I Saved The Chicken and That's All That Matters

Hi everybody. Um, this is Asker. Mom said I could tell you guys all about the physics lesson she gave us last night.

First, we put a chicken in a glass baking dish. Then, we put it in the oven and let it cook for about a half hour. Then we took it out to add the vegetables. Mom always does this. But this time, she used frozen carrots instead of fresh ones and guess what?

The glass exploded! Cool!

I told her we should have been wearing safety glasses, but then I recognized that look and went running.

Isn't homeschooling fun?

Oh, and she said if you have any comments like, "Duh!" or "Um, yeah that happens" to go suck an egg. I told her that wasn't very nice, but then I got that look again.

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Because I'm Bored

With all the media attention on the Texas-based FLDS church, and the predilection for copycat acts, there is a good chance that at least one, if not two of you lovely readers, will be joining a cult sometime soon.

But if the idea of wearing 19th century dresses (not red, of course) is not appealing to you, and you prefer not to share your children or husband- fear not, there are other options. Out of the goodness of my heart (and my insomnia), I have compiled a listing of some other unique worship opportunities and lifestyles. Peruse at your convenience, and if you find something you like, well, I'd prefer for my name to stay out of it.



The Brethren- Bible-based group frequently known as Garbage Eaters for their propensity to dumpster dive. All members are single, celibate and not allowed to show emotions or smile. Wins the most-appealing-reasons-to-join award.

Dove of Oneness- Supporters believe that a secret save-the-country law called NESARA was passed by Congress several years ago, but has been suppressed by the government. The law, which only becomes effective upon public announcement, removes Congress and the administrative branch from office, zeroes all credit card balances, abolishes the federal reserve and federal income taxes. Wins the I-wish-it-were-true award.

Raelism- Raelians believe that humans were created by light-green skinned aliens and that human cloning is the key to eternal life. Wins the least-creative-concept award.

Infinity Forms of Yellow Remember- Offers magic wands and empowered water that supposedly heal cancer, mental illness and weak hearts. I'm pretty sure the founder was in Pete's Dragon. Wins the coolest-name award.

And last but not least, everybody's favorite...

Scientology- Believe that most diseases are psychosomatic and can be cured with vitamins, exercise and saunas. Fee-based lessons allow a follower to achieve different levels of enlightment. Many levels (and dollars) in, the follower learns that the forces that are holding him back are really alien spirits that have been clinging to human bodies by the thousands ever since an alien overlord named Xenu tried to imprison them on earth 75 million years ago.The highest level offers the power to control time and space, create universes and never get sick again. Wins the bangs-head-on-the-floor award for stupidity.


You're welcome.

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I'm Gonna' Get A T-Shirt

So, are you guys finished? Are you going to try for another girl? Do you still want more? Are you going to have another announcement for us at Easter?

If I had nickel for every time I answered a similar question this Christmas, well, I would have a lot of nickels.

I don't really mind when people ask us if we want more children. It's a valid question, albeit rather personal, and I've asked it myself many times. What really gets my goat is the follow-ups. If we answer "no", it's "Oh come on, you need another girl." Like some guy I see two times a year really knows what we need.

Or if we answer "maybe," it's "Really? I'd have thought four was enough!" Of course, I thought that three plates of stuffing was enough for one person, but I chose to hold my tongue.

The worst is when I answer "yes." Then, the inevitable "OMG, you want MORE? How many?" follows. If I answer truthfully, "Seven," then people's jaws drop just like yours did while reading this. I get the expected looks of incredulity, astonishment, and some of disappointment and admonishment. Quickly I will usually explain that we would like to adopt and not necessarily have three more biological kids. This almost always causes a collective sigh and "oh, how wonderful. You are such a saint" type comments which is absolutely ridiculous because seven children are still seven children. Why does adopting seven make it less incredulous, astonishing, disappointing and worthy of admonishing? GRRRRR.

I don't really mind talking about family size with our families. They are relatively supportive whatever we choose. And, amazingly, they realize that it is our choice. But there is something disturbing and weird about spending three hours discussing our future sexual encounters with a bunch of Dave's coworkers. After answering the "more babies?" question over and over again (having Superboy with us tended to lead conversations in that direction), we left his office party exhausted and frustrated with each other. I was frustrated that he kept saying, "no more babies" in a way that seemed to indicate he didn't like the ones we had. He was frustrated that we talked about babies all night and not UFC.

