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Monday. Bloody Monday.

So, I'm laying on the couch in my PJs because this is where I slept. It was by choice so Ralph could get the bed to himself without having to fight for it. I am a full contact sleeper. More on that later. Any way I'm here with a headache and the beginnings of a sore throat. Great. I have way to much to do today to get thrown off track by some stupid summer cold or whatever. So, I'll pop an ibu and have a cup or three of coffee and get on with it.
My garden needs weeding.
My yard needs mowing.
My house needs cleaning.
My day either needs more hours in it
Or I need three more mes!

Saturday morning musing

I'm sitting in Daddy's office. It's a plastic table, four outdoor chairs, and a hammock strung between two trees on the edge of a small calm lake. Woodpeckers, mockingbirds and wrens sing loud, drowning out the Canadian geese, our neighbors Jack, and the occasional chicken and dog. It's so pretty I could sit here and drink coffee all day, I think. But I have a lot to do today. And not all of it is unpleasant. This morning I have plants to get in the ground, some hybrid blackberries from a friend of mine, a couple of lilies from Easter. I have plants to get out of the ground, weeds and hedge shrubs in unwanted places. I have baking to do, clothes to wash and a house to clean. I have a fundraisers to attend at church and, sadly, visitation for the funeral for a dear high school friend.
Today will be full of hard work and ups and downs, like most days I think. But this on started out in my Daddy's office. That makes it a little better right off the bat to me.

If a redneck were head of the CIA

If a redneck were head of the CIA things might be a whole lot different up in Washington.

Presidential envoy's would be hard to catch and bomb if they travelled in Nascar. We would have the added fun of watching the President and First Lady get out of the car.

If you lied under oath, while in office, or wile running for office your mouth would be washed out with soap, nasty soap, on prime time television. If it can make a 5 year old stop lying....

Getting "caught with your pants down" gets your wife a whole week with Oprah followed by a Lifetime movie marathon on cheaters. Start with Farah Fawcet in "The Burning Bed".

We would be a "green"agency. No dangerous chemicals to us for interrogation purposes. We would use all natural but highly effective techniques.

Technique one: Roll em' Danno!!!!
Catch a terrorist, strip them down, and roll them in fresh poison oak. Tie their hands together and turn off the air conditioner. In 24 hours they will roll on their mother to get the cortisone shot.
NOTE: for the particularly tough terrorist, let them lie to get their hands free to scratch. They will fess up the truth after a few hours of clawing their skin off to no avail.

Technique two: Bubbas berry patch
Catch a terrorist and put them to work picking blackberries in central Alabama. If the cotton mouths don't get them, the chiggers will.

Our rehab program for the arian nation extremists and other religious extremists is the latest in emersion therapy.

Arian militant supremacists get relocated to either Harlem NY or Tiaguana, Mexico for a year. Without the guns and with their swastikas.

Religious extremists get to go live in Mecca or Gaza for a year. With their signs.

Personally I think a redneck or too would be perfect for the job I'd head of the CIA and homeland security. Don't you?

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On Dogs and Children

  Everyone knows I love dogs. They are wonderful compainions, better that people in most instances. MOST instances. Everyone also knows that I love my children. They are a wonder to behold, and they leave me wondering alot.
   There comes a point where life with dogs and life with children merge into some kind of weird similarity. The dogs take on the kids traits and vice versa. It's creepy and funny all at the same time.
   Take my puppies, please (in my best Rodney Dangerfield). They usually get fed when I get up in the mornings, which is usually around 5 AM. Ester, the fluffly puppy, decided at about 2 AM that she needed to eat, NOW.  She began a campaign of whining, barking, and stomping (mostly on me) to get me to get up. First I though she needed to go out. No Problem. I get up, she doesn't follow me to the door. She stops at the kitchen and looks expectantly. I sigh and go back to bed, get almost asleep....wash, rinse, repeat. The similariltes to having a baby where not lost on me. Finally I resorted to something you can not do with a baby, I put her butt outside and left her there.
  Dogs are known to get lazy over time. It gets harder and harder to get them off the couch,bed, out from underfoot. Basically anywhere that is comfortable, they park it there and stick like ticks on a dog (ba-dump-dump-dum). Teen boys are equally lazy.
   Take my son, please (Rodney again). Getting him out of bed in the morning is like trying get a politician to part with money. This morning we resorted to being annoying, which was fun on our part. After all, do parents not live to annoy their children? We started with a simple song, I forget where we got it from. It was on a childrens channel as a filler and we got it off iTunes.

