An Adventure of a Plumbing Nature

Yesterday afternoon, my kitchen sink clogged up.  Naturally, this occurred just as dinner preparations were commencing.  Call me old-fashioned, but I find that a sink that drains is quite helpful when preparing, cooking, and cleaning up after a meal.

Have I mentioned before that we don't really consider ourselves handy people?

What we do consider ourselves are people who can make lists for handy people.  And people who can write the necessary checks to pay said handy people.  But handy ourselves?  Not so much.

What follows is the internal thought process that took place:

"Jack's not going to be happy about this."
"He's going to think I've been stuffing vegetable peels down the disposal."
"Now we're going to have to call our handy people."
"When the handy people come, we are going to have to have them here for the whole day."
"That means I'm going to have to make a list of things for them to do all day."
"I don't want them to come tomorrow."
"I'm not ready for them to come and spend a whole day in my house."
"I wanted to go to Nordstom tomorrow and use my gift card."
"I'll have to go to Lowe's at least once, if not two or three times, to get necessary supplies for the handy people."
"I bet I'm going to get reminded about not putting vegetable peels down the disposal."
"I wonder if I can blame this on one of the kids?"

At this point I noticed that the other side of the double sink was draining.  I said to myself, "Self, that side is draining.  Hmmm, that must mean there's a clog somewhere above where those two pipes intersect."  (Or something to that effect.)

I gave myself the "you're a smart woman and you can figure this out" pep talk, and informed my eldest and partner-in-stuffing-things-down-the-disposal-crimes that we would not, in fact, be reading library books after dinner, but would instead embark on a plumbing adventure.

So when The Man arrived home from his day at the office, saw the standing water in the sink, and asked about it in a possibly-not-so-happy-tone, I responded with great optimism that The Boy and I were going to fix it after dinner.  He may or may not have been skeptical.

Boy Number Two decided he wanted in on the plumbing action, and not being one to turn down free help, I readily agreed.  We set to work.

Step One: Pull everything (except for the hefty water filter tank) out from under the sink.
Step Two:  Get emergency towels at the ready, along with an empty laundry basket to place emergency towels in.  (I don't think that's an official plumbing step, but I was just trying to cover all my bases.)
Step Three:  Turn off the water under the sink.  (That is an official step, and an important one.)

Now at this point, I was in uncharted territory.  I knew we/I would have to do some disconnecting of pipes and such, and I just hoped it wouldn't be too big a deal.  (I was having visions of having to call a real plumber at 8pm because I created a kitchen disaster.)  Well, without getting into lots of pipe jargon and plumbing speak (because I don't know any of that anyway), I began unscrewing the joints around the bottom bend/elbow piece (trap?).  (Who knew that each joint had its own little PVC screwy thing holding it together?  How convenient is that?  I didn't even need tools.)  When I took that off, no water came out, confirming that, yes indeed, Virginia, there was a clog in there.  I proceeded to unscrew the PVC section going up to the disposal, and lo and behold, carrot peels.  Lots and lots of carrot peels.

My plumber's helper and I dug out the offending peels and, with a gush into the waiting plastic bin - presto, chango - no more clog and an empty sink.  My helpers fetched the plumber's tape, I wrapped it around the threads, reattached the fittings, and, voilà, clogged fixed.  It took all of twenty minutes.

I even fixed the handles on the upstairs bathtub faucets that have been backwards for months.  The hot now properly indicates hot, and the cold - well, you know.  That took less than a minute.

I feel like a plumbing genius.

There's a reason I'm so tired today

Oh my, it's been a while since I blogged.  Undoubtedly, I've had plenty of blog-worthy thoughts, but I suppose between cooking, cleaning, the occasional attempt at homeschooling, and procrastinating on the Internet in order to keep from doing really worthwhile things, I just never got around to it.  And now it would be too much of a mental exercise to think back over the past month and come up with a recap.  So I'll just begin with where I am today.  Which is tired.

