Half-Baked

I am sure you have no idea what this blog entry is about. I am sure that it will shock you when you realize that I am writing about my kids. But before you move on to MSN's Wonderwall of celebrity pictures, give my story a shot.

My friend Mari and I took our kids to the beach today. It was beautiful. Our boys played in the surf and sand, as most normal kids do, but then there was "the visitor" that accompanied. Needless to say, there is always DRAMA when Mari and I are together, but this day's DRAMA came from one sole source....."the visitor". A bee sting, a cut on the ankle, and then a few flips and turns in the waves. Mindless sand catapulting from his shovel at our own kids as well as other unsuspecting beach-goers. He was a little immature, but he was having the time of his life. So Mari and I sat there attentive to his every move because it didn't seem like enough assurance that the lifeguard was just 20 feet away. While all the other boys dug in the sand or kicked around the soccer ball, he kept busy making sure that we were watching him brave the waves that crashed on top of him but mostly, swept him off his feet. This boy is almost 9 years old, but had the heart, soul, and smile of a 5-year old.

So the part about being half-baked, I think that many of us moms see our kids and we think, "normal" or "perfect" or sometimes "better". But I will admit that there are so many times in which I thought to MYSELF, "immature", "behind", and "slow". Half-baked doesn't mean to be lacking in brain cells. We don't ever call a half-baked potato mentally deficient. If your chicken roast is half-baked, it just means that it isn't done yet. It hasn't reached its full-cooked maturity. It just needs more time.

So, for all of those times in which I thought to myself that my children seemed a little awkward, maybe less mature than their peers, or even outright annoying, it was mostly because they were just half-baked...and not quite ready for the situation at-hand. I am learning though, because I have had 3 times the opportunities to be a good mom and have failed many, many times. You learn so much more from your failures (and that is why I write a blog filled with my advice of what NOT to do). Expectations are good, but they are so much better when they are realistic. It leads to less half-baked moments. I have also learned that comparison of my kids leads to, well, comparison and that can be hurtful to my kids.

There is nothing more sobering than having a half-baked moment yourself. I have them quite often, which leads me to think that I might be drinking alcohol instead of water, but that can't be because I don't have a job to pay for my Top Ramen, let-alone alcohol. As you may recall, fell under the trash bin and I vaccumed my hair and most recently, I took a tumble down my hallway that led to some kickin' bruises all along my left side. I have had many half-baked moments and have learned from them. When I taught the algebra classes at a middle school, I didn't know algebra. I was half-baked. I was almost there. I taught myself and became a master blackbelt of the quadratic equation. But that didn't mean that I wasn't humbled by some nice questions about how a vertical line couldn't be a function....blah, blah, algebranese.

So please don't think I am insensitive when I call your kid half-baked. I would just be stating that there might be some growing up to. Maybe an observation that the situation may be a bit much for him/her to handle for their age or ability. We all know that kids have growing up to do, right? How else are they going to be perfectly mature adults....

You know what? I think I'll just keep my mouth shut and not say anything...but if you see my eyes rolling to the back of my head, it probably means that someone around me seems a little half-baked.

Thoughts From My Experience of Being Pinned Under a Trash Bin

I sit here, typing an entry because I am too sore to do anything else. I tried and FAILED miserably at completing a SUPERWOMAN task yesterday that has left me bruised, bare-knuckled, and unable to bend.

It may be that I am in my 30's and have this grand desire to be "the best" at everything. I may be trying to overcome these things called "age" and "growing up". It may be that I am tired of certain people telling me that I am a "wimp" (this list includes a parental unit and at least one offspring, just to mention a couple). For whatever reason, I thought that I was strong enough to roll out the 200 pound trash bin and, with no luck, ended up on the concrete pinned under it.

