One Thing

Ain't no guilt like Mommy-guilt

Warning: this will not be your typical smarmy Mother's Day post. If you're looking for carnations and breakfast in bed, look elsewhere.

I didn't go to church today. Gabriel's fever was the reason I gave, but deep down in my heart I was glad. Today is Mother's Day. I didn't want to go to church.

At church they will make everyone stand up who is a mother. Then the count begins. "Who has more than five? Six? Seven?" etc. At first in groups, the women sit back down as their number is called, and then one by one they begin to fall. I am the only one still standing as the numbers climb to the double-digits. And then I win a prize.

I'm sure I cannot be the only one in existence who thinks this process is fatally flawed. .

Mother's Day is designated to honor mothers. And obviously only the most hardened cretin would say such a scheme is stupid. So I will stop just shy of being a hardened cretin and say instead that I think the day is somewhat...pointless.

It is pointless because it is unconscionable to laud someone simply because she can reproduce. I am not the first nor will I be the last to say such a thing. People whose mothers were abyssmally deficient in their mothering capabilities have voiced this opinion for years, as well as cynical types who refuse to line the pockets of card and flower companies who prey on the emotions of the general populace.

My mother was not abyssmally deficient. On the contrary, she made mothering look entirely too easy and set the bar at a height I can never hope to attain. And so I should honor her every day of my life, and hope that I do (how am I doing, Mom? I know you're reading).

I also have nothing against cards and flowers. Heaven forbid! I consider myself grand vizier in the art of card-selecting and many is the hour I have spent reading every. single. card. in the aisle in an effort to capture the perfect picture + sentiment for the occasion.

The reason I state that it is pointless is that, as a mother, no amount of cards and flowers and accolades at church or beyond will tell me what I most want to know. No person's words or reassurances can answer my heart's cry.

Am I doing a good job?

Somebody, anybody...please! Tell me if I'm doing all right! But more importantly, tell me if I'm screwing up royally!

If you are a mother, I believe I speak for you too. We are desperate to know the truth. But there is no one who can tell us.

The people at church cannot tell us. They see us lined up in a row on a Sunday morning, looking good (where else do you try to look better than at church? "Sunday best" doesn't only refer to clothing, I wager), and are generous enough to assume that we've pretty much got it all together, all the time. Have a carnation! Have a whole bouquet!

Our husbands cannot tell us the answer. If we are blessed with kind and gentle men, they extend to us as much grace, and more, than we deserve. They boost our spirits when we are down. They cheer us on. If we have hypercritical, miserly men in our lives, they tear us down and add to our grief daily. Neither one is an accurate assessment.

Even our children, those reasons we are who we are on Mother's Day, cannot tell us. Sure, they may love us, but what do they know? You're the best mom ever! their little hand-drawn cards may say. But it's not like they had a trial run with fifty others and chose us in the end, is it? And a child will love you for letting him have his way, and hate you for saying "no," which pretty much disqualifies him as a judge of success-in-parenting.

So what's the yardstick for deciding a mom is successful as a mom? Quantity of children? I hope I already shot that assumption to hell. A well-put-together facade? Hardly. What about the success of her children? Shouldn't that be a pretty good marker?

Maybe it should be...but there are countless examples of children who come out of hideous, abusive situations in childhood and go on to great success in spite of it all (should their parents be exalted?), and those children who come out of solid, loving homes and yet manage to choose every evil that comes their way (should their parents be vilified?).

How about worry, and guilt, and fear? If we feel enough of these every day, doesn't that mean we are good moms?

Isn't that pretty much the most absurd thing ever written?

Funny how tenaciously we can believe something as absurd as that, and often without even realizing it.

No, that triple-threat is not a yardstick either, although Satan would assure us that it is. Anything to keep us from the throne-room of God, where we are instructed to drop all such baggage off, daily.

Am I doing a good job?

Is there ANYONE who can tell me that I don't completely and utterly SUCK at this parenting thing??

**crickets chirping**

There is no other job on earth besides parenthood where you have no promotions, no pay raises, and no yearly assessments from your supervisors to let you know your status. Never have you more desperately longed for someone to examine your work and give you a review, and never has such a critique been less available.

