I am frustrated. Recently someone asked me to consider submitting an article for publication, and I felt true inspiration to do so. As usual, I simply started writing out all my thoughts and happily concluded some time later. I read it over and felt some dissatisfaction. Instead of a clear path on a particular point, I'd written a windy road on several points. Claire, dear friend and editor agreed, "I like your thoughts, but where on earth is your thesis statement?" She gave me marvelous suggestions on how to pick a single point, develop a thesis, and write a beautiful article. So, I scrapped the first draft, took a few days off and began again anew. Again, I sent Claire the new work sheepishly noting the distinct lack of a thesis statement. "True," she questioned,"Didn't you understand the need to start with thesis statement? I often spend hours crafting the initial sentence, and then the writing flows easily after." Right! That's never been how I write. Try as I might, I can't spend hours on a single sentence, or I'd never get anything down on paper. I recognize my "stream of consciousness" style is not efficient, but pragmatism utterly cramps my creativity.

Claire is a blessing in that she guides me with great patience. Tomorrow we'll tackle the giant of I can't seem to conquer on my own.

Chicken Wars

Buck and Wise One spread the rich dark mulch over my perfectly weeded and tilled garden and in some of my flower beds. For those gardeners who do not raise free range chicken, this would be deeply satisfying. However, I know mulch means a new season of battle.

Let the games begin.

My cute, cuddly, and annoying chickens will take their luxurious dust baths in my flower beds. They'll dig and scratch willy nilly mulch onto the sidewalk. I'll sweep it back into the bed every few days, but the pattern of scratching and sweeping will last the entire summer. If I want to plant something new, I'll have to create a chicken barrier so it won't be eaten or scratched out of the ground. Last year, I quickly figured out chickens really like to eat hostas, and none of the three Claire gave me for my birthday made it. Frown. The silly birds do, however, leave all the established foliage alone so my bushes, red hot pokers, peonies, lilies, roses, bee balm, seedem, herbs, and spices are just fine. It's the begonias and impatiens which will be most at risk when I bring them home from the nursery in a few weeks. I constantly found them all over the sidewalk in the strewn mulch last spring and summer.

We could and should give away of some of our roosters. I betcha this mulch game might factor into their demise.

I'm officially beat. I've been working in the garden all afternoon in a gentle rain, and I'm tired through to the bone. Buck tilled it for me last week, so I needed to put the rocks back along the path just the way I like them. I also put in the beans and sugar snap peas I sprouted. Hauna gave me chives, and I planted those as well. Every new sprout looks very happy. Buck ordered mulch tomorrow to help keep the weeds down.

I came in for a hot bath afterwards, and I didn't even have to sneak. Pooh Bear is having a sleepover at Anna's. I noticed a distinct quiet in her absence. She usually follows me room to room, flower bed to flower bed, garden spot to garden spot, chattering all the day. In the silence, I began a book this evening for the first time in a long time which my friend Beth bought for me months ago.

My sons are taking the Standford Achievement test this week as they do every spring break. Wise One keeps asking me, "What if I got ALL the answers right, Mom?" My answer, "I'll send you to college next year at the ripe old age of eleven." Trust me, he won't get all of them right- he struggled to read the word "unity" a few days ago. Peace came out saying, "This was the hardest math year ever mom. I think I did fine though." Last year, he misbubbled and spent a great deal of the time recovering rather than finishing the math section of the test. I told him, "Better to learn all about checking every answer and every number in the sixth grade than on the ACT in high school."

I cut a deal with the boys. They all wanted to go to the airsoft store, and I bargained with "no complaints" in getting my nails done. My guys poured over the cases of pricey "big boy toys" while I questioned the owner on the validity of "hunting people." "It's just like video games, Mam." he snipped. "Not exactly, but ask my children just how many video games we have," I retorted. Tater obliged from across the room, "Exactly none." The man looked incredulous- a house with three real boys and no video games? Proposterous!

My sons easily kept their "no complaining" vow at the nail salon as they sat glued to the gigantic HDTV showing of car crashes.

Funny how I always end up in the garden working with beautiful nails.

Update: Buck drove to "rescue" a sobbing six year old Pooh Bear from her sleepover. She didn't think night could be so DARK!

St. Patrick's Breastplate

I arise today

Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,

Through the belief in the threeness,

Through confession of the oneness

Of the Creator of Creation.

I arise today

Through the strength of Christ's birth with his baptism,

Through the strength of his crucifixion with his burial,

Through the strength of his resurrection with his ascension,

Through the strength of his descent for the judgment of Doom.

I arise today

Through the strength of the love of Cherubim,

In obedience of angels,In the service of archangels,

In hope of resurrection to meet with reward,

In prayers of patriarchs,In predictions of prophets,

In preaching of apostles,In faith of confessors,

In innocence of holy virgins,

In deeds of righteous men.