I stayed up way too late Sunday night finishing Francine River's book, A Voice In the Wind, at the recommendation of my mother-in-law (she recommended the book, not the staying up late).  It took me a few chapters to get into it.  It's set in the world surrounding ancient Rome and everyone has those long, hard to remember names, but once I got into it, it was a gripping read.  Also, fairly gory.  A depiction of a coarse culture, in some ways not unlike our own today (God have mercy on us), and yet I couldn't didn't want to stop reading.  And so I persevered to the bitter, cliff-hanging end.  And woke up on Monday morning tired, put the next one in the series on hold at the library, and thought, "I'll get a good night sleep tonight to make up for it."

Was it Benjamin Franklin that said, "Don't count your hours of sleep before they hatch?"

Because when "tonight" arrived, around 1 am, we were awakened to the delightful howls of a vomiting now-six-year-old (oh, yeah, that's one of the things we've done over the last month and a half - had one of two birthdays).  Oh, joy.  And so I spent the rest of the night dozing on the lower bunk - which, BTW, I had to make at 1:30 in the sweet middle of the night since I washed the sheets, oh, I don't know, two weeks before and hadn't put them back on yet.  Every 30 minutes or so, I was jolted awake by his "noises" (I was going to say "heaving" but feel like I'm starting to run the whole vomit story into the ground) until about 4 am, at which point he seemed to settle down for a bit, and is now, after a morning of childrens' television, asleep on the sofa with one of Jack's giant Cool Whip bowls beside him.  (I wonder if he'll still want to use that one for his raisin bran, or if we'll have to trash it?  He's pretty partial to his Cool Whip bowls.  And his raisin bran.)

So now, before the dinner prep begins (and does anyone else besides me get tired of having to feed people three times a day?), I should get something productive done.  Wouldn't that be refreshing?

Here's hoping there's a good night of sleep ahead of me tonight.  Sweet dreams.

Close Encounters...

of the police kind.

And, no, I wasn't speeding.  Or running a stop sign.  (Hey, don't judge.)

It began with an innocent attempt at grooming someone's fingernails.  "Will you please go get the clippers out of mommy's drawer by her bed?" the mommy requested.

A few minutes later, we heard a familiar beep-beep-beep.  Within minutes, if not seconds, a quick string of beeps, followed by the shrieks of an ear-piercing siren, shattered the relatively peaceful quiet of our Saturday night.  Alas, we were stumped at the source of the alarm.  To our knowledge, no one had been near the key pads.  All boys were questioned and summarily dismissed as suspects.  Our nerves still a wee bit rattled, we chalked it up to what we hoped was an electrical fluke.

Then, just as jittery nerves had settled and boys had been herded to bed, there was pounding on the front door.  Two police cars were parked at the curb.  From inside we could see the sweep of flashlight beams as the perimeter of the house was examined.  The cavalry had arrived.  Adorned in my oversized and well-worn Chicago Cubs t-shirt and striped pajama pants, my driver's license was expeditiously handed over for their examination and record keeping purposes, while Jack, in good citizen mode, stood outside smiling and thanking them for their prompt response.

It wasn't until the next morning that we realized the remote access key fob for the home alarm system had been in that drawer.  The suspected perpetrator was questioned about his notice of, and attention to, said button-bearing device.  Assuring him that we had the power to cut him a deal with the DA, he agreed to bargain and readily admitted his unknowing misconduct.

Buttons, by their very nature, beckon to be pushed. Especially by little boys. Elevators. Remote controls. Phones. Cameras. You name it, the button-containing device is irrelevant. It's a temptation difficult to withstand.

I'm hoping the recidivism rates for this type of offense are really low, 'cause I'm not sure how much grace the men in blue are willing to extend, and I look terrible in orange.

I felt the earth move...

under my feet...

Did y'all feel it?  It was the thunderous shock of me not turning on the computer ALL. DAY. LONG.  I'm sure there was lightning somewhere as well.

Yes, it was an exercise in restraint.  Self-control.  Minimizing distractions, if you will.  My family was stunned.

I make no promises for the morrow...for I know not what the morrow brings.  All I know is, for today, it was necessary to keep this magnetic techno-monster at bay.

