There I was, stalking someone on fb and they responded to a wonderful idea... one I might not have thought of on my own, but one I now consider my own. An easy way to sort through your hanging clothes.
1. Go to your closet.
2. Turn on the light.
3. Turn all the hangers (with clothes on them) the wrong way (opposite way, backward, etc.).
4. As you wear and wash the clothes, hang them back up the regular way (the way you always have).
5. In six months, any clothes still hanging on a backwards hanger means you haven't worn them... and you probably are not going to.
6. Remove the clothes from your home, quickly.
7. Repeat.
Feel free to do this to your spouses and children's closets. They will think you are weird for turning them all around, but most will not take the time to turn them back to normal... and in 6 months you'll know what they've been wearing and what they haven't.
And what shall we do with all the extra coat hangers we will be getting rid of?
Today, Claire and I were at Winco, where you bag your own groceries. As I was busy throwing a basket full of yummies on the little conveyor belt, Claire was contemplating the gender of our cashier.
"Are you a boy or a girl?"
Oh no, did she just say that out loud.
"I said are you a boy or a girl?"
Maybe I can head this off at the pass... "Claire, she's a girl. See her pony tail and her pretty earrings."
I can see her thinking while I am busy tossing the last of the produce on the belt. "Am I a boy or a girl?"
"You are a girl, sweetie."
"Are you a boy or a girl?"
"I am a girl, too." I am glad she is asking about me and her, maybe it will seem like she is unsure of gender identity in general. She's just a little kid, asking a basic question. Except, she knows the difference between boys and girls... and has for some time.
Then the lady says "I can see her talking to me, but I can't really hear her."
Oh no. Am I supposed to say the exact thing I was hoping we could just let drop. Maybe I could just make a politically correct summarization?
I tell the nice lady that Claire's asking if we are girls or boys. "Oh, I'm a grandma." Good answer, as I am quickly changing gears to repack the shopping cart I just emptied.
Normally, I enjoy this part. I've always loved Tetris and feel like I can actually use it when I fill paper bags with boxes of cereal, crackers, cake mix and jello. I am even up to the challenge of tuna fish, tortillas and frozen pizza bites. And it's a race against the person in the other lane... even if they bought less stuff.
As I start to fill my first bag, Claire says "Then why does she have a mustache?"
I wanted to stop right there and laugh out loud! I understood the whole conversation a little better, now. And I wanted to laugh. I was tired and Claire was being observant, making "connections" in her little brain.
I chose the easy answer - "Shush, I'll tell you in the van." But she never brought it back up.
As I was telling Darren about our trip this evening, she piped up and said, "Well, she did have a mustache."
A family friend offered Emily and Becca a chance to meet her horse, Levi. It took about an hour to get there, so I had lots of time to go over the "mom rules" with them.
#1. DO NOT EVER walk behind the horse. They are large, strong animals and will kick you. Hard.
#2. Again, do not walk BEHIND the horse. I don't want you getting kicked. Walk around the front
if you need to get to the other side.
#3. Remember to use a soft voice,
so we don't spook the horses.
#4. Walk in front of the horse, NOT BEHIND...
or you will get kicked.
Before we could meet Levi, we got to muck out his stall.
The girls were so excited to wear boots and use a manure fork!
While Mrs. Debbie went to get some wood chips, the sisters waited patiently for her return.
It's hard for these sisters to stop dancing even when they aren't excited...
But we finally got to meet Levi. Mrs. Debbie showed us how to brush him, she showed us how to clean out his hooves and she taught us to keep our hands on him and talk to him,
even when we walk behind him.
What? Did she just tell my little 8 year olds they could walk behind this huge animal! "Keep your hand or your arm on him, so he knows where you are. Talk to him, so he knows where you are. Stay close to him, in case he kicks it won't hurt as bad... as if you were farther away."
NO! No she didn't just tell them to do the exact opposite of my years of watching television horses had taught me. You NEVER walk BEHIND the horse. And here was Mrs. Debbie, so patient and kind with the girls. Answering all their questions. Telling them what she was doing and why.... and she broke the only rule I knew!!!!