One thing I do know, and that's the fact that the The Accuser, along with my own condemning heart, will also never give me a correct answer. I suspect the truth lies somewhere between what they are saying, and what the flower-strewn Hallmark ads proclaim. Can I accept that? Can I find hope and joy and happiness there, in that middle ground where I sweat and toil and cry and doubt?

Can we, as mothers, learn to have joy in the journey, when there is no dingdingding! when we get it right, nor a loud and angry buzzzz! when we misstep? Can we stop believing our own press, whether good or bad, and instead bind on our foreheads this unequivocable truth:

God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.*

Can we stop craving reassurance from the world and go to the only One who holds the true measure in His hand? The accurate scales? The non-distorted mirror?

Sometimes the guilt threatens to eat me alive. The opportunities for it bloom over my days like mushroom clouds, and the fallout is crippling and toxic. Neither carnations nor applause can stop the bombing.

I need Jesus, plain and simple. The Bible calls Him a strong tower, a very present help in time of need. I don't think it's too much of a stretch to say He is also a fallout shelter, a hazmat suit, and a decontamination chamber. This mother's day, and every day, I'm trying to remember to take refuge in Him.

*1 Sam 16:7

Things That Increase Your Chances Of Becoming a Superhero

1. Being a wealthy industrialist
2. Being born on an island and/or planet inhabited by superhumans
3. Being bitten and/or attacked by a genetically modified creature
4. Coming in contact with toxic waste and/or experimental substances
5. Being tormented by inner demons.

Chances that I will someday be a superhero:

20% (so far)

How about you?

Happy

Happy Birthday, Becca!

Our lives wouldn't be half as beautiful and fun without you. 

Answers, homeschool edition. Alternate title: Please Excuse Me While I Weep With Insecurity

Before I even attempt to embark on this series of questions, let me reprint here what can also be read in my "About"  bio in the sidebar to your left:

"Homeschooling has crippled any vestiges of self-importance I may have ever had, and I am the last person on earth who is cut out for it. The fact that I have survived over 15 years of it only proves the veracity of 2 Cor. 12:9. "

2 Corinthians 12:9, incidentally, says And He said to me: "My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness." Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

So once again I submit to you my answers, with fear and trembling. I don't know if I'll say what you want to hear. I don't know if you'll be able to glean ANY help from my experience.

Oh, one more thing. In the interest of full disclosure (gee, it sure feels like I say that a lot), let me preface all this by saying that my answers will be given under the assumption that we are talking about on a good day.

Jolyn asked: "How do you homeschool so many different grade levels?" and "How is homeschooling affected/continued while you're hunkering down with a newborn? (Or do you not hunker down?)"

Answer: My high schoolers do the vast majority of their work on their own. For the youngest learners, I concentrate on phonics and math, so it doesn't take a lot of time. The middle schoolers comprise the bulk of my workday. I work with four at a time, and we get spelling, math, and writing done. Science and History are taught on alternate days. The littlest ones tear the house apart play while we work. Or I sedate them with educational computer games. I tell myself they are educational, anyway.

We have a more-or-less year-round schedule. We wind up taking time off, but it is not always in the traditional spots. Last year we began in July and we worked steadily until Cowboy X was born just three weeks ago (not counting that pesky Christmas holiday in which we would rather have fun pretty much the entire month of December). So now we are taking it easy (doing math and some history--just reading--and spelling) and will probably start up full-force in July once things settle down.

Johanna asked "How did you come to your decision to homeschool?"

Answer:  Once upon a time, long long ago, we belonged to a church in which there were some anti-establishment types who spoke of teaching their children at home. We liked them. They told us some stuff. We read some books. We prayed. The Lord overshadowed me heavily with the conviction that this was the plan He had for us. And so we began. The End. Only not.

Cakes asked "What about outside activities? Do your kids play sports/dance/swim etc?"

