Life in Blunderview- Not as Effortless As it Appears...

Why didn't my mother warn me? Why build a family that contains two birthdays in December? Why, oh why?!Well, it's only Saturday the 11th of December at 1:55 pm. No need to panic- still a full five minutes until the nine boys arrive.

Just the right amount of time to finish up the pvc pipe- your basic raw materials for the infamous marshmallow shooter.And a quick dash to the store for some wrestling ring details.Put the two together and you've got all you need to annihilate those seven pillars of fire.

And plenty of time to spread a little marshmallow joy all around the basement.

Nope, these aren't daycare days. This is definitely weekend rules.

*

All that to lead up to a more reverent celebration-

Sam's church Christmas program.

Oh, that my son be the shy boy hiding behind his hands.Oh, that my son would be a cherubic angel.
Oh, thank heaven somebody else's angel blocked our son from view for a merciful but short period of time.
Mild amusement morphs to sheer terror and mother mortification.

The offspring is going for full blown show boat.

What with the spontaeous relaxation, -taking a load off if you will-.... while children all around him dutifully and obediendly stood at attention. A little time for nose evacuation.

And then his well-versed line.

What on earth possessed my son to use his sing-song-I'm-a-goofy-goober voice with the mike shoved firmly up his orafice?!

Not to mention the whole -pulling out of the shades and doing a whole gangsta impression while all the shepherds and angels sang and behaved appropriately all around you?

What about the exaggerated lip sinc? The wildly overdone facial expressions?

Right up to the moment when you noticed your mother crouched very, very close to the stage hissing things at you like take. those. glasses. off. and smart. en. up.

All that vinegar seemed to just drain out of you in that moment. Could have been the hissing. Could have been the mother-death-glare. Might have been the sudden, jerky, arm-flailing sign language that your mama was sending you.

Whatever it was. I hope I've got a whole lot more of that in storage somewhere.

And I hope I'll not be called upon to use it any time soon again....

(on second thought.... I was already using my reserves. Let's not forget his brother before him.)

Christmas Happiness Is...

Finding a few more ancient tree ornaments at the local thrift 'n' gift.Sad is the way they are packaged in plastic sandwhich bags and hucked onto the shelf. Very sad. Very tragic or glass ornament #3.Happiness is finding another apron for my modest collection.And discovering the sweetest red plaid shoe box. I had to buy the shoes; just because of the box. Of course, there were other incentives...Sad is having to wait an entire year before my holiday edition house slippers will perfectly accentuate my ugly sweater....

Blogging in the Real World.

Perception and context count for an awful lot. That's got to be at the root of most misunderstandings. At least I hope so.

I think everyone hates being misunderstood. Maybe it makes us feel unvalidated? I know when I am misunderstood, I feel kind of panicky that somebody thinks that I am a type of person which I myself do not see myself to be. (which makes me wonder- why would that bother me? I can't change anybody on this planet- I've learned that lesson the hard and painful way.)

The blog-o-sphere is ripe for this sort of thing to germinate. Some bloggers seem to relish it- posting controversial and provocative topics and then rubbing their virtual hands with glee when things heat up in the comment section.

Me? Not so much.

I'd rather post ideas and feelings and events. Life shapers.
Real life in the flesh has too much pain and conflict as it is. And that's with the benefits of body launguage and context.

So where we have misunderstood each other and inadvertently replied in hurtful ways.... Please accept my apologies. I've got to save my energy for the stress in my flesh and blood world. Goodness knows there's plenty of drama to be found if anyone is interested. (and all the joys of the season to look forward to...... shudder, wince, cringe.....)

Next post?
How to use pet hair from your couch and ductwork to winterize your house!

Life as a "Christian"

Do you ever get gripped by the knowledge that you are way too selfish to really love your neighbour? To actually follow Jesus? That we've been advised by our preachers that God wants us to be comfortable? That if we are really in line for the "blessings of Abraham"; that we'd better take another look at how many years he spent in the wilderness with a couple of hundred brats eating the exact same lunch for forty years? Only to be denied entrance into the promised land?

Did you ever think about all the evangelicals in our continent; and that if every single one actually got gripped by the idea of social justice and ending poverty and feeding the hungry and seeking justice and loving mercy...... that we could actually change the punishing inequality of people sharing the planet? That we wouldn't need celebrities on tv to convince us to sponsor a kid somewhere? That we'd know that this kid is our flesh and blood?

