Major Milestones Attempted

I had lofty goals for Memorial Day Weekend.
1. Build the fence.
2. Potty Train the 2 year old.
3. My son added a third - say good-bye to training wheels.


You already know how the fence thing turned out. Enough said.


The bike riding was the highlight of the weekend. Five minutes after the training wheels came off, I took this picture. Instant success and celebration. We officially said good-bye to the training wheels and moved on to bigger and better things.



Zero success with the potty training. Five minutes into potty training we were changing wet underwear. And again 20 minutes later...and 30 minutes later...and 15 minutes later. My friend calls it trick peeing. Whatever it's called, he does it - all the time. We officially said good-bye to the potty chair and moved on to bigger and better diapers.

He Loves Me...He Loves Me Not....

He loves me. It's official. Not that I've ever questioned it. But after 11 years of marriage (this coming Saturday), I put him to a pretty big test this morning. My husband has been working on building a fence around our very large back yard. He has been fighting the weather, Lowe's to get the right supplies, more weather, and now....well....me. On Saturday he and his friend put together all of the posts and crossbars for the front of the fence and concreted the posts into the ground. Today was the day to put on the vertical slats to make it look like a real fence instead of a cattle fence.

I walked outside at 8:45 this morning. He had started putting up the vertical slats - on the inside of the fence. I politely told him that they were on the wrong side of the fence, fully expecting a "Good grief, what am I doing?...". No such luck. He wanted them on the inside. He wanted the inside of the fence to look the best because that's where we would be spending most of our time.

I disagreed - with a vengeance. A nice vengeance, but whole-hearted disagreement nonetheless. We discussed and debated it for awhile, and of course, our faithful helper friend drove in right at that moment. As he walked up I warned him we were having a little debate. "A friendly debate?" he questioned. Ummm....not really.

My loving husband stood there and basically let me decide the outcome. It was a "speak now or forever hold your peace" moment. I spoke. And they started taking the fence apart.

I assumed this meant taking off the slats he had just put on (about 12 or so) and nailing them on the other side. No big deal. Thirty minutes later I wandered slowly in that direction and realized that I was wrong. Big deal. They now had to take off every crossbar and every bracket on the entire fence, move the bracket, fasten it back on, and put the crossbar back in.

Serious guilt set in. But not enough to change my mind. By 11:00 they were finished with that process.

On this side.
Unfortunately, there is a section on the other side of the house just like this one.

Which would be where these two gentlemen are at this precise minute. I'm sure they are out there singing my praises and thanking God for the day they met me.

I have a feeling I may be paying for this one for a very long time.

But, I still hold to the fact that this all could have been avoided...and I said this as lovingly as possible...if he just would have asked me first!

I knew all would be okay when I walked out there an hour into demolitian and he said in a half loving, half disgusted voice, "You should NEVER have to wonder about how much I love you." Awwww....he's sweet even when he wants to throw his hammer at me.

Frustration

Warning: This post contains information relevant to no one but the author. Reading may produce extreme fatigue, lethargy, or periods of extended slumber.

Somewhere out there is a bigwig superintendent sitting in his cushy office laughing at me. And he is shouting out loud, "I TOLD YOU SO." Eleven years ago this April I began interviewing for teaching positions. I had my first interview at an area public school. A few days later I had an interview set up at an area private school. I had no public/private opinions or agendas, I was just an innocent would-be graduate looking for a job. The day before my private school interview, I got offered the job at the public school. They graciously allowed me to wait until after my next interview to give them an answer.


During my private school interview with the entire Board of Education, I was asked if I was willing to give up twice the pay and come work for them. The word "yes" flew out of my mouth before I even knew what was happening. I almost said, "Did I say that out loud?" It was a God thing - it had to be. Or it was a nervous, young, green female not in control of her own mouth. I'm going with the God thing.

I called the public school and told them I accepted another job. The guy asked where, so I told him. He did everything he could to hold back his complete disgust, but let me know in no uncertain terms that I had made the wrong decision. He said I would lose benefits, huge retirement (KAPERS) bonuses, and the stigma of working in a state-accredited school. His attitude confirmed to me that I had made the right decision, and off I went merrily along my teaching way.

I have never for one moment regretted my decision. I knew then and still know it was the right thing, in spite of the financial hit and all those other things that superintendent so sweetly told me about.

But the man was right about one thing...the state-accredited school part. I could care less about the stigma, but the accreditation deal is causing me extreme frustration at the moment. I have two career goals running around in my mind, and both require a Master's Degree. I'm good with that. I'm ready to find a good program, jump in, and get the degree I need and want. But good programs want state-accredited experience. Imagine that.