Answer: My kids have done various and sundry outside activities at various and sundry times of their lives. These include dance, karate, horseback riding, basketball, and gymnastics. This year, no one has anything extracurricular going on; none of the aforementioned activities created a burning passion that would never subside (with the exception of horseback riding, which ended due to circumstances beyond our control and with many tears). We do P.E. with the homeschool group sometimes, and occasionally attend a class or field trip offered through that same organization.

Bekki and Happy Mommy and JulieBeth and both asked: "do you use a curriculum? If so, what is it?"

Answer: I have always cobbled together curriculum rather than get it all from one place. Over the years we have found certain things that work for us best. Teaching Textbooks for upper-level math. Apologia science. Sing Spell Read and Write for phonics. Writing Strands. Easy Grammar. Artes Latinae. The Story of the World. Just a few examples.

"LAH" asked a similar but more specific question with "Do you have a particular curriculum or method that helps them work independently?"

Answer: In my experience (and this is partly because I am a control freak), I do not expect my children to do the bulk of their work independently until they are in middle-to-high school. The programs that we have for the computer (latin, math) enable them to work on their own, but they are not used until those upper grades. Everything else is accomplished with me hanging over their shoulders, although once they can read they are (ostensibly) capable of doing work on their own.

Independent learning occurs slowly, over time, in my experience. Sometimes children are eager to work on their own, and sometimes you have to pry their fingernails out of your arm. I have people tell me that they could not homeschool their children because their children would not take instruction from them. This, to me, sounds like an authority issue. Often the first year of homeschooling needs to be very light on the three Rs and very heavy on prayer and re-asserting the roles of parent and child.

And now, some true confessions:

I used to be under the impression that if I just found the right curriculum, my homeschooling would be superlative. Everything would run smoothly. I would have the shiny happy children and be the shiny happy mother, always and forever.

It just isn't so.

There is curriculum out there that works better than others, yes. There is curriculum that works for one family wonderfully well but works for another family not at all. There is some curriculum that should be cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. No curriculum will miraculously turn you into the happy teacher, or your children into the happy taught, because those roles are won only with much prayer and relationship-building.

Homeschooling is such an individual process. So much of what works must, by default, be discovered by one's own grappling and wrestling and failing and trying again. Input can be very helpful, don't get me wrong. But too much input can be crippling! You have to determine how much input is good for you; for me, I am far too distractable to take much. If I hear of something someone is doing and it sounds good I have been known to derail my entire year by trying to incorporate it. Or I simply feel crushingly guilty for not incorporating it.

I used to read homeschooling magazines. I read about a family that recreated a medieval castle in their living room. I read about a woman who, on her morning jog, saw a rabbit that had been hit by a car and took it home for her kids to dissect. I saw nothing but pictures of shiny happy children who giggled with pleasure as they learned from their beloved mother, who smiled and smiled and never, ever dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands as she listened to a new reader sound out words.

And then I would ask God why why WHY did He want me to do this homeschooling thing? WHY, when I was so obviously abysmal at it? Our schedule was hit-and-miss. Half of my curriculum sat unused. And some days, my kids were downright petulant about learning! Obviously there had been a grievous mistake. I must have misheard the Lord. I would pray, and wait for Him to tell me the truth, that I needed to slap my kids in public school ASAP.

I never heard that, however. The conviction never lifted that this was what I was called to do, no matter how hard it got. No matter how little we seemed to be accomplishing. No matter how many tears were shed. I did hear some other things from Him, though.

One was to cancel my homeschooling magazine subscriptions.

The other had to do with the aforementioned scripture.

It was not clear to me, in the beginning, that this would be a journey not through Jenni's Masterful Ability to Teach, but through God's Grace Alone. It took me a while to understand, but I think I'm finally beginning to get it. Along the way, my pride has been burned on the altar many, many times. His grace is sufficient for me; His strength is the only way I do what I do, and He is the only recipient of any boasting as a result!

Please go read this now

My friend Laura is pretty new to the blogosphere, but she has a gift for writing and makes me both laugh and sigh with regularity. She has written a simply beautiful post about true love here. What a rare thing it is.

ps. Thank you for all the clothing suggestions! I will definitely post pics of whatever I find that makes me look the least moose-like.