Truthfully, you know as much as I do about our future plans. Yes, I would love to have more kids. I always wanted at least four pregnancies and to adopt any additional kids. Now, I'm not so sure I'm done being pregnant. Dave wavers from "no more" to "only if we adopt" to "we need a house full of babies" to "as many as you want if you keep those pigtails in."

I guess I'll just keeping answering as politely as possible (at least when the kids are listening) and continue to search for the perfect comeback to others' rude responses.

A few of my favorites so far:

Birth control is for sissies.

Hey, it's free labor.

I can't even staff the infield yet.

A friend of mine who has 12 kids told me he tells people, "We really like baby-making."

But I'm thinking I may just go with the unsocialized-homeschooled-right-wing evangelical response:

Well, we didn't have sex-ed in our homeschool and we haven't figured out how to stop 'em, yet.

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Summer Fun

Dave travels a lot. He is actually 1000 miles away as I write. He often asks me to come along, but as he is usually going to places like Minnesota in the winter, Alabama in the summer or New Jersey anytime of the year, I politely decline. But this summer, he had a 3 week job on Hilton Head Island, SC. Hmmmm, I thought, 3 weeks in the sun, no newborn or 1 yr old for the first summer in um, ever, and a house on the market that I cannot keep clean...This might work. So we tagged along.

It was actually the greatest vacation that I've ever had. Previous family vacations have always been so full of activities that the kids get overloaded and everyone gets miserable. But this time, because we knew we had 3 full weeks, we took it easy. While Dave worked, I would take the kids to the beach or the pool. We came back to the hotel (extended stay type with a kitchen) and had lunch and naps. Then we were re-energized for the evening with Daddy. It was the perfect, relaxing time that every woman needs during the third trimester of pregnancy.

But there were some moments. A few days into the trip, the kids and I were hanging out by the pool. Clam was sick and had diarrhea in his swim diaper. I only had my room key and a bottle of water with us, so we headed back to the room. My key did not work (the first of only a hundred times this would happen until I was politely told that keycards and cellphones are not compatible), so we headed, dripping and poopy, towards the front desk.

I politely informed the man on duty that I needed my card reactivated. He asked me my room number and, because he did not recognize me, my name. I told him, and he said my name was not on the registration. I gave him Dave's name. He said Dave was only listed as an occupant and was not the registered name. So I gave him Dave's company name and his direct supervisor's first name (all I knew). Strike three. He would not activate the card. He kept implying that I was trying to sneak into the room, unauthorized. I'm guessing because my pregnant belly, kids in tow disguise was not convincing enough. Now by this time, all 3 kids were whining; we were all shivering; Clam was really stinking; and I was about to blow. I kept my calm, however, and asked him if I could borrow his phone (mine was in the room). He asked if it was local and when I told him it was not he said, "Lady, I'm not going to let you make a long-distance call." That's when I walked outside. I was so close to losing it, but I just walked around for a minute trying to gather my thoughts. I knew Dave wouldn't be home for a few hours. The only thing within walking distance was a gas station and McDonalds, but I didn't have any money on me. I took a deep breath and went back to the front desk. I smiled politely and re-explained the situation to him. I asked him what he would recommend I do. He was the biggest jerk I have ever met. He told me, "Lady, it's not my problem." We went back and forth a few times, and I definitely was getting agitated, but I didn't go full force on him. So it shocked me when after pointing repeatedly to the sign stating No Unauthorized Persons will be Allowed in Rooms, he told me "Lady, if you raise your voice at me, I'm going to call the police." At that, I completely lost it. I told him, fine, call the police and I'm sure they'll personally open the door for me, etc... I actually managed not to curse in front of the kids. Then I burst into tears. I am not a crier, but I was pregnant and so frustrated (the kids were jabbering/whining/questioning the entire time). Thank God, Dave's co-worker happened to come back to the hotel to use the fax machine. He was walking down the hall during the last heated exhange and heard it all. He laid in on the man and provided whatever information was needed to get me back into the room. I have never been so happy to change a diaper in my life. I was absolutely livid for hours, as was Dave. We filed a complaint and so did several other guests who, unbeknownst to me, witnessed the scene. Dave and I discussed it and didn't really want to leave the hotel because the kids were established there. We had to make a conscious decision to continue to be kind to this man whom we were to see for the next 5 weeks. It ended up being a really great opportunity to show God's love and forgiveness to him, and to the kids. Mr. Butch ended up being one of the kids' favorite people there. He went out of his way to be kind to us once he realized we were doing the same. He brought water toys to the kids and shared stories with me about his own children. It was a nice end to a really horrible few hours.