The really frustrating part is that I have that experience, it just doesn't count. The school I taught at was accredited 5 years ago by a legit accrediting agency, but the state board of education didn't decide it was legit until 2005. Now they do. Which is great. But.way.too.late.


Nine years of teaching. Three years of "accredited" teaching. But only one year counts in the eyes of the state. Which means I cannot get in to any Master's program that I want to. Not that I can't get into ANY Master's program, just not the ones that offer exactly what I was looking for. To do that, I would have to complete a second year of state-accredited experience, and be at least in my third before I start. That throws off my plan completely, which I admit is difficult for my brain to handle. I'm a plan kind of girl.

Now I'm back to the drawing board. More prayer. More research. More planning. I'll keep you posted. I know the suspense is killing you.

My son has a new fascination with the clock radio/alarm. So much in fact that we found an old one in the basement and he begged us to let him have it in his room. Yesterday after his nap he came running out saying, "Mom, come here! I found some fun, fast music on stations 100 and 103! You know, the kind of music that we sing in Children's Church!"

"Really? Ok, show me."

"Here it is! Come listen."

"Whose bed have your boots been under?

And whose heart did you steal I wonder?

This time did it feel like thunder, baby?

Whose bed have your boots been under?"

Yep, just like children's church.

One Of Those Days

It all started with an innocent conversation at lunch about going camping. Which led to talking about the new tent we were given for Christmas. Which led to thousands of questions from our analytical/logical/concrete thinker 5 year old. Which led to daddy saying we could set up the tent that evening in the basement and sleep in it. The whole family.

I knew that would throw a bit of a wrench in the restful Sunday I had planned, but I didn't fight it. Right after daddy and son made a quick trip to pick up our fencing materials that had come in at Lowe's, they could come home, set up the tent, watch Extreme Makeover with me, and picnic in front of the TV for dinner.

But the truck was "deader than a doornail" as my son put it, which caused a late start.
And most of the fencing they had special ordered for us had been ordered wrong.
And they had ONE post in stock. We needed 18 more.
And the brackets were too long.
And the concrete prices all changed.
And the vacation days planned for the 5-day-weekend of fence building are shot.
And now the fencing will be here just in time for....harvest.

Four-and-a-half hours later they returned from the "quick trip to Lowe's, just in time for the kids to torment each other through the entire 2 hour Season Finale.

Then the tent came out. And went up.

And two hours past bedtime, the boys laid down and finally went to sleep. The parents, however, realized that the water system is quite loud downstairs, the tent is noisy when the 2 year old keeps kicking it in his sleep, the five year old sneezes and laughs in his sleep, and the 2 year old snores really loud.

And then at 3:00 a.m. the fire pager went off. As my husband flew up the stairs, I thought to myself that the pager beeps sounded different than normal, but I just ignored it. Twenty minutes later I went upstairs to go to the bathroom and saw my husband laying in our bed. WHAT???

Being the sweet wife that I am, I didn't bother him to ask him about it, but instead went back down with the boys so I could lay awake until 5:00 a.m.

This morning, while administering caffeine injections, I found out that he thought he turned his pager to vibrate last night, but instead turned it to the channel that receives all the calls for the entire county. Oops.

Yeah right, oops. He spent half the night in a BED!

Lack of Entertainment

Okay, so the good thing about living in the country is that when you wake up in the early morning thinking that you are being attacked and that a plane is going to crash into your house at any second, you soon realize that it is only a crop duster spraying the fields right next to your house.

Then you get weird and wake up your kids so they can see it.

And then you realize that you must be suffering from a severe lack of entertainment.

And that you've just been doused with gallons and gallons of chemicals. Nice.

RIP??

I've been putting it off for days, but today I finally decided I had to make bread. Now let's set one thing straight here before I get a bunch of sassy comments about the fact that I make my own bread. I don't really like to make bread (or much else for that matter), it's not fun for me, it makes a mess, and I don't ever really know how it's going to turn out. I do it for one reason - the health benefit for my family. Well, that, and it tastes really good.

Today I had all my ingredients in and was getting to that frustrating part of knowing how much flour to add. Too sticky? Not enough? More? Too much? That's when I noticed my Kitchenaid sounded funny. The gears were making a weird sound, it started smelling really hot, and was that seriously smoke I saw?

I walked away and came back and sure enough, that corner of the kitchen had a nice hazy look to it. I stood there staring at it not sure what was causing me more frustration - the fact that my mixer may have just completely died, or the fact that I was now going to have to knead the dough by hand.

I actually did it, then checked "upper body workout" off my list for today, and decided that store bought bread is looking healthier every minute.

I was definitely born in the right century.