The last week or so has been a little, well, melancholy, for me.  Lots of introspection.  (Yuck.)  Lots of self-examination.  (Yuckier.)  And loads of internal criticism - with a side of condemnation, and a little bit of dread on top.  I wish I could blame PMS....

This is my SSMT verse this go round:
But let all those rejoice who put their trust in You; let them ever shout for joy, because You defend them; let those also who love Your name be joyful in You.  For You, O LORD, will bless the righteous; with favor You will surround her as with a shield.  Psalm 5:11-12 NKJV


He defends me.  His favor is a shield, protecting me not only from the arrows of the enemy who seeks to steal, kill and destroy, but from the inner voice that can be far harsher, uglier, and more critical than it should be.  Please don't misunderstand.  I'm not excusing my mistakes.  I make plenty of them.  Regularly.  But much of the time, I am my own worst enemy.  On so many levels.  Maybe you can relate.

So when thoughts of self-condemnation rain down upon me, He puts up a shield.  To protect me from me.  Now that's some favor.

Oh, for grace to love Him more.

This is the day, this is the day...

All together now...
"that the Lord has made, that the Lord has made..."

Michael's favorite song, the oh-oh-oh song (otherwise known as "Today Is The Day" by Lincoln Brewster) cycled through the iPod earlier today, requiring him to turn it up full throttle, and then lather, rinse, repeat, oh, say three or eight times, until an older brother came downstairs to proclaim its unnecessary loudness.

To which I say with gusto,
"HA, tweener!  If it's too loud, you're too old."

(Although, in all honesty, who can blame him?  I've been known to throw a flag on the field for unnecessary loudness a time or two myself.)

Believing that all You have in store for me is good.

One of my favorite lines.  All.  My mess-ups, botches, mistakes and failures, even when I knew/know better (ouch), He'll use for my good.  Isn't that something?  I'm so grateful.

This song actually reminds me of a much older "contemporary Christian" chorus, closely titled, "This is the day".  If you were raised in church in the 70s you may have sung it.  In fact, we still sing it around here with Jack as our chief chorus leader because he's, well, chipper, like that.  And while it'll never win any acclaims for its musicality (it hearkens, after all, from one of ugliest fashion decades known to mankind), it's a good message.  Just like Lincoln's version.  Which is definitely more fun to listen to.

In my mind's eye....

he was so tall.  And handsome.  He had caught up to, if not surpassed, his father in height.  His hair was still red, although a little darker, and the boyish frame had filled out; his shoulders were broad.  The boyish softness in his features had been replaced by a more solid jaw line and the face of an adult.  A smattering of youthful freckles remained.

I had to look up at him.

"Mom, will you help me?"

And in an instant, he was 12 again.  And I was standing next to him - albeit a shorter, tween version -  helping him comb his hair.

Those glimpses into the future don't happen often for me - task-oriented by nature, schooling, household chores, the never ending to-do's - and if I am being honest, time-wasting-saving technology - occupy the moments, hours, and days, with little pause for introspection.  Even the quiet of a sleeping household is filled with mindlessness rather than just being.

But, today - in spite of the rush to get out the door - for a moment, time had flown, and I had to blink away the tears, for I had hair to comb.

For Whom He Loves He Chastens

I've been chastened.

By Jack.

Jack is very safety conscious.  I, on the other hand, am very decor conscious.  Guess which one is more important?  Imagine my chagrin when I discovered that the man does not appreciate finding smoke detectors in the upstairs drawers.  And, yes, that was plural detectors.

And why are they in drawers, you may ask?  Our onsite safety inspector is concerned for the well-being of the residents of this home, and he is of the school of thought that if one smoke detector is good, more is better.  I, however, find it challenging to decorate around said (unsightly) smoke detectors.  They aren't always up on a wall or ceiling out of the realm of my decorating empire; no, indeed, sometimes they are on a shelf.  Right where I can see them.

