:

Boa Collection (St.Pete)

I have several boas I am looking to rehome. It is not about the money however I am just wanting to pick up a different hobby.
Email for pictures.

There’s that rehome word again. It’s not about the money. Yeah, I’ll be it’s not. It’s about finally getting a real night’s sleep once the COLLECTION of life-squeezing vipers is gone. This dude is just looking to “pick up a different hobby” that can’t swallow his head whole.

Dude, try racquetball.

I have problems processing information through certain filters. Most people have a “that’s insane” filter that I struggle with. Even when a person who DOES have the insanity filter points out my own insanity, I still struggle to accept, or even recognize, what they are saying is insane.

Let’s set that aside for a moment.

I’ve been trying to lose 2oish pounds for 6 years now. Beloved came along and I gained the typical 18-25 pounds. Just as I was killing my gum-chewing habit and getting back on track, I found out there was going to be a fourth child. Beloved was bald headed and 9.5 months old when this news came. So I added the typical 18-25 baby pounds to the never-lost other baby pounds. And now I’ve just grown used to the whole thing.

I’ve had some minor successes over the years. These have become trapped under the more significant failures. I did well while on vacation a few weeks ago. But then I came home and ate Twinkies (stop judging) and Pringles (you love Pringles. You know you do.), as if I was trying to gain 8 pounds for a movie role.

But now, a new day is dawning. A day without Twinkies. A day where the Pringles are reserved for the children only. A day where water is imbibed.

And, a day with a long bike ride. 12 miles. I know that in the world of extreme sports, 12 miles is not a long ride. But when you’ve been living a Twinkie-laced lifestyle, a person with an insanity filter might question starting out at 12 miles. I have been questioned by the Informinator already. Her insanity filter works very well.  She didn’t actually tell me it was crazy. She just asked the question. Are you sure? Should you work up to? Do you know what you’re doing? Yes. No. Yes.

Boo-yah.

If I live through it, I’ll write later. If I don’t live through it, this will be a very awkward final blog.

I love everyone.

You guys are great.

All 18 of you.

Love Jesus. Live right. Wear a helmet.

I know he’s my kid and all and I’m sure this is just me, but I can’t stop cracking up at the triangle thing. You had to be there. Really.

I should be exercising right now. Or cleaning. Or doing laundry. But I’m not. Stop judging me. You aren’t doing those things either. You’re on your computer. We are the same. Except that you probably don’t have Price is Right going in the background. It’s embarrassing.

Anyway. Last night I came home from playing Trivia with some friends and wrote a blog. Then, in a moment of realization, my eyes got suddenly large as I looked up from my laptop and said to the husband, “Did anyone put the chickens away?” That was a stupid question. (There really IS such a thing as a dumb question.) No one puts the chickens up except for me. AG will put them away if I mention it. Beloved will, too. No one else cares about the chickens. So, of course, his answer to my panicked question was, “No.”

It was 10:15 and the chickens were still at large. So I donned the rubber boots, grabbed a flashlight, and went out into the night. It wasn’t long before T was out there, too.

As I started this process, I wondered to myself if the chickens might possibly put themselves to bed. The door was open to the coop. Might they just go in and get settled?

Nope. They are way too dumb for that.

Instead, four of them were 4 feet from the open coop door, huddled on top of the bunny hutch. Good grief. Come here, ladies. So, one by one, I picked them up and put them in the coop. But there were only four there. I was missing two chickens.

I was just slightly concerned when I started my search. I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as I went, though, because the missing hens were not in the usual places. I looked under the deck. Nothing there. I looked under the sycamore trees in the side yard. No chickens.

Shoot. This was my fault. I should have told the boys to put them to bed before going to bed themselves. I scratched my head and looked around again. Then I did a sweep with my flashlight. It landed on something. It was Goldilocks, perched very uncomfortably on the edge of a wire fence.  She bocked at me. It was a cry for help. Was she going to sleep there all night? I have no idea. I put the flashlight in my mouth and picked her up to carry her back to the coop. She was clearly relieved and said so as I set her on her perch with her 4 little friends.

There was still one missing. I stood inside the coop in the darkness, counting them over and over, hoping maybe I had miscounted or that one had just wandered in while I was occupied. We still had just the five. I started noticing all the feathers on the ground inside the open coop.

“Do you think something already got her?” I asked Todd.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “That IS a lot of feathers.” As we stood there together, deciding what to do next, there came a kerfuffle above us.

Plegonkinbgggggwwwkg.

bonk.

There on the ground was the missing chicken. We stared at this scene like you might stare if a chicken fell out of a space ship. It really was that strange.

We really don’t know where she fell from. Maybe the roof of the coop. Maybe a tree.

I made a fairly strong mental note not to forget the chickens anymore. I better get some eggs out of this deal.