Suggestions, please

What does one wear as the Mother-of-the-Bride when one generally runs a size Small-to-Medium, but one's Lactating-Area is a size Triple-Mastodonic?

My fashionista senses, under the best circumstances, are pretty rudimentary.

I'm feeling a growing sensation of doom.

Answers, housekeeping edition. Alternate title: far too much information to be interesting

Okay folks, gather round. I will forthwith dispense all my various and sundry secrets and magic formulas for running a household involving a small nation of people, and sum up every household-related question that anyone asked in my Open Season post. Are you ready? Here goes...

1. Get up in the morning. This seems obvious, but it is harder than it sounds, especially if it is cold, rainy, dark, gloomy, or Tuesday. Or if you are going on less than 3 straight hours of sleep at night.
2. Look around. See something that needs to be done.
3. Do it.
4. Repeat #'s 2 and 3 all day long.

What? You wanted specifics? Sheesh, you guys are particular AND nosy!

Just kidding. You know I love specifics. I live for them. They are my lifeblood. Or at least my lifelymph.

Mrs. Mordecai asked "How many gallons of milk do y'all go through in a week?"

Answer: Somewhere around a gallon per day, so seven (wicked cool math skilz, eh?). Plus some almond/soy/rice milk. Recently I decided we could do without the rBGH (honestly, we have no need of more hormones in this house, thankyouverymuch), so we buy our milk from Braums, although someday I would love to have a little dairy cow all of my ownty-own. That would be so very naturey and organicky and homegrowny.

Heather and Tricia (I have no link for Tricia, but we all know that the Sneetches without stars on their bellies are every bit as special as those with) wondered how scheduled I am.

Answer: As you may have gathered from the synopsis of my daily plan (above), my grip strength with regards to daily planning is somewhere between "relaxed" and "dead fish." I have tried to maintain rigorous schedules in the past, but inevitably I fall back on the FBTSOMP* method in the end. I make lots of plans on the spur of the moment, and schedules don't appreciate that. Plus they are awfully accusatory and snarky, those schedules. Whenever I have one sitting around, it just can't resist reminding me of all the things I haven't done, the things I will never get done because I am sadly human, and the fact that I am pathetic and hopeless. When that happens, I tear the thing to shreds and laugh maniacally until I feel better.

That said (and because HappyMommy asked), I have to say that I am pretty organized. I am anti-scheduling but very pro-organization. I told you I was bipolar! By organized I mean that I have an abhorrence for clutter and therefore work very hard to have a place for everything. Also, I regularly de-toy-ify and de-clothes-ify. Keeping toys and clothing to a minimum makes life easier. Probably the single most clutterfying element in my life is homeschooling. Curriculum, papers, projects, and the like constantly threaten to take over. Okay, okay, so does the scrapbook paper, but at least that's pretty.

Sharon asked "What does a menu look like for your house for the week/month, if you make one? Do you have a master shopping list? What are your must have convienece items?," Adrienne (non-star-bellied sneetch) asked "How do you grocery shop for a family that big?," AM (also star free) asked "Who cooks dinner?," smilinmom22 (starless) asked "What is your family's all time favorite dinner menu?," Donna Mc asked "how many pizzas do y'all have to order for Pizza Night?," and Stacey (no star) asked what dinnertime at my house was like.

That's a lot of questions about groceries, my dear readers. Truth is, I really don't understand why the Powers That Be can put a man on the moon, but they cannot invent a pill we could pop that would take care of all our dietary needs + fill us up for every meal. It would make my life so much simpler.I find groceries excruciatingly boring. But because you are precious in Jesus's sight, I will give you the answers:

Answer(s): I make weekly menus, on a good week. I usually plan for four or five dinners, and the other two days are FFY**. I will admit that there are weeks in which every night is FFY, however. I do not have a master shopping list. I live a half a mile from super Wal Mart, and I go twice a week. The first trip is major, the second trip is for basics like bread and bagels and TP. Yes, we tear through bagels at the same rate as toilet paper. Bagels are tastier, however.