And who among us, when the low battery signal begins its reign of chirping terror, hasn't done the stealth creep through the house trying to pinpoint just which one is the culprit?  I'm sure you can understand my predicament.  And so, the battery gets removed.  And, sometimes, the detector (or three) gets put in a drawer.

Duly chastened, I have now promised that:

1.  I will not just remove, but will actually replace, faulty batteries from beeping smoke detectors.

2.  I will not, under any circumstances, put smoke detectors (singular or plural) in drawers.  Apparently it significantly impacts their effectiveness.

And now, I have to go the store, as I require more 9 volt batteries.

I'll leave right after I check all the other drawers.

What's It Gonna Bee? A He or a She?

And no, it is not myself I allude to.

But it is my "baby" brother and his sweet wife.

(Insert picture swiped from FB of my handsome brother and his could-practically-be-a-supermodel-if-she-weren't-so-petite wife.)



And when they got married, because they are a contemporary and fashionable couple, they thought it'd be fun to go with one of those new-fangled destination weddings.  Cool.  Trendy. Happening.  With-it, if you will.

You know, like us.

With our 3-month old.  And a 5- and 7-year old.  And a just-possibly-still-a-wee-bit-post-partum mom, who had a few weeks prior, started a brutal diet and exercise program.  (And, no, I am not exaggerating.) (Really.)  (That'll have to be another post someday.)  (I know - you can't wait.)

Of course, we went.  Because how often does your brother get married on a pristine beach with crystal clear water?  "It'll be fun," the JPSAWBPP mom said.  International glamour.  Tropical ease.  (Or so the tourism website promised.)

So we loaded up the truck and we moved to Beverly...oh wait, wrong story.  But it wasn't far off.  We were, for all intents and purposes, "The Beverly Hillbillies Go To The Bahamas."  But without the rocking chair.  I am (again) not exaggerating when I tell you that we schlepped THIRTEEN, yes, THIRTEEN duffle bags through parking lots, terminals of major airports, customs and into taxis because we are, indeed, urbane and sophisticated world travelers.

We swam with the dolphins.  We snorkled in the crystal clear water.  We dove for rocks and coral.  (And, let me be clear that by "we", I mean the man and the boys.)  The JPSAWBPP mom hung out with a precious 3-month old who needed a t-shirt that said, "My parents took me to the Bahamas and I cried the whole time."

But the wedding was beautiful.  The beaches were beautiful.  The bride was beautiful.  (And, of course, it goes without saying that the two ring bearers were adorable.)

And now...fast forward five years.

She's still beautiful.  And now she's expecting.

We had a little family "reveal" party yesterday.  I made my first, and possibly last, pinata.

And there were diaper cupcakes, but I forgot to take pictures.  They were cute though.  I got the idea here, if you get the urge to make some.  I used newborn size, but if I were doing them again I'd use size 1.

So, what's it gonna bee?  A he or a she?

Well.......

It's a girl!

Wild Thing, You Make My Heart Sing or A Tale In Which Singles Become Acquainted

And speaking of things that make my heart sing, or at least hum, I did, in fact, get my kitchen cleaned the other night.  And last night too.  Woohoo...apparently I'm on a two-night roll.  I should take this hot streak to Vegas, baby.

Today I feel compelled to tell you about a young single woman whose father, Bob, was led to set her up with a guy named - yes, you guessed it - Bob.

Now father Bob could not be faulted for wanting to come to the assistance of this young woman, his eldest favorite daughter.  While not quite "long in the tooth", she was definitely of a marrying age.  As opposed to the "still hanging around with her parents" age.  Not that either ever seemed to mind that.  She always enjoyed The Parentals, and, as far as she could tell, they enjoyed her.  (And if anyone knows otherwise, they should keep that little tidbit to themselves, because as we all know, ignorance is bliss.)

Actually, The Parental's household was always an open door whereby the singles of their local house of worship could commence to fellowship.  And fellowship they did.  Game Nights.  Home Groups.  (Ah, heck - you know how those churchy singles are...any excuse for a get-together.)   And she wasn't alone; there was another sister of  a marrying age just behind her....  So I'm sure you can understand the man's motivation to get those eligible maidens hitched, as it were.