I kept my mouth shut. Obviously, I didn't know as much about horses as Mrs. Debbie and I trust she knows what she's talking about. So I kept quiet and wanted to walk in front of the horse to get around... but the way he was tied - I couldn't.
Unbeknownst to the girls, I made a pact with God. Do not let this horse kick me and I'll honor Debbie's directions. Fair enough?
So I kept my forearm on Levi's side and bravely walked towards the back end. Then another question popped into my mind. How much bottom contact was I to have? Did I have to slide my hand across the whole thing (like I was innocently doing on his side) including the "business" part or could I just touch one cheek and then the other? Remember, I have always stayed far away from the aft end of a horse... we'll especially when the horse is on TV. They don't usually do close ups from that end.
It worked. All my bones and internal organs stayed in tact. Levi did not kick me. Yeah, now we can ride!
As the girls used a stool to saddle up, I was so happy for them. The only thing an 8-yr-old girl would have loved better was if this horse had sprouted wings and flown them to a unicorns field in the sky.
Becca and Mrs. Debbie
Emily's turn
Even mom had a turn. A short turn. As I used the stool, I realized how tall Levi was. As soon as I got on, I was sure the saddle was slipping to the left and I was about to be hanging upside down - like in the cartoons, on TV. Mine was a short turn.
Then we headed back to the stable to take off the saddle and brush Levi some more. There was even talk of braiding his mane and tail... wait his tail. Like the tail that is BEHIND him?
Surely that means you take the tail and pull it to the side and braid it. Surely that does not mean stand behind the horse (without a hand on his bottom) and pull his tail... I mean brush and braid his tail. Surely the only rule I knew must be enforced with tail braiding.
Nope.
Emily brushed, braided, then unbraided, brushed and braided again. Look how brave she is. Doesn't even know she's in danger. I am so proud of her. But I did not braid the tail....
um, Becca needed my help up at the mane.
Thanks Mrs. Debbie - We had a great time with you and Levi.
One quiet morning I was sitting at the small kitchen table when I saw something run across the floor. My first response was to lift my feet and think... ROACH!!! AAAHHHHHH!!!! Then I remembered I was in Oregon and I haven't actually seen any roaches in more than a year.
So what was it? A bit furrier and greyer than a roach. It had one long tail, not 2 long antlers. Mouse.
I am sure there are mice in Denton, but I had many more roach sightings than mouse sightings when we lived there.
The first was that time we set one of those sticky traps under the sink and the poor little guy was stuck but still alive when we found him the next morning. My fearless husband put the whole thing in a plastic grocery bag and headed for the outside trash can. Absentmindedly he swung the bag in a circle. The mouse squealed. Now Darren had 2 choices: finish him off or call the whole family out to listen while he spun him again. He chose the latter and it is part of our family lore, now.
The other memory involved a dark closet, the wife safely on the bed, the husband's bare feet, using the broom as a hockey stick, and a few choice words that I shan't mention here...but this post is about the fountain of mice under my current home.
As I laid my traps on the counter, the nice clerk pointed out that it was "that time of year." Oh, great! At least that sounds like this will just be for a season and not permanent. I tend to be the one to set them up at night and Darren disposes of them in the morning. Well, except for Monday morning. He left early with Katy and I was not committed to removal, so it stayed there, under the sink, behind the box of trash bags for a full day. Yuck.
Other mornings, I have opened the cabinet door to find cute little mouse eyes staring back at me with only a broken leg foreshadowing their coming demise. I feel very sorry then and start thinking of Stuart Little or Ralph Mouse who were wonderful mice in their own right. Darren has had a harder time disposing of those guys ... there were 2 under the sink in that predicament this morning.
Another method we've only used once is: The Layla. She likes to chase things...especially living things, but it is hard for her to catch them. Once, there was a bird on the back porch at the Kings Row house and I was sure the bird would fly away before Layla got to it - but as soon as I opened the door I realized I was wrong. Unbeknownst to me... that little bird had flown into my back door and nearly knocked itself out, so it wasn't flying anywhere when that big black dog jumped on it. I tried to get Layla to "leave it" or "drop it" or "give me that bird back", but nothing worked. I felt partially responsible for that one.