So, screaming like a baby I cried for anyone. My husband was at work, my oldest son was away at camp, my middle son was in the bathroom, and the little guy was busy eating his cereal. There is no neighbor living next door to us. The side gate was left open with a clear view to the neighbor across the street and I imagine that they could have been taking pictures or laughing at my expense, but it was obvious that no one heard me at 7:30 in the morning. I mustered up what strength I had left and was able to lift the top of the bin off my chest and shimmy-ed my way out from under the dirt and weeds.

Superwoman, I am not. I have learned an important lesson. It is my husband's job to take out the heavy trash...and he does it so gracefully (part of the reason why I thought that it would be a "cake" job). I think that I just need to suck it up and live with my gold-plated, "wimp" crown on my head and enjoy NOT taking out the heavy trash. I have found other things that I can be "SUPER" at. I make "SUPER" greeting cards and "SUPER" pillow covers. My son loves my "SUPER" chicken soup and my husband loves my "SUPER"-toned thighs. I happen to think that I have a "SUPER" singing voice but save it for car rides and showers. I actually am striving just to be normal....Normal would be pretty "SUPER"!

So if you are interested in taking advice from a 30-something that is struggling to be normal, I'd say, "Don't get pinned under the garbage and remember to turn off the vacuum before you lean down to grab the pencil under the bed."

Time Warp

I haven't blogged in a while. I've been a little caught up in my little time-warp. It started with the garden....it grew to having chickens, and now, we have technology holidays on Sunday. Just yesterday, I was thinking, "Where did those overalls go? I could really use them right now. Hee-haw!"

These technology holidays consist of us not watching tv or using the internet. My husband and I turn off our cell phones and we use as little electricity as possible. We don't consider ourselves Amish....yet. We still use our fridge and enjoy the blessings of what Thomas Edison gave us every time we switch on a light. We do though, try to use natural light as long as we can and spend time outside. Last night we tried to play Yatzee by candlelight until I couldn't handle the flickers of the candles anymore(They were messing with my one good eye).

As we continue to thrive through this simple life for one day of our week, we have found that it has brought us closer together. We spend time gardening as a family. We have been eating lunch together. The kids have more interaction with each other...or fighting, if that's what you want to call it. We all pick up these spinal-bound things called books and magazines. Maybe it's out of sheer boredom, but everyone is about ready to go to sleep once the sun goes down.

A day of rest. Be it Biblical, or just to get back to a more simple life, it has been refreshing. We were able to survive without 4G and Survivor at one point in our lives. Our family plans ahead on most weekends (Friday and Saturday) to complete as much work for meals and house-cleaning so we can concentrate on what is most important: Our relationships with each other and our devotion to the One that gave us each day to live.

So...if you see my green light on my profile picture on FaceBook on a Sunday, I might have some explaining to do.

Homesteading

Every morning I walk into the living room and I stare at the yard. For many years it was concrete slabs. Then it turned into a dirt-biker's heaven. After years of neglect, we have finally brought some life back into our outdoor space. It started with 2 planter beds. Our first season gave us corn, an abundance of broccoli with worms, and zucchini. It was amazing that we could actually take care of this living-breathing plant life. Our garden is increasing and over-filling our planters. We plant in buckets, straight into the ground and now, have added a 3rd planter bed.

Through this year transition, we have also gained a compost box and 3 chickens. It is not unusal to see the entire family out in the yard on the weekend: my husband and me, all 3 boys, 3 chickens, and the sassy bunny. Not everyone enjoys being outside, and eventually my oldest son and the bunny go and hide somewhere else, but it has become a relaxing and family-oriented ritual.




Just the other day I was replanting the potatoes and got so excited about the numerous worms that kept appearing. My husband must have felt my excitement because he told me that we could take a worm census (Yes, an actual count of worm members in our garden, and probably just as accurate as the US census).

Today I noticed the dirt stains around my nails and I was sad for a moment. Normally when I see that much dirt, it's in my boys' nails and I get so grossed out, but this is something natural. It is something that I should be proud of. I may need to scrub better in the shower from now on, but I know that I am doing my part to increase the oxygen supply around my home as well as to lessen my little carbon footprint on this earth.