I arise today

Through the strength of heaven:

Light of sun,

Radiance of moon,

Splendor of fire,

Speed of lightning,

Swiftness of wind,

Depth of sea,

Stability of earth,

Firmness of rock.

I arise today

Through God's strength to pilot me:

God's might to uphold me,

God's wisdom to guide me,

God's eye to look before me,

God's ear to hear me,

God's word to speak for me,

God's hand to guard me,

God's way to lie before me,

God's shield to protect me,God's host to save me

From snares of devils,

From temptations of vices,

From everyone who shall wish me ill,

Afar and anear,

Alone and in multitude.

I summon today all these powers between me and those evils,

Against every cruel merciless power that may oppose my body and soul,

Against incantations of false prophets,

Against black laws of pagandomAgainst false laws of heretics,

Against craft of idolatry,

Against spells of witches and smiths and wizards,

Against every knowledge that corrupts man's body and soul.

Christ to shield me today

Against poison, against burning,

Against drowning,

against wounding,

So that there may come to me abundance of reward.

Christ with me,

Christ before me,

Christ behind me,

Christ in me,

Christ beneath me,

Christ above me,

Christ on my right,

Christ on my left,

Christ when I lie down,

Christ when I sit down,

Christ when I arise,

Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,

Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,

Christ in every eye that sees me,

Christ in every ear that hears me.

I arise today

Through a mighty strength,

the invocation of the Trinity,

Through belief in the threeness,

Through confession of the oneness,

Of the Creator of Creation.

It is said that St. Patrick would pray this prayer morning like putting on God's Breastplate. It's one of my favorites.

Some things hit me square in the funny bone. The news story expounded upon during NPR's Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me Saturday, had me laughing out loud, almost to the point of tears.

Here's why.

Apparently, somewhere in California the solution to an overpopulation of squirrels is not a match to the good old boy Tennessee tradition of huntin' 'em down and eatin' 'em for dinner. In fact, the compassionate California resolution of too many squirrels involves catching the females and injecting them with birth control hormones. Now that's got to be easy to keep track of, and tax money well spent. The comedians on Wait, Wait held me in stitches as they spouted, "Those squirrels are out of control with sex and need a good stern talking to."

"When the girl squirrels were interviewed about the problem they stated, 'We have a real problem with storing our pills in trees and forgetting where we've put them."

"Next the state will distribute teeny tiny little pamphlets titled Straight Talk about Nuts."

Thanks for the good laugh NPR.

Today.....

Buck: Hypothetically, what would a 41 year old woman want for her birthday?

Me with an indignant expression on my face: I don't know. You'll have to ask someone who is 41. I'm only 40, and don't you forget it, buster.

Coincidentally and surprisingly, my birthday is coming up, and I don't know what to ask for. Suggestions anyone?


Later

Pooh Bear urgently called me out to her fairy garden (which amounted to a bunch of dead flowers and lush green weeds, some ominously spikey) to show me she'd broken her flower necklace this afternoon. Walking outside into the lovely warm yard, I was inspired to drag out my loppers and prune the bushes gone wild beside the house. By the time I was finished chopping, my roommate from college might have said, "You've just snatched those bushes bald-headed". This improvement, of course, led to my utter dissatisfaction with the state of the terribly neglected and unkempt beds, so I weeded and raked out leaves as well. As a result of my compulsive nature, my main flower beds were ready for mulch before sundown.

Tomorrow I plan to weed the garden spot for my sugar snap peas. My garden lies in a horrible state after my abandonment in the heat and distraction of last summer.

Ahh, the life of a mundane blogger.

I quietly snuck away from the dinner table when I was quite certain noone was watching. I crept into my bathroom and drew a seriously hot bath. I carefully placed two favorites of the many books I'm reading on the edge of the tub. I considered lighting candles, but was afraid the scent might draw attention to my secret location. I tested the heat of the water with my left foot to be sure I wouldn't be scalded but tingling hot. I eased myself down into the tub, closing my eyes. I took in several deep breaths till I felt relaxation. I let the first silence of my day overtake me. It was a beautiful time. I dried my hand and reached for a book.

I know you know what's coming. Yes, a knock, "Mommy, are you in there? Girls can take baths together, right? Don't you want some company?"

A masked disappointed, "Hummm" was all I could manage, which of course Pooh Bear took to mean, "Come on in. The water's fine. I'd be ever so lonely without you."

From that moment on, perfect silence was abandoned. Pooh Bear shed her clothes, put on swim goggles, and jumped in with a splash beside me. I heard endless chatter of swim team, mermaids, Jesus walking on water, manatees, sharks, sleepovers, friends, and dance class.