I'm getting freaked out by what it really means to be a Christian. I don't really even like that word anymore because it is way too loaded with culture and ideas that I don't even believe in anymore.

Insulated. Warm. and comfy.
yikes.

I LOVE this job!

Brian went out to the store last night to buy some fancy frozen pizza for our gourmet Saturday evening family dinner. When he came back; nutrients in hand- look what he found sitting on our rotting deck! A wonderful buffet of upholstery samples for my insatiable palette. "A" is for "angel" is all I can say.I wondered who my upholstery angel was, so I sniffed around for clues. Oddly enough; just two days ago I had walked past Wiens Furniture and noticed their rows of fabric samples. I wondered why they did with them after they expired?

Pizza? What pizza. I got straight to work disengaging these goodies from their paper hangers.

And landed up with a delicious looking stack of inspiration. While I've got your attention; Laz-E-Boy; I wonder if I may be so bold as to make a suggestion or two? If we're going to pursue this partnership, I would really appreciate it if you continued on with this method of stitching fabric onto paper instead of the inferior notion of using super glue?

So inconvenient; these stuck-together bits.

This on the other hand;

So perfect.

Slick like butter.

~

Thank you, A. I had so much fun.

(and I will have so much fun).

.... Coming Out....

I just can't stand it any more.
I cannot remain silent.
I cannot remain humble.

I simply must come out and admit who I really am.















(okay. Not really. But ever wonder who your alter ego might be? Maybe in your reality it is like my reality-- someone who has already accomplished something that are only dreams and wishes to you and me.....)

May our namesakes be our inspirations.......

Different Strokes For Different Folks

It's easy enough to make decisions for other people- to assume that we know what their problem is and how best to handle it. It's easy to be decisive and clear when it's about somebody else. But try imposing your own emotionality into an otherwise obvious situation, and suddenly a whole lot of lines begin to blur.

A very small case in point: I operate a home/family daycare by day and parent my own children by evening, night, and weekend. During the day, I have very clear boundaries about what is acceptable and unacceptable. For example: No wrestling. No somersaults on the living room couch. No running circles around the kitchen table.

These are clear to me because I know that I don't want someone else's child bashing their head on the corner of my table, falling off the back of my couch (I learned that one the hard way...), or getting punched and crushed in an innocent match of WWF. I have these children for 8 - 10 hours a day, and it's clear to me that they can live without these particular aerobic activities for that length of time.

But.
If I were to consider parenting, there would be a whole other cookie to crumble. Isn't it normal for children to tumble around together, sit on one another, occasionally get carried away with a smack or two? Isn't a living room for living in? Isn't running around the table better than rotting away in front of a television?

And so it's not nearly as clear because my heart is chopped in teeny pieces and I'm thinking about their personal, spiritual, physical, and emotional development for.... well.... the rest of their lives.

I know plenty of parents who are very decisive most of the time and don't torture themselves with every nuance and possibility. And I admire that skill. But I have also grown to appreciate the way my own brain and heart work. By looking for the motivation behind my children's actions for the past 7-15 years, I think I have a pretty good line of communication going. They're not afraid to come to me with weird and difficult questions. With confessions. With fears. I don't think they've ever lied to cover up for something they felt they might get caught for doing. I've never been particularly punitive.

Now, I still torture myself. All the time. I know I'm getting it wrong all over the place, and could really expect more from my children. I know that I'm a big pushover mushpot at times.

If you were looking over your fence at my family, it would probably be pretty clear to you where we are going "wrong"; just as when I look over other fences I think I can see some obvious tune-ups that need to be taken care of.

It's a potential alligator pit though. Yes, we all learn from one another. No, we are not all the same, nor will be parent the same. There is a place for a trusted friend to peel some blinders off in this race. It's a risky place to wade into, this plucking out of other's logs and splinters.

It's why it is so much easier to gossip- get all that great advice out of your body, but avoid the potential conflict and tension of being the messenger. Which makes us all more paranoid. What is so-and-so saying to so-and-so about what she notices in me? Do I really want to know? Would it devastate me? Ruin a relationship?

I wonder if the decisive people have it easier. Decide on your life program and stick with it come what may. Blame the other guy.

This whole human thing can get plenty confusing. We tend to flock together, form relationships, lean on one another, and disagree. Build up quiet defenses. Feel wounded and betrayed.

And see with perfect clarity what the other guy ought to change.

Toasts: To Some Wonderful Women.....