When the children were all under the age of ten, I would simply wait until My Beloved came home to go grocery shopping, and I would go alone. Or we would all pile in the car and go together. Nowadays I usually take a child or two over the age of ten with me. I only fill one cart due to the extreme (and evil) accessibility of the groceries to me, and the fact that I have one fridge/freezer combo. No, I do not have a second fridge, or a separate freezer. I know! It's a crazy world.

I am not a great cook. I don't like cooking. I like baking, but baked goods don't make well-rounded meals, apparently. We recently switched over to a 98% vegetarian diet, which hasn't been nearly as difficult as I thought it might be. Thankfully I have a husband who is easygoing when it comes to food (his favorite food is pretty much cold cereal), and my little kids were picky already, so nothing changed there. They still say ICKY! to what I put in front of them, so why not make it even healthier?

That said, there are a few things my family will all devour in short order. Homemade pizza. Vegetable and tofu fried rice. Mandarin orange salmon. Black bean burgers. Speaking of pizza, I don't order it anymore. Something so delicious that can be made for pennies per person at home should not be purchased for filthy lucar. When I make it at home, two extra-large pizzas feed everybody. Yes. I'm serious. Big eaters we are not.

So my menu includes lots of bananas, apples, avocados, tofu, noodles, eggs, fish, lettuce, edemame, yogurt, cheese, rice, black beans, garbanzos, and bread. Must-have convenience items would be french toast sticks (I didn't make my kids give these up; they simply make my mornings far too easy), and Annie's Cheddar Bunnies, which my two year old pretty much lives on. They make his poop orange, by the way. I knew you'd want to know.

Sometimes my eldest daughter will cook something. Mostly, however, it is my domain. When it comes to cooking I just want to get it done. I'm tired by the end of the day and I don't want to stand in the kitchen any longer than I have to, which has translated into get out and leave me alone if you ever want to eat to my kids, which means they do not know how to cook. Yes, this is a failing of mine, I know. If you want to come over and teach some of them to cook, then by all means get your butt over here.

Dinnertime at my house, when we all sit down together (not much lately, but I am determined to change that soon), is noisy. Some nights more than others. Usually we have several conversations all going at the same time, which to an outsider might seem pretty crazy, I suppose. I haven't enforced a lot of rules other than for the love of all the fuzzy bunnies in the green green meadow, chew with your mouth closed or so help me I will wire your jaw shut, which means my oldest son can be seen "eating like a caveman" (according to his sisters, albeit a caveman who at least chews with his mouth closed) more often than not. Something else for me to work on. Or maybe I'll let his wife do it.

Thus ends the groceries answers. And there was much rejoicing.

Several people asked about laundry. I answered the laundry question a little while ago, with this post. All I can add to what is written there is the simple truth that we have a few rules regarding clothing. First of all, what you put on in the morning is what you wear all day. No playing dress-up from your own drawers. Given that we homeschool, there is no need to change from "school clothes" to "play clothes" upon returning home, which helps. Also, we have the "look and smell" test at the end of the day. Look at your clothes. Are they dirty? Smell your clothes. Do they smell gross? If the answer to both of these questions is "no", put them back in your drawer. Yes, sometimes grungy clothing gets put back into drawers. But usually it works.

Please don't ask me any more laundry questions. I might cry.

And then there is the chore question,  which "AM" also asked. Every night each child has an assigned room or area of the house that they are responsible for cleaning up. These areas rotate every two weeks. If anyone says "but it's not my mess!" they are reminded that at that same moment someone else is cleaning up THEIR mess. If it is a particularly huge mess (like someone made a gimungo tent out of sheets in the living room, or DS#1 has a movie set in place somewhere), they will be asked to remove their portion of the disaster, but generally it works well. The littlest children are called upon to clean up their own rooms. Dishes are My Beloved's domain. All else pretty much falls to me, which has worked because I Am Anal.

Part of my problem is that I have always been really bad at delegating. My Dad's philosophy of "If you want something done right you do it yourself" lodged itself very firmly in my frontal lobe early on and let me tell you, that sucker has a tenacious grip (both the philosophy AND my Dad, incidentally). As I get older and more decrepit I find myself getting better at ordering people about, however. So there's hope.