But not this time. Darren and I wouldn't have known until one of the kids found it in the morning, if we hadn't heard this weird scratching sound. It was loud enough that we woke up at the same time and couldn't place the sound. It didn't sound like one of the sisters getting up in the night to go potty or get a drink or one of the other many things they "need" to do every night. It didn't sound like Claire or Amanda rolling over in their beds and kicking the wall or falling to the floor. It wasn't Jacob moving around his room in that loud rolly chair he has. Layla should be barking at a stranger near the doors or windows, howling and whining if it was a cat or skunk, but she was mysteriously silent. Maybe someone had silenced my dog and was trying to saw the piano into smaller pieces to get it out the front door.
Nope. The Layla must have been in stealth mode and snuck up on that unsuspecting mouse creeping around my fireplace. After she subdued the first one, The Layla went back to get another one. There is an IKEA lamp right next to the fireplace and that weird sound was her claws scrapping against it. We did get her to move away from her prey with the promise of a treat. I really wanted her to have a drink of water, try to get that furry feeling off her teeth, but you can lead a dog to water and then they just look at you.
Now that we've (Darren, Jenn and Layla) caught more mouses than I care to mention... including the chubby one that was feasting on our peaches. I assume it was a he, because all the girl mice have pink bows on their heads, don't they. The peaches were in the fruit bowl ON THE COUNTER, which means there was at least one mouse on my COUNTER!!!!!! I thought they just scurried along the baseboards!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I'm officially ready for mouse season to be over. Now. Thank you.
One of the reasons it is so hard for me to take the dog for a walk is because it's always raining! (Well, depending on the season, month, week, whatever, there is always some reason NOT to walk the dog or the Jennifer).
I really thought that since Amy was going to be here for a month, I'd have a walking buddy. Can't you just see the two of us (and the dog) on the walking path by my house? Well, it didn't happen ... RAIN. Everyday!
So now she's of on some tropical island with no car. No choice for her but to walk. Rain or shine.
And as I drive around I notice people walking all the time. In the rain. Without a proper raincoat or umbrella or even hat. Some with dogs, some without.
So I think it's time. Time to walk. I want to walk. Layla needs to go for a walk. I have a stroller for the little girls. It's time. It's time. It's time.
This morning, after all my chauffering of the bigger children, the little girls and I walked.
Now that I'm home I want a venti frappuccino to go with my donut while I sit here and watch netflix.
Well, I think there's no better time to get sick than when you have an extra 6 people in your house. That way someone else can hold a crying child or make dinner or run to the store for more meds or caffeinated drinks for the mommies. And now there is a reason to have the TV on 24/7.
We actually have 2 strains of bugs running through thehouse right now, thankfully it remained within the host family and not the guests. So here I am, fighting off the yuckies.
In the first corner, weighing in at stomach flu, throwing up and diahrea: Emily and Becca.
In the second corner, weighing in at painful ear infections: Jacob and Amanda.
So far, Becca dropped out of the fight after 36 hours... and Jacob and Amanda entered the fight a day or so late, but definately not nearly as dedicated to the pain. Emily seems to be the last one standing... I mean last one crying.
Emily got a shot of Phenergan last night and seems to be doing better. She was pretty dehydrated, but she is doing her best to drink all the pedialyte I keep giving her.
Maybe tonight I'll get to sleep all the way through til morning, without anyone else waking up and crying or throwing up or crawling into my bed. Maybe.
What spring break is complete without swimming? Even in Portland, where we have had rain 29 out of 31 days, we still want to swim! And with the grandparents staying at a hotel with an indoor swimming pool, we were on our way to fun.
But sometimes "heated" pool, means not freezing pool. As we overtook the pool (only 9 kids and 2 adults ended up swimming) and ran out the other guests... we were friendly and tried to introduce ourselves :) But they left anyway.
Amanda didn't care... she was trying to collect all the flotation devices. We had a great swim and then froze on the return trip home. We had to walk through cold rain to get to the van, but warm hot chocolate was awaiting us at home.