Needless to say, we put it on loop and cranked it up. He came stomping, snarling and barking out of his room a short time later. Cell phone in hand.
Him: "Mom, I have a cell phone with all kinds of alarms on it. I don't need this!"
Me: "You never here your alarms go off, we are just helping in a constructive way."
He stomps off with a groan (think Creeper from Scooby Doo) and goes straight to Dad. Like that's gonna help.
Him: " I have a phone with all kinds of alarms to get me up in the morning. I don't need your help!"
Dad:  " Then why are you standing in the kitchen still in your PJs?"
He stomps away again. His father and I snicker while cranking up the song even louder.
Parenting has is finer points, sometimes.

The new years resolution

   Some people think it's old fashioned, but I make a new years resolution every year. I'm pretty serious about it. I start formulating it in December. I think about all the things I didn't get done on my previous resolution, I analyse why it didn't get done, determine if it is worth putting on the new list, and go from there.
I put 10 items on my list, every year. Why not 12? I don't know, I ask my OCD that all the time, it never answers. I type them up on pretty paper and post them prominetly on my desk. This year, thanks to windows 7, I made it a permanent post-it note. (yeah, post-it notes for the desktop!!!!)
   Why all the fuss, you ask? There is something momentus about a new year. It's fresh, there was never this year before and there will never be this year again. It's a new begining, a chance to make big changes. It's an opportunity to use an entire year as a timeline to progress toward a better future. Most people want to be better people. Some people procrastinate, and an entire year is like a lifetime in front of them, they can take their time. But December come quickly, and it gets here faster every year, and suddenly the time is to short; another broken resolution to add to the pile of long broken ones. Some people are "Johnny on the spot", out of the gate full of fire. By mid-year, all the wind has left their sails, already defeated by goals that were impossible to meet in the first place they discard their resolutions as pipe dreams, never attainable. Some people set their goals, pace themselves, evaluate progress often, and don't sweat it if they don't make all of them. (I have never meet one of these people, but I am told they DO exist.)
   Yet every year, those of us who choose to, set new goals. It just seems like the right thing to do on new years. It's like eating black eyed peas and turnip greens for luck and money. There is no real reason for it, other than we have always been told it's what you do. It's not like you can't do it at any time of the year, but it just doesn't have the same meaning any other time than new years.
  So I made my new 10, and I snuck down to Daddy's and had black eyed peas and turnip greens. Call me old fashioned, let's see what happens.

12 days in...

Wow. It’s not quite 2 weeks into the New Year. We’ve had a pretty eventful two weeks though. Let’s see, where to start.

    I went back to work on the 3^rd, after a two week vaca that was a bittersweet homecoming. I wanted to stay home and have a real vaca, (see the children are sick) but I was half afraid to. So I went with a working vaca at work. That is what I told myself at least. My nephew can home from Iraq, which makes me very happy. If he goes back, and I think he will, it will be to Afghanistan. Please end the war so he won’t get to go there.

   It snowed in Alabama, again. That’s a pretty memorable event. It snowed on Christmas Day. This had never happened in my memory, if not lifetime.  But it snowed in January. It was a really real, show that you could see, and it accumulated. I got mostly ice where I live, but there were areas of AL that got 3 to 5 inches. Unheard of! This is an event that happens once every 15 years or so, and usually later in the year. So much for global warming, Al.

   Auburn won the BCS National Championship. This hasn’t happened since 1957. Alabama won it last year, and that means that 2 universities from the same state has won it back to back. My understanding is, this has never happened. Cam won the Heisman. So the Heisman is back in Auburn, where it originated from. Last year it was won by Mark Ingram, from Alabama. The SEC has won the BCS Championship for 4 years running.

 A portend of things to come? A really great year for eveyone or the end as we know it?

   I’m not a superstitious person, really. But I have to admit, they are some things that make you go hmmmmm. Maybe the ancient Mayans have something.

What my blisters told me

It's 5 AM. I am begining to hate my interal clock.