Somebody or two (please forgive me, whoever you are; I'm simply too pooped to look you up) asked if the older kids help with the youngers, and to what extent.

Answer: We do not "assign" an older child to a younger child as some families do. I don't think there's anything wrong with that, but it's never really felt necessary (although we tried it after the birth of #7 and it fell by the wayside, probably because it felt rather regimented, and we already discussed my abhorrence for regimentation***). If I need a teen to brush somebody's teeth or wipe somebody's butt or make somebody a sandwich, I just ask them, and they do it. Most of them do it happily, and sometimes they will even change a diaper or get someone ready for bed completely unbidden. They all truly do love the little ones and enjoy being around them the majority of the time, perhaps because they haven't had to think of them as extra chores.

I don't know if it's easier to have tons of kids rather than a few, or not. I know that it's easier to do some things now that I have older ones around, but other things have become harder, and some things have had to completely fall by the wayside due to our extreme numbers. I try not to make my kids into personal servants, although I also want them to see the blessings of servanthood in a larger sense. This is the balance I am seeking, although I don't anticipate finding it this side of heaven. 

*Flying By The Seat Of My Pants
**Fend For Yourself
***not a real word

The Mona Lisa Gets Her Ears Pierced

Yesterday, I + five of my girls + one friend + one cousin + one aunt + one Nana + one 3 week old infant spent the day at the mall, shopping for wedding clothes. While there, Miriam's (DD#3) earlobes had close encounters with pointy objects. We documented the event with photos in order to catch the precise moment that the studs went in, anticipating catching the ever-unflappable Miriam in a moment of perterbation.

Here's the shot right before the gun was fired:

Here's the shot one instant afterwards:

I swear to you these are different pictures. If you look closely enough (enlarging the picture to mural-size) you can see the very faintest of wateriness around the eyes, perhaps? A little tightness around the mouth? Yeah. I didn't think so either.

As a baby she would unnerve any adult who would try the kitchy kitchy coo routine on her. She wasn't buying it. She'd simply stare at them in mild annoyance until they nervously turned to a more accomodating youngster. As a small child, she would never repay evil for evil when picked on by her two older sisters, at least not in the heat of the moment when they might have the upper hand. She would instead patiently bide her time until they were most vulnerable...sitting on the toilet, most of the time. Then she'd saunter in, snatch their underwear, and run away gleefully while they cried "Mommy!! Miriam took my panties again!!"

Once when she was about four years old, she burned herself on a hot pan and never made a peep. I discovered the blister later and marvelled at her lack of concern over it.

This is my Mona Lisa, but don't be deceived. Rest assured these still waters run deep. I may not know what's going on in that brain most of the time, but there is one thing I am confident of.

She didn't inherit the stoicism from me.

Quote of the Day

From Emma (6), running in from outside:

"Charity and I were going to have a snail race, but Tasha ate Charity's snail!"

Size Seven, If You Must Know

Bikini style or boy shorts. *Whew!* You people are SO nosy!

I'm flattered that you think I'm all that interesting, actually. I think I have enough blog fodder from these questions alone to last me until 2012!

I must admit, however, to a certain amount of trepidation upon reading some of your questions. You may not like my answers, frankly. You may be disappointed in me. You may decide to quit reading this trash and find someone really admirable to hang out with. The litany of insecurity goes on and on.

But I am determined to sally forth, and to be as frank and honest as everyone else on the internet is  the Good Lord requires that I be. If I take your rose-colored glasses and stomp them to smithereens, then so be it. Please accept my apologies in advance. Perhaps you could trade them in for a slightly-pink monocle instead.

How about if I warm up first with some of the easy ones, though? Just to get my feet wet? Something innocuous, maybe? A few people (Natalie, Shel, Linda Sue, Toni) asked me about my girlish figure (cough). How do I maintain it, and so forth.

Answer: My exercise regimen is as bipolar as my brain, folks. The pendulum swings from doing absolutely nothing (usually during the seasons that I am both pregnant and homeschooling; the energy and time is simply not there) to frenetically biking and running as though fleeing something with very sharp teeth (usually during the non-pregnant, non-homeschooling seasons, which are admittedly short-lived).