I have to ask myself, "How much longer will the girl even want to take a bath with me or even fit in the tub with me?" There is coming a day when modesty and self conciousness will kick in, but I still have a little precious girlhood left to spend with her. I hope to never preserve quiet at the cost of intimacy with my daughter.

A New Way to Remove a Splinter

Here's the drill. One of my children announces, "I have a splinter and it HURTS, Mom." I ask, "Do you want me to remove it?" The child inquires in return, "Will it hurt? How will you do it?" My answer never changes, "Yes, it will hurt. I'll dig it out with a needle for you." Usually, I do not hear about the splinter again. The child's body either absorbs it, or the splinter makes its way out before my child would ever dream of me poking around their fingers or feet with a sharp instrument.

Not so today. Wise One came to me and shocked me by saying, "Mom, I'm ready for you to dig this splinter out. It's killing me."

I pulled out a bowl, filled it with warm soapy water, and asked Wise One to complete his language arts with me. Once he completed his page of past participles, he bravely asked, "My fingers are all wrinkly. Does that mean it's time?"

"Not just yet, Sweetie. I'll be right back." I collected Peace and invited him with me into Pooh Bear's pink room. "Pooh Bear, Wise has to get a splinter out, and I was wondering if I could allow Peace to entertain Wise at the expense of your Pretty Ponies? What I mean is, may Peace make big fun of your toys to help keep Wise's mind off the needle digging into his skin?" Pooh Bear's eyes became wide, but she agreed nonetheless. Usually, I won't tolerate my boys taunting and teasing one another with her "girl things" as it makes her madder than a wet hen and meaner than a snake. I strongly suggested she stay out of the room as her ponies where about to be ridiculed, but I think curiosity got the best of her.

My entourage followed me to my bedroom where I procured a needle from my sewing box and then into the homeschool room, where Wise One waited in fear.

"Oops. I forgot the tweezers and clippers. Would you bring them, Peace?" Peace, the resident comedian, reappeared quickly with the cutting board and a rather large knife in his hands. Wise One let out a nervous chuckle while Peace handed me the tweezers and clippers hidden in his pockets.

"No watching me, Wise, and get to work Peace." Peace knew just what to do. He drew out Pooh Bear's Pretty Ponies from behind his back and began asking, "Wise, why would a pony have goofy antennae and wings? How in the world can an animal as heavy as a pony possibly be a butterfly? Who ever heard of a pink horse with yellow hair and stars for eyes? What's up with this chariot? Are butterfly ponies supposed to ride when they could just fly? Is it some sort of pinky girly parade?" Once Peace exhausted the Pretty Pink Butterfly Pony Parade, he began to draw his own version. Instead of the standard pony heart shaped tattoo, he crafted human body hearts on his horse. Then he drew the horse on fire, and so on. Pooh Bear started to object, especially to the burning pony, but then she joined in with, "Make real stars in it's eyes like from outer space." They were having so much fun, laughing, I'm not sure Wise realized I'd finished.

"Here's the culprit of your pain." I held out the tiny sliver I'd excavated from beneath his epidermis.

"Huh" he mused and returned to the artwork he and his brother were creating.

I smiled with contentment.

Have I ever mentioned the fact that I have three real boys? Though they enjoy reading and are able to act as gentlemen when necessary, my guys prefer running wild and free. The grandparent money Christmas present of a trampoline is the best spent money in the history of the world. They jump on it like the postman delivers mail- through rain, sleet, snow, and freezing wind. All three are content to jump, skip, romp, ride, pogo, the day away outdoors at True Vyne Farm.

Friday we invited another boy, Zane, with as much boy gusto as my trio, to spend the night. We went shopping for junk food we don't keep on hand to liven up the party. We bought chips, soda, pizza, Little Debbies, trail mix, and sugar breakfast cereal. There was, however, one request which I refused to fulfill:

Zane asked for energy drinks in the check out line. "Nah", I said, "We got plenty of that to go around already."

12 Nations + 4 eleven year old Delegates from each country= a way to build world peace

My son, Tater, was accepted as an American delegate for the Children's International Summer Village to France this summer. Our family feels so very blessed for our boy to have this opportunity.

Here's where I start to sound like an old grandma. Not you mom, grandmother of all my beautiful children, but a "I remember back in the day when there were dinosaur footprints in my back yard" type old grandma. My own mother is far to hip and graceful to use old timey words like me.