Homesteading has been a most humbling experience for me. Normally I would not be caught dead sweeping up chicken poop from the patio....who would? I am constantly dirty, which some of you know, will effect my showering habits. An extra shower on some days, one less on another....but I still maintain a 100% average on my New Year's resolution to shower every day. We eat from the garden which is more nutritious than the items that they grow in the chip aisle of Target or even the bulk bins at Sprouts. I am learning to make nice with animals that eat everything beautiful in my garden. Somebunny keeps sneeking under the netting to eat the cilantro, but I have learned to live with that cycle of life. In return for my kindness, I get a little nip on the cuff of my pants as I water the buckwheat. She speaks to me in her silent way saying something like, "I forgive you. You are not so bad either. Keep those chickens away from me!"

So it's a step back in time, this homesteading. We are stopping to "smell the roses" (but it smells a lot more like almost fully-ripened onions). I see so many parallels to my life as a parent and my garden. Most of the time, it's chaotic and in need of weeding and cleaning. I need to water it often so it can prosper. We set barriers to keep plants from growing the wrong way and we put netting up to keep bad things from happening to our precious fruits. The one that gets me the most is that I won't see the hard work that I put in until many days, months, and years later.

It is a precious thing, raising kids, plants, chickens. a bunny......

It is also a most-rewarding thing!...Especially on those days when I sit on my patio and I see the new green sprouts and the blooming flowers, the chickens strutting their stuff across the pumpkin vines, the bunny nibbling at the hay, my husband turning the compost, and the kids giggling, throwing dirt clods against the tilting wooden fence.

The Chicks

We tried the lady bunnies and that backfired in a major way....meaning, there is only 1 survivor and she eats everything in her path. We've (my husband) moved on to something, that I thought would be, way less time-consuming and, hopefully, will reap huge rewards in 6 months. We have chicks!


It was actually a very-well-thought-out decision on my husband's behalf. Months of library visits and on-line reading about care and housing became his nightly ritual. He called the feed store weeks ahead to check on their next shipment and made sure that we were ready. The coop is being built and the chicks have a nice plastic box with a warming light. They have personality and spunk. They are even more friendly than the bunny. It is amazing to me just how much I enjoy them. They make me laugh. I watch them grow and change on a daily basis.

They do have some issues that I don't care for. They poop everywhere! Similar to the bunny, they just go where they please and leave their mark so someone can step on it. As they are not old enough to be outside, they've had daily adventures in our garage and are now jumping the threshold into the kitchen. It's a little Hillbilly having chickens in the kitchen, but I find a lot of comfort in them being around cherping at me as though they really understand what I am saying to them. They give me eye contact and they acknowledge that I am in their presence.
I affectionately call them "the McNugget sisters" because they do not have individual names yet. I don't know why. I read once that you are less likely to eat your chickens if you name them. It could have been to keep the opportunity avaliable, just in case. But I'd never have the heart to pluck a chicken or even put one to death for that matter. I had issues trying to revive bunny #2.

So the count-down is on to fresh eggs and free manure. A little piece of country in our Huntington Beach back yard. Does it get any better?

The Bunny

Yes, the bunny is on a leash.

As noted in the title of my blog, my usual subjects are my own 3 sons, but this blog entry is about my surrogate daughter, Snowball. Snowball is the last of 3 bunnies that we purchased over 3 years ago as pets. 3 seemed like a magical number at the time. My husband and I each have 2 siblings, we have 3 sons, the Holy Trinity... I don't think that God meant for us to have 3 bunnies and it was pretty evident as the number slowly dwindled down to one. I'd tell you what happened to the other two, but then I'd have to bring up issues with the crazy neighbor and I really don't want to go into that detail. Cocoa and Fuzzbucket are in a better place and poor Snowball is still among the living, trying very hard each day to dig her little way out of the yard to the little piece of heaven on the other side of the fence.