I used to do aerobics to video tape in my living room, but as more and more small people were in danger of getting trampled, I had to give that up. And so I limp along with my hit-and-miss schedule, trying to make up for the lack during the times of abundance, and somehow it all evens out. The rest of the equation can be summed up in one word: genetics. I inherited some pretty sturdy abs and a bitchin' pair of biceps* from my Dad, and that goes a long way.

Soliloquy asked a couple of questions that I found especially ~fun~, the first being "How has your blog and its purpose evolved?"

Answer: This is the second blog I have had. The first was begun after Toby's birth, and I maintained it for about 6 months, I think. I don't remember what I called it. I don't remember why I stopped it, either. I think I need to stock up on the ginko-bilboa. Anyway, after I had my second miscarriage a little over a year ago, I needed a place to just spill my guts and work through what I was feeling and what the Lord was saying to me.

Very quickly, however, the blog began to be a bit of an unhealthy obsession. I almost shut it down a few months in because I was far too focused on saying everything perfectly and worrying about what other folks were thinking. Upon reflecting, I was able to refocus and I realized that I wanted to keep the blog because I STRAIGHT UP LOVE TO WRITE and I stopped fretting so much and just had fun with it.

Now, looking back over this steaming heap of thought-compost, I am so grateful that I kept it up. I have such a wonderful record of God's goodness, and of my own journey, that I never would have had otherwise. I have grown much simply by seeing my own thoughts, good and bad, right in front of me. Sin has been exposed to be dealt with, and God's truth has at times hit me upside the head. It's all good.

Her second question was "Where did you get that freakin' vocabulary??"

Answer: I love words. Love. Them. Words are just so much fun. When I was in high school English class, we used a little curriculum called "Word Wealth" that was a vocabulary strengthener, and I was the weird kid who thought it was So Much Fun. Nowadays I subscribe to A Word A Day and all kinds of new words just show up in my inbox, like "kerfuffle" and "jobbernowl" which, besides building my vocabulary, are just plain fun to say. Don't know what they mean? Look them up! Impress your friends!

Minnesota Mom also asked some intriguing questions. She asked "Were you homeschooled?"

Answer: No. I went to parochial school until 6th grade, public school from 7th to 9th, and halfway through 9th grade moved to Norway, where I went to a hoity-toity private school just especially for the fat cat oil company brats and any Norwegian who could afford it (IOW there were no Norwegians attending). Interestingly, my youngest brother was homeschooled through late elementary/jr. high years (after my parents and he moved back to the USA) and my mother and I enjoyed comparing curriculum and teaching frustrations for a while before he went to public high school.

She also asked: How did you meet your husband?

Answer: Ahhh. If I am not careful this might turn into a novel similar to Pioneer Woman's "Black Heels to Tractor Wheels" in length, but I'll reign myself in. For now, anyway. Basically, My Beloved was a senior in high school in that Norwegian-but-really-American high school when I moved as a freshman. He was not really on my radar at all until I began, as a sophomore, dating his best friend (a year behind him) and we met when he was home on Christmas vacation. I thought he was just about the most delicious slice of bow-legged, crinkly eyed-smiling sweetie pie I'd ever seen.

Annnnnd: What's your favorite dessert?

Answer: Didn't I just answer that? heh heh. Oh, you mean actual food. Uhhhh....I'm pretty partial to a box of chocolate-coated caramels, actually. The chewy kind, not the gooey kind. I also like cookies that are almost burned. And the corners of just about any sort of dessert that occupies a 13x9 pan. And anything that includes "lemon" or "key lime" in the description.

I'm horribly picky, as you can see.

And finally, for the last question o' the day: If you had never had kids and were unable to adopt (for whatever reason), what would be your dream job?

Answer: I think the dreamiest possible job would be writing for travel books like Lonely Planet, as long as I got all the beach gigs.

To be continued...

*did you notice? I resisted! I resisted linking to my post about slugs and biceps! Aren't you proud of me?