I have 3 blisters. One on my left hand, just below my ring finger and two on my right hand below my pinky and third fingers repectively. They hurt. These are deep blisters, the kind that form calouses. They are hot to the touch and tender.
   Now, I've had blisters like these before. Of late, doing yard work but earlier, in my youth, from working with big animals like cows and horses. Those are blisters of memory and didn't really have anything to say to me except maybe, "Good work, girl."
  As I lay in bed last night, exausted from the work of the day, and complained to myself about these blisters that made it hard for me to hold my iPhone, I could have sworn that they started talking to me. No, I am not halucinating nor have I finally gone 'round the bend nor have I been moonstruck (although that does sound a little fun doesn't it). I realized that I am not the only person in the world who has ever had blisters like these. Everyone, at some point does and most got theirs not from a frienzy of cleaning but from honest hard work. Continual work: often back breaking, sometimes spirit breaking, and more often than not thankless.
   Suddenly I saw my blisters through the eyes of an adult. They were blisters there because of things that had to be done, and no one else to do them. These blisters were born of responsability and a desire to make things better for those that I am responsible for. What right did I have to complain about my blisters anyway?After all, I'm not the only person in the world to have them, right? I know lots of people who have blisters, and bear the calouses that came from continual friction from work even though the blisters were painful.
  Now my blisters were getting personal. After all, if I did nothing tomorow these blisters might go away and never callous over. That would be nice, to maybe soak my hands or rub lotion into them, pamper them a bit and smooth away the pains and memory of such hard work.
    But wait, my blisters said, you have responsabilities that cannot be ignored. I saw my blisters through the eyes of an adult. A thing to be borne because tomorow will come, and it will have it's own set of blisters to tell their tale. I thought of my parents. My father, who worked with his hands all his life, formed many blisters, and complained about none of them. Even in his retirement, he carries the calouses from those years of hard work, resposniblilty, and desire to provide something better for those he loves. My mother, who worked outside of the home, then came home to work again. Cleaning, cooking, mending, all without complaint, and all without asking for help from my father. Not because she thought he would not do it, but because it was her job, her responsability, and I fancy, she had some pride in that.
   So listen, said my blisters, we are not anoyances or things to be borne. We are a badge of honor and a sign of responsability. May we become calouses, and be there to remind you, when you whine, that all things worth making better will require the creation of blisters. That blister is there to remind you that you are doing a job worth something to someone, even if it is to yourself. That calouse is there to remind you that you cared, it mattered, and you continued when you could have stopped and let us heal. Good job.

Cleanliness is next to........

It's 6 AM. I've been up for over an hour now. My internal clock rang at 4:30, the bastage.
   Before I start my cleaning rant, and there WILL be a rant. Let me make something clear. My husband does clean. He washes dishes and clothes. He picks up after kids and dogs alike. Sometimes the mess moves faster than him, but he does clean. Lately he's been sick: First with fibromyalsia, nothing to laugh at let me tell you, and lately with the flu.
    So the cleaning back slid for a while and I let it, knowing that I was going on vaca for 2 weeks. I also had an agenda. I am going to get the house spick and span, like it has never been before. It's a New Year's compulsion. I know a fair bit about compulsion since I am a diagnosed OCPD  sufferer (so much of my childhood is so clear now). For whatever reason I feel the need to start 2011 with a really clean house.
   Here I sit. At the kitchen table with coffee in hand looking  out over the remaining cleaning jobs to be done and wondering ( a little paniky like) if I will be able to get it all pulled together in time. I still have so much to do. Carpets to steam clean, cobwebs to conquer, a bedroom closets that looks like it belongs to the Krats Bros., not to mention the bathroom closet and laundry room. I get tired and not just a little concerned just thinking about it.
   What will I do if I don't get it all clean by Dec. 31st? I doubt seriously if anyone else in the whole world will care. Certainly the clean police won't show up and drag me off to some filthy dungeon where I will be forced to scrub peanut butter out of white carpet forever. Did I mention my overactive imagination? Another time then.
    The thing is that I will know the house is not just the way I want it. I will see dirt everywhere and on everything. People will come over and I will practically feel the dirt. They will sit on the edges of their seats to keep from coming in contact with it, or not come over at all. I will go over to other peoples homes and wonder, how on earth are they so clean and I am so dirty? I get wound up tight as a watch, muscles tense, just thinking about it. So what do I do and where do I go from this point?
   I think I will take a prozac, maybe two. Clean the cabinets in the bathroom and do the laundry. I might even get to steaming the living room carpet. Most importantly, I have to remember that no where in the Bible does it say that cleanliness is next to Godliness. As a matter of fact, I am begining to believe that cleanliness is next to impossible.