We left the dog with MIL who drove us bonkers with her twaily (twice-daily) phone updates/complaints. So I decided to drive home, 10 days into the trip, and take the dog to be boarded. The trip down had taken about 8 hours, so I figured I could handle 8 hours driving by myself back home. Not even close. It took me 13 hours. 5 of which were just trying to get out of South Carolina. Being 7 months pregnant, at the time, I had to pee constantly. But I couldn't just stop and pee. I had to take each child out of his/her carseat and in with me. And I left during the day instead of at night, so they didn't really sleep at all. 13 hours of Kindermusik and I was ready to leave the truck to Asker and hitchhike home. The next morning, I discovered to my delight and glory that the deep freezer had been accidentally unplugged. The smell was horrifying. My super-sensitive pregnancy nostrils have never been so abused. I promptly plugged it back in and decided to leave the mess for the culprit to clean up. At that point, I wasn't sure if I would be returning as Clam was still sick. But Dave called and said he would probably be a few weeks longer than expected, so we packed up and left 2 days later. This time, I traveled by moonlight and Smashing Pumpkins and it was much, much faster (and saner).

We spent many hours at the beach, spent an unforgettable day at isolated Daufuskie Island (which is only accessible by ferry), caught a few sharks, watched fireworks, celebrated Toot's 4th birthday and had an amazing time of family bonding. It was definitely a summer to remember. But the greatest part of the trip may have been the moment when I realized that I had the best blog post unfolding right in front of me. More to come on that next time.

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Pregnant Does Not Mean Stupid

"Honey, I'm going to stay after work and go to dinner with the guys."

"Come on, Dave. I'm out of diapers and completely exhausted. You just went out last week. Do you have to tonight?"

"Yes. This is part of my job."

"What? Are you meeting with the boss to discuss business?"

"Jenni, these guys put their lives in my hands every day. They have to know they can trust me. I need to build a rapport with them. We need to be able to relax, off the tower, and get to know each other."

Silence.......more silence.....stifled laughter

"Just go. I've vacuumed, done laundry and dishes and cleaned rooms today. I'm not shoveling any sh**"

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Open Mouth, Insert Really Stinky Foot

I did the unthinkable this weekend. If it had been done to me, I would have gone Bruce Lee on the offending party. I am hoping my complete lack of thought was due to pregnancy and not a general brain leakage.

I ran into an old friend at a really nice restaurant on Saturday night (date number 2 this year, whoo-hoo). I had never before met his wife and after our introductions I said, "So, you guys are expecting. Is this your first?" She just looked at me and said, "No. I had a baby in July and she is our fourth." Thankfully, the hostess came to seat them right at that moment, so I was saved the awkward you-don't-really-look-fat moment.


Unfortunately, when the hostess came to seat us a few minutes later, she cheerfully announced, "Oh, your table is right next to the other couple you were talking to." Yippee. Besides the fact that I had just insulted the wife, Dave was convinced from the look on my face that I had, ahem, had relations with the husband. Needless to say we spent the first half hour of our meals trying to ignore them, and they did not attempt to make eye contact with us.

After a much-too-large meal, when I was looking about 5 months pregnant instead of 8 weeks, I gracefully (read bloated waddle) made my way to the bathroom. On return, I realized that my old friend had also left his table, so I leaned over and apologized to the wife.

I explained that in my pregnancy fervor, I was seeing expanded bellies everywhere and as soon as I saw her empire waist shirt, I just assumed there was something underneath. She admitted to being offended, but we started chatting and all was well.