Allow me to take this opportunity to propose a toast to some of the strong, independent, tender, feisty, interesting, funny, compassionate, loving, and fabulous women who I am pleased to have in my life. (and in my home. And in my yard; tossing goblets into my tub).Well, maybe it's best to do a few toasts.... to the best dressed....
... I think...
... to she who runs with scissors...
... to the best decorated bathtub...
... to the best attitude...
And although it appears that we have run plumb out of glasses with which to propose toasts; I simply must insist on a few more.

To MD: the award for "best toast"- which went something like this: "Here's to never being hungry again in order to become a lesser size."

To AS: The award for "most reliable hostess" (and photographer). These parties would be embarrassing failures without your impeccable grace.

To J, H, M, K, and B. The award for "not leaving with the masses"- I so enjoyed talking and listening until the candles burned themselves out.

To LE: The award for being "the best surprise in my neighborhood". Thanks for your warmth, your smile, and your presence.

To LL: The award for frequent and faithful attendance, and a bright and lovely smile.

MKG: The award for "longest distance travelled"- wow! that meant a lot; I'm so glad you came.

And the inaugural award goes out to: B, D, and K. May this be the beginning of many more Ugly Sweater Parties to be graced by your attendance.


(K- you really must have an additional toast: Here's to being comfortable in slacks.

What You See..

An adorable garden shed.

What You See A vintage clawfoot bathtub. ..

A badly neglected outdoor planter?...

A poorly designed outhouse.

~

~

~

What I See...

.

Hmmmm... a convenient backdrop.

...... potential.

A target.

An ice-breaking party game.

A need for tarps, petro Canada wine glasses, and pleasant weather.

A great "drinking game" to rid yourself of any unresolved conflicts and aggressions.

An excellent reason to clear your schedule for the fourth annual ugly sweater party.

~

Be there or be un-square.

Particulars..

You are hereto and forever more

Invited to attend

The Fourth Annual

Ugly Sweater Party

To Be held on

November 14, 2009

At My House, In The 'Niv

From 7:00 pm or thereabouts

Until 7:00 am or thereabouts

For Directions please contact re-joyce@mts.net

Feel free to bring a friend

As long is she is female, or at least poses as female

(convincingly)

Also, please bring an appetizer

And a beverage

I'm more about the activites and less about the kitchen stuff

If you read this here, you are invited

If you hear of someone who has read this here

you are invited

No Sweater

No Snacky

No Sippy

No Service

See you on Saturday!

Ruined For The Ordinary World

Most people go to restaurants to get a memorable culinary experience.
I prefer to wait around until my kitchen gets transformed from the family office/ short order cook station into this feast for every available sense.

It happens every other friday, and taste buds never go away disappointed.

So, last Friday when it was not tapas week; Brian and I went out for dinner to redeem a gift certificate that had gotten buried in my wallet.

Sure, it was nice to go into an environment that someone else had cleaned and prepared. It was nice to have someone bring things to our table. But all it really did was to confirm my suspicions that I have been ruined for the ordinary world, and my taste buds have become spoiled little emporer brats.

Besides, when I eat out at home; I also get to cuddle with the chef...

The Church Decorating Committee

After an overwhelming response to my pulpit cry for help on the Christmas decorating; I am more than pleased to announce that the committee now consists of.... well..... me. And Lisa. (thanks, Lisa. you're probably the only servant in that church. pfffft)


Determined not to let the constraints of time and lack of cloning technology to get the better of me and my lavish plans for decor, I figured that I'd go to my best and only true friend- Google.

Google never lets me down.
I found a few things that even the Sunday School children could get involved with.

And while I'm in the garage collecting craft supplies anyway; I may as well pick up a few odds and ends to make my own tree. Should save the church decor budget some.

Then again, it's always nice to get a few little things done at home- maybe involve the husband and kids? I don't mind sacrificing some glittery bits and ribbon for a truly remarkable cause. It's so nice to get credit for hard work done with a spirit of humility and a total lack of pretense. The best plan may be to simply be the decor. Cut out the middle man. Forget about hauling that heavy box of tree parts down a flight of stairs and through a narrow hallway and up a stage.

This is way more practical. And pretty too.

But there are those large windows to dress.....

I suppose the foyer won't miss several hundred plastic hangers?

The Sunday School department ought to have red string of some sort...

And there's always the thrift shop for some golden baubles.

You know, I'm starting to think this whole committee thing fell apart for good reason. If I'm going to say that I believe in recycling and reusing; well... then there's no excuse for not using what's right in front of my fully capable nose.

Thank you, Google.

You've been ever so helpful, once again.