So, Bob, The Father, decided that Bob, Not The Father, and Eligible Daughter #1 might be a good match for one another.  Bob, Not The Father, was attending the same church at the time, and it was convenient for him to join in on the singles' reindeer games.  And henceforth, the two met.  And became acquainted.  And may or may not have managed to ride together by themselves to and from an event or two, as singles who are getting acquainted are wont to do on occasion.

But as time progressed, Eligible Daughter #1 discovered traits of sweet Bob, Not The Father, that were, well, not conducive to moving forward with their acquaintanceship.

For example, Bob, Not The Father, saw only "G"-rated movies.  And while Eligible Daughter #1 (let's just call her ED#1, for short, shall we?), had been known to enjoy a good animated feature from time to time, she also enjoyed films aimed at, say, an audience of viewers who were old enough to vote.

ED#1 also discovered that Bob, Not The Father, only drove 55.  MPH.  Now ED#1, while no Sammy Hagar, did appreciate the use of the long pedal on the right, and was known to, on occasion, when warranted, drive just a wee bit faster than 55.

It was at this point that ED#1, while never one to be drawn to the proverbial "bad boys", decided that there had to be a happy medium somewhere between tattooed, motorcycle-driving, rock-star wanna-be and staid, sedate, rated "G" observer of speed limits.

And that was the end of Bob, Not The Father.  And she sincerely hopes he's very happy.  Because he was a pleasant person.

And then, eventually - very, very eventually - without the intervention of Bob, The Father - ED#1 would meet the man who would take her to PG movies and drive her around town.

In a rocking Toyota Camry.

And the irony is that he doesn't speed either.

But he does make her heart sing.

A Clean Kitchen...

...is a beautiful thing.

So says the woman who got last night's dinner dishes done just in time to make tonight's dinner.  I bet Martha Stewart never does that.  Yeah, I know...she's got people.

I've got people too.  They just never clean my kitchen.

(Full disclosure: That's not entirely true.  Boy2 unloads.  Boy1 loads.)

(In theory.)

Even when the boys do their unload/load routine, there are still little things to finish up behind them, and I should be better about making sure I have a clean canteen every night before I go to bed.  I cook three squares a day most days, so a messy kitchen is a luxury - as it were - that I can ill afford when a hungry boy stumbles downstairs, asking for his breakfast in the a.m.  It's downright un-fun to wake up to.

(The messy kitchen, not the cute boy.)

And on that note, I think I'll go clean my kitchen.

Menu Plan Monday...or there's a first time for everything

I've often said that menu planning would make my life easier.  I know it's a great tool, simplifies my week, prevents those last minute grocery store runs and a myriad of other benefits.  However, I never do it.  (Sort of like exercise....)

But as today, right now, this very minute, yes, today, my friends, I will menu plan.  (Or at least for this week....)

So what will the Jones family be partaking of these next few days?

Monday:  Roast w/carrots and herb roasted sweet potatoes (and for those of you, like me, who don't like sweet potatoes...well, even I like these).

Tuesday:  Homemade pizza and Cauliflower pizza for my special diet guy

Wednesday:  Roasted chicken and a veggie

Thursday:  Meatloaf w/herb roasted sweet potatoes (yes, again...we eat a lot of sweet potatoes)

Friday:  Homemade Taco Soup

We eat the same breakfast everyday:  Yard eggs (no, not my yard) either scrambled in plenty of organic ghee with ground turkey or fried eggs with homemade turkey sausage.  The two non-diet boys get sprouted wheat toast; the other gets sweet potato pancakes.

Lunch is usually organic, grass fed beef hamburger patties w/baby carrots or soup or leftovers....

There you have it.  I'm sure my family will be thrilled!

I'm linking this post to Menu Plan Monday at orgjunkie.com.

Do those come in a bigger size?

I got some disappointing news this afternoon.  It's not the end of the world, lest you be concerned and think that "the world is ending in May 2011" billboards are correct.  (And if they are, then "oops" - my bad.)  In fact, most people might not even think it a big deal.  But to me it was a shock.  The news that a program where my kids have attended once a week, my oldest for eight years now, is ending, and to say it completely took me by surprise is an understatement.  The proverbial kick in the gut.