She got me back though. After talking for a few minutes and sharing kids' pictures (they have 4 girls!) she nodded towards my belly and asked when I was due. When I said September, she looked at me quizzically and asked, "how many weeks?" When I sheepishly admitted 8 (not even at that point), she said "Oh, wow."


Guess I deserved it.

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Only Stupid People are Breeding

I like Britney Spears. Actually, I love her. Do you know why? Because every time I read an article about her complete lack of parental wisdom, it makes me feel like such a good mommy. I can be down in the dumps, feeling really guilty about raising my voice at the kids, and after reading Matt Drudge, I realize, "Hey, I wore panties in public today. I'm doing OK!"


Anyone remember that Harvey Danger song, "Flagpole Sitter"? It had a line in it that my husband and I constantly mutter to each other.

Been around the world to find that only stupid people are breeding.

It is, unfortunately, so true (except in my case, of course). Now, I am not a fan of government intervention or regulation. But wouldn't it be nice if people had to wade through as much red tape to have kids as they do to get married, or even to get a dog. When we adopted our dog from the pound, we had to provide information about the size of our house and yard. We had to come in for an interview and spend some quality time with Zeus before we were able to take him home. When we had A, all we had to do was spend a little quality time with each other.

There are countless situations where Harvey Danger's classic lyric applies. A few days ago, I was in the grocery store watching some hapless dad being completely torn apart by a two-year old. He had ascribed to the parenting-as-friends notion, and his attempts at distracting and gently dissuading quickly give way to appeasing. I think the I-am-father-you-are-child concept had never crossed his mind. I just started humming the line to myself.

A few weeks ago, we were at church, signing in our children to their classes. The woman in front of us was signing in her two daughters: Mercedes and Lexus. I am not kidding. I pointed to the sign in sheet and started humming. When I saw her holding a third child; I started praying.

Then there is my neighbor. She doesn't have custody of her kids. She won't see her tween (I think around here they're called 'twangs') daughter for weeks, and when they do visit (on the porch, within earshot), she spends the whole time yelling at the daughter for not respecting her "mama". The irony would be laughable, but it is truly sad. I end up with Harvey Danger's song in my head, far too often.

I'm sure I have caused a soul or two to question my parenting ability. I know when I announced my third pregnancy in three years, I had quite a few open mouths, followed by stutters, followed by closed mouths. We've proved that you can have more than 1.75 children and still keep a degree, albeit dimished, of sanity. Perhaps I am wrong about some of the parents I judge. We will just have to ask little Caddy, Mercedes and Lexus in a few years.

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Santa Pause, Please

Is anyone else as sick of Christmas as I am? I didn't used to be a Scrooge, but then again, Christmas didn't used to start in early October, either.

Maybe it's the unseasonably warm weather this year. Maybe it's the abundance of blue and lavender Christmas decorations, but I just can't get into the Christmas mood. I think maybe the problem is that for every reference to Christ and the real reason for Christmas, I've seen two hundred mentions of Santa, the Grinch, and even SpongeBob. Yes, friends, I am greeted every day by a giant inflatable SpongeBob on my neighbor's lawn. I thought about asking him why he just doesn't put up a giant inflatable reading "I HAVE NO TASTE", but my husband thought that would be unkind.

Speaking of the giant inflatables, please, somebody come up with another fad. The icicle eaves were one thing. They got a little annoying when nine out of ten houses had them, but these airheads (ha) who put these blobs in their yards are driving me crazy. I know that the kids absolutely love them. And I really don't mind the look of the traditional snowmen and reindeer and even Santas. But what is with the entire yard of Pooh Bear characters? Or the Abominable Snowman, Grinch and Rudolph? It feels like election time when every one displays the candidate of his choice's sign. If I ever see a blow-up nativity set, I may have to buy it just to show my allegiance.

And don't get me started on the Christmas colors. Since when is blue a Christmas color? If you are single and cool and live in the city, you can have a white tree with blue ornaments. If you have kids, you can have colored lights including the blue and orange and purple ones. Anyone else who has blue lights on their porch just looks trashy. And there is nothing worse than people who have unmatching flashers. If you are going to turn on the flashers, use the twinkling ones. Don't have one side of your yard flash on while the other side flashes off. That makes it look like you live in a duplex. And if you have on/off flashers on one tree, don't have the other tree twinkling. Then it looks like a middle-school boy decorated your house.