I had multiple friends tell me that I should share my stories about my sassy bunny on my blog. She is quite entertaining, you know. I thought that if I were to do anything nice for her (never mind feeding her), it would be to blog about her so the world would know that I do acknowledge her as more than a strangely large cotton ball with fiery red eyes. (PS, I think she's blind)

So, the Lady has been a bit curious since she's become a free-range bun-in-the-sun. She gets first pickin' of the bountiful weeds and even the jalapeno plant (to which she has not partaken of yet....she may be smarter than she acts). She spends most of her time scampering around the garden and then laying in the shade for one of her 10 daily naps before the sun goes down. That's when the magic really does happen....Yes! My camillia plant has MAGICALLY disappeared! SO...call me crazy, but I find myself staring late at night into the yard from the patio door. I flick on the patio light and I stare at her, as if she even cares that I am there. I know that she knows, and she looks at me like, "I am sassy. I see you. I don't care. You can turn on the light and admire my beauty and call me albino because I have red eyes and white fur, but it isn't going to stop me from eating your camillia plant when you go to bed." Then she shakes her head like Justin Bieber and goes on licking herself.

I've been out in the garden a lot lately and she's been pretty friendly. She'll come nip at my pants and stare at me. I read her mind and she's thinking "Yeah, this woman is crazy to think that she is actually going to make this prison yard look better." The fuzzball will then proceed to practice her speed drills by randomly running across the yard and then stop and stare at me some more. I think that staring is her greatest talent. Well, that and EATING MY CAMILLIA PLANT. She has this freaky way of just staring at me and following my every movement with just the turn of her head. She's crazy!

There are times when I go out there to search for her because I haven't seen her in a couple days. I guess I've got a soft spot for her. Maybe it's because she looks so pathetic when it rains. Dreadlocks and dirty fur are pretty pathetic. Maybe it is because I see a lot of myself in her. First, she's crazy. Second, she's a little OCD. We watch her dig holes for hours and hours only to fill them up afterwards then the next day, she's at it again. She's moody and will eat anything. My husband told me that my camillia plant is like junk food to her and that she can't resist. So I guess she really is like me. I guess if I was a bunny, I'd eat the camillia plant too. It is (was) the most beautiful thing in the yard...at least until the compost box made its arrival. (another story for another day)

So there you go. Don't get a bunny. They are so stinkin' cute that you won't ever have the heart to put her up on Craig's List under "free" when she eats your favorite plant. You won't have the heart to place an ad in the Pennysaver for "Bunny. Free to a good home" even when your kids forget to feed her and then cry when you tell them that you are going have to get rid of her. Just don't do it. Get something ugly. I'm just sayin'.

Women Need Women

Friday's weather in southern California left much to be desired. It was cold, blustery (a word that I have heard preschool teachers, Winnie the Pooh, and my husband use), cloudy, and rainy. As the end of the school day came closer to its final minutes, we gathered one-by-one at our usual spot. The park was bare. Who would enjoy a day like this? The 4 of us would. As I sat there listening to conversations and interjecting my own silly comments, I realized just how much I depend on this daily ritual. This is my support group. These are women that I love for who they are. They share what is on their heart. We support each other in ways our husbands can not.

There are a few groups of women that gather at the park on a regular basis, but it was this group only that sat there in the wind and rain just to have a connection with each other. Everyday, I see pain, sadness, but also joy and amusement in the stories that are told. I am so grateful to these women that are willing to share and seek advice.

What I love most about these women is that they all sit on the same patch of grass, not to gossip or cause drama. We are all there to help each other become better mothers, wives, and friends. No man could give completely genuine and honest imput about being a better mother or wife.

Thank you for being there on that windy, rainy day. It warms my heart to think that it is as important to you all as it is for me to sit at the park and be there for each other regardless of the "weather".

...And for those who are seeking a special patch of grass for your own, you are always welcome to join us.