I sat on the couch and bawled and ranted to my husband for an hour.  (He's a very patient man.)

This was my community.  It wasn't just about a one day a week break from my kids, because not all of my kids attend.  But it was about community.  And connecting.  Friendships forged over science projects and a shared love of Legos.  About a school experience for my home schooled rug rats.  Turkey parades.  Christmas parties.  Ice cream socials.  Field day.  School pictures.  Adorable preschoolers who want to hug you goodbye, and in the blink of an eye are in sixth grade and wearing men's tennis shoes.  Chatting with moms while boys (and the brave girl) run amok outside.  Or standing by the car talking to my sister while the boys yell, "Stop chatting, mom!" from inside.

I guess this is where I have to put on my big girl panties and deal with it.

And sometimes that's just lousy.

How I got my kids to eat

I get asked that.  Not all the time, mind you, but I've been asked enough that I can honestly say, "People ask me how I get my kids to eat."  I'm no food expert, but I've come a loooong way, baby.  In fact, my somewhat reluctant journey to partial "granola-dom" should probably be a blogpost of its own.  But, I digress.  This post is about how to get your kids to eat.  I guess before I give you my suggestions - oh, the anticipation is just building, isn't it? - I should tell you a little about our eating history.

I have three boys.  But I started with just one.  And after he was weaned and started on solid food, I did the obligatory veggies here and there - canned green beans mostly, if I'm being honest.  (This is where I also have to mention that I was a moderately picky kid; I didn't like lots of veggies myself.  However - and this is where the culture shift comes into play - I ate what my mom fixed.  Including the veggies.  I don't ever remember a separate meal being prepared for any of the four kids residing in our household.)  Okay.  So when Boy1 was about 18 months old, we moved.  And during that process things got hectic, as moves are wont to do.  Oh, and did I mention I was pregnant with Boy2?  So I was less diligent about veggies.  And it showed when Boy1 later refused to eat even green beans.

I should also mention that I "bought into" the whole notion of "kid food"...whatever the heck that is.  For some reason, as a new mom, when he progressed to solids, I thought it would be too hard for him to chew up table food.  I know that probably sounds stupid, but someone else out there might think the same thing, so there you go.  (And I didn't have a genius experienced mom telling me to just puree that stuff or to mash it or finely chop it up....)  So, as he, and of course, Boy2, moved into toddlerhood and then preschool age, I was preparing chicken nuggets, mac and cheese, pb&j, hot dogs, spaghetti (but no meat!), bean tacos, cheese quesadillas, and the like.  In fact, nuggets and hot dogs were the only meat Boy1 ate.  Boy2 wouldn't eat any meat.  And neither of them ate any vegetables.  Not even the starchy kid favorites of corn and potatoes - okay, they ate french fries, but that doesn't really count now, does it?

I was doing the best I could, or what, at the time, I thought was the best.  We gradually moved into buying organic milk, and organic natural peanut butter.  Fruit spread instead of jelly.  Name brands (for whatever that's worth).  Whole wheat bread.  Whole wheat homemade mac and cheese instead of the box mix.  Nitrate free hot dogs.  And the boys were fruit eaters.  I even gave them cod liver oil.  So, I convinced myself that, in spite of their limited diets, I was feeding my kids pretty healthy stuff.  This is where I quote Danny Silk and tell you that, "My mistakes are your wisdom."

And did I mention that I home school?  So now, fast forward a few more years and I'm trying to teach Boy2.  And Boy2 won't learn.  So I try a different curriculum.  And Boy2 still won't learn.  And then I realize it's not that he won't, but that he can't.  I'm going to take a big short cut here and just tell you that in my quest to change that "can't", we began to explore tweaking our diet.  Not all of the changes we made may be necessary for you and your family, but it leads me to "how I get my kids to eat", which really boils down to just a couple of things:

1.  If your child is just beginning on solids, don't feed them "kid food".  Let them eat what you're eating.  I'm not suggesting you give them jalapenos or horseradish, but the amazing thing about kids' palates is that, unless they are trained to eat "kid food", they don't know they aren't supposed to like vegetables, meat, fish...even cod liver oil.