Obviously, for the retailers, the entire season is just one huge commercial heaven. But I'm surprised that so few people seem to really celebrate the idea of Christmas. For all the talk of Christmas spirit and joy, I see a lot of greed and grumpiness. Of course, the grumpiness can be explained by being greeted by SpongeBob every morning.

Merry Christmas

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Bad Men and Other Nice Things

Howdy all. I am alive and well, but a little tired. Sorry I haven't posted daily, but we've been in remodeling hell. It's going well, though, and perhaps sometime before 2027 we'll be finished.

Actually, we are on a timeschedule. For the last 5 years, we've just been updating things here and there as we felt like it and could afford it (preferring to pay everything out of pocket). But then, joy of joys, we found out that a convicted rapist bought the house next to ours. So, we are frantically finishing the house trying to get it on the market before February, when he moves in.

I could blog for pages just about that situation, but I'm not going to! Suffice it to say, we are vigilante and are less concerned for our (my) safety as we are for selling our house in this market.

It's really fun trying to explain to my kids why they can't be outside when our new neighbor is here working on his house. I don't want to call him a "bad man" (frequently used term in our house), b/c we may end up living next to him for a while and I want to tread carefully. T, in particular, would just love telling him "you're a bad man, man!", something she did in the past to another neighbor. No matter how much I agree with her, it just seems the wrong approach. And, I know it would increase A's interest and fascination. My mom had a "bad man" living next to her for the first 4 years we had kids. All the grandkids in our family knew he was bad and they weren't allowed to talk to him. This just made them stand right by the fence, peeking around it, announcing with glee every move the bad man made in his backyard. I would prefer our kids to just ignore our bad man.

So, I've told them that he is a stranger, and they are not allowed to be with strangers unless mommy or daddy is present. Of course, A quickly pointed out that Mr. Chris, our previous neighbor, was a stranger until he moved in, then he was a friend. Sometimes, you just have to pull the "because I say so" card.

It's a slippery slope explaining evil to little ones. You want to protect them, keep them innocent, but they need to be prepared too. We have safety drills in our house. Daddy pretends to be the bad man trying to kidnap them. We encourage the kids to scream as loudly as they can and they are even allowed to say bad words to the bad man. A absolutely loves saying "bad man, you're a naked mole rat" with as much venom as he can produce. If they don't scream loudly enough, Daddy makes them do it over. Of course, we have to take frequent breaks to allow the Police Officers to inspect our house after the child torture complaints they received.

Recently, as the kids have gotten older, we've broached the subject of sexual predators. We've always talked about keeping our bodies private. But, I have explained in an extremely basic way that there are bad men who want to touch other people's hineys (I just can't bring myself to be any more detailed). We've role played a few times. It works well.....sometimes

Mommy (being bad man)- Hi, little boy, can I touch your hiney?
A- NOOOO, IT'S PRIVATE, HEELLLP!!!
Mommy- Good job, A

Now T's turn-

Mommy (being bad man)- Hi, little girl, can I touch your hiney?
T- OK.
Mommy banging head on wall.

I remember seeing a Dateline or something about kids and gun safety. They left boys(I think) in a room with a gun. Even the kids who had the most extensive gun safety training from their parents still touched the gun. Same thing happened in a study of kids accepting rides from strangers. All the stranger had to have was a good story, and the kids were in the car. I know they say you need to have a family password and change it periodically. OK, am I the only one who is skeptical? Maybe that works for 12 year olds , probably does. But 3 and 4 year olds?

Bad man- Hi there, mommy is at the doctors'. I am going to take you to her.
Child- What's the password?
Bad man- I forget what it is?
Child- It's "spaghetti" silly

No, we've just figured that the best way to keep our kids safe is to never allow them out of our sight. One date every 3 years? Yup, that's about right. But, it's worth it to know our little bundles are safely under our thumbs every minute of the day. And we figure, when T's 17, and other kinds of bad men are wanting to touch her hiney, she may be brainwashed into saying "NO, THAT'S PRIVATE, HEELLP!"

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