2.  No choices.  That sounds a little harsh, but we came to this "new" style of eating out of desperation (and oh, the irony, that this "new" style has actually been the eating style of people for thousands of years), so there were no other options for us.  When we changed to a new way of eating, there was no backup plan.  No eat that, then you can have something else.  No PB&J in the pantry.  I think most people have a backup.  And you can't.  If you really want your kids to eat well, you have to be willing to let them be hungry.  You can not force them to eat, but you have to be willing to let them be hungry if they choose not to eat what you serve.  And that is when parenting is not so fun.  But think about it - I've heard about kids drowing in the tub when mom was on Facebook, kids dying from being left in hot cars during the summer, but I can't think of any headlines where a kid starved because his parents only offered him healthy food.

I could go into a lot more detail, but this post has already gotten very long!  And let me be very honest.  We (with the exception of Boy2) do still have the occasional junk.  The other two get snacky stuff at church or out and about from time to time.  But, in general, my kids now eat a pretty healthy diet.  Do they like it?  Not particularly.  If they had a bowl of broccoli and a bowl of Cheetos in front of them, you'd better believe they'd be all over the latter.  (Unless I got to it first...I like me some Cheetos, too.)  But as a rule, eating family meals at home almost 100% of the time,  my former non-veggie, non-meat eaters are eating meat and veggies.

And that, as Martha would say, is a good thing.

(This post is being linked to It's Almost Naptime's Mom to Mom link up.  And I hope I do it right, cause I've never linked up before.)

(Edited to add that I've also linked this to Kelly's Korner's SUYL Friday.)

Happy New Year!

Well, given that it's January 1st, that's a really original blog post title, isn't it?

My 2010 commitment to host a blog and continue memorizing Scripture - hence, the reason for this here little ole blog - has ended.  I'm going to continue memorizing, but this time as a Siesta Scripture Team member on Beth Moore's blog.  Feel free to join in.  I'm hoping my sweet sister-in-law is going to do it, and if she does, I know we'll have a great time at the celebration next January!  If anyone else is in, let me know in the comments.

I may just keep blogging for the fun of it.  I've had a few friends tell me I should keep it up, and, with a little peep peer pressure, I can be a wee bit of a pushover.  Heck, it'll give me something to do when I want to avoid cooking, laundry, or homeschooling my kids.

(Oh, I'm kidding.)

(Sort of.)

We had a pretty typical New Year's Eve, involving playing some games with the kids, eating, putting them to bed, watching a little Dick Clark (who, bless his sweet heart, is really getting up there), and managing to stay awake until 11:30.  Glamorous, huh?  I thought the TV pickings were pretty dismal.  Of course, we're Amish, you know, and rely on our rabbit ears and converter box.  I should've popped in When Harry Met Sally, the go-to New Year's Eve movie.

I do have to say that in my quest to impart virtue, character, and life skills to my children, I have somehow passed on one of the most beloved traits to my eldest.  Yes, you guessed it.  The love of all things trivia.  I now have a kid I can play Trivial Pursuit with.  It makes my heart sing.  We'll work on Scrabble skills next and then, frankly, my job here will be done.

We've spent most of the morning taking down Christmas decorations, which sure goes a lot faster than putting those suckers up.  It'll be nice to get the house back in order, although we do have a family get-together next week to get ready for.  It's always fun to have something else to look forward to...as if the pinnacle of the year's holidays that we just experienced weren't enough.  I got it into my head that I would make Chicken Marsala for 20 people.  I'm not quite sure what I was thinking; I must have been hankering for Carrabba's.

And, while we're at it, I might as well post my first verse for 2011:
Hebrews 10:35-36, NIV - So do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded. You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised.

Good one, huh?  I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that I'm pretty sure this year will require some perseverance.  Ya think?