Back in my day of braces, I'm sure my mom forked over huge bucks for me to walk to Dr. Ricco's office after school for horrid mouth torture. Every single tooth of mine got a lovely, jagged, cemented band wrapped 'round it. Next thing I knew, our family moved about 25 minutes of driving away from the orthodontist office, and here's where my mother owes me money for a therapist. As if clunky braces, huge glasses, pimples, and a gangly body weren't enough to ruin a perfectly nice jr. high girl, my working mom called my school as asked if any teachers lived close to Dr. Ricco's office and wouldn't mind dropping me off for appointments after school. Can't ask rides from teachers in 2007 unless the teacher doesn't mind a few felony charges brought against them. Not so in 1979. Of course, Miss Hamel, the teacher with a bun the size of a loaf of bread atop her no-make up, no-nonsense head, was the teacher available and willing to humiliate me. She drove a cream colored VW Beetle, and I found it very difficult to scrunch down far enough out of sight of the thousands of cruel twelve year olds pointing and laughing at me seated in the English teacher's vehicle. Pay up, Mom.

Fast forward to modern times. Children of working moms must still have the same dilemma of needing a ride from school to the orthodontist. However, Tater's new orthodontist has resolved this problem in another far more stylish way. He sends a driver in a Hummer to the local public schools to chaffeur his patients to his office. Yes, a Hummer. No doubt the speakers inside that vehicle blare rap and dance music as the metal-mouthed children merrily sing along. Tator is perfectly green with envy that the Hummer won't drive from Knoxville to Loudon to pick him up from homeschool on the farm for his orthodontic appointments. I suppose I'll be the one chucking money in the therapy jar as I drive a beater of an old white speckled van to his appointments. The poor boys' self esteem is likely to suffer from always being seen in cars not made in this century.

Here's a truth I stumbled upon in the busyness of my yesterday in a little breather I took sneaking in a very few minutes of Oprah.

True forgiveness is when one can say a heart felt, deep, and sincere "Thank you" to the person by whom one was hurt. A thank you that says, "The experience you gave me made a better person in some way." Here are some lessons which could be learned in forgiveness- I'm stronger, I can help others through the same situation by knowing what they'll need, I am more complete, I'm wiser, I'm not as fragile as I thought, I humbled, I don't want to things or people for granted, I'm no longer afraid.

At everyone's core is a vulnerable human. It's our job to preserve the dignity of that humanity in all we know and meet by offering our forgiveness and love.

God help me. I fall so short.

Something to Think about

http://nymag.com/news/features/27840/

Good article! How Not to Talk to Your Kids

I thoroughly enjoyed the observation of the sheep farmer, Andy, on the treadmill next to me at my small town gym recently. Andy has two daughters which have turned out to be fine adult people. Do you know to what he attributes some of their success?

Farm life.

He never really had to bring up the two most dreaded parent topics- death and sex. Both subjects were natural conversations around his dinner table. The family buried dearly loved lambs and sheep which could not be saved. They mourned their losses, and learned how to cope with death issues with sheep before it was time to let go of humans they loved. And Animal husbandry leaves nothing to the imagination from signs of fertility, artificial insemination, mating for a stronger breed, pregnancy issues, miscarriage, to birth assistance.

I had to agree with Andy that farm life really can be an excellent teacher.

Peace and Buck returned and spoke about the unsual phenomenon which happens every year in"Scouting for Food". The Boyscout troop left grocery bags all over the front door knobs and mail boxes of Loudon County last week and went to pick up those same bags filled with canned goods from the residents. The collected canned goods will go into a church food pantry for the poor. The astonishing thing is that each year, the boys report the same thing- the richest neighborhoods always give the least, and the poorer parts of town are the most generous. Buck and Peace were assigned the largest million dollar housing neighborhood of about 50 to 70 houses, and my men returned with a whooping total of two bags. I pray these folks simply may give big in other ways, because "to whom much is given, much is required".

Stop the world. I want to get off.

I'm having one of those days where I want more than anything for it to be a restful, but I still have "make-up work" from being sick last week. I'm behind on everything. Laundry. Housecleaning. Writing I hoped to finish. Spending enjoyment time with my children. School Projects. Homeschool planning for next week. Grocery shopping. Thank God Buck picked up milk last night. He out with Peace today picking up "Scouting for food" donated items.

It all just make me feel anxious. I have two "free" days that aren't really free at all.

What about crawling back under my warm covers and reading a great book?

I'd have never made it as a frontier wife.

I'm not altogether better, but my dear husband needed to get back to work. We negotiated Buck dropping the healthy perky Peace off and picking him up after his one co-op school day, while the rest of us stayed home with our various levels of contagiousness. I hear and join into a rousing chorus of coughs from time to time with Tater and Pooh Bear. Wise One is remarkably healthy, so he's a jolly young soul.

The last two days, as Tater felt well enough to rattle out of bed, tiny pre-revolution sparks started flying among he and his brothers. He even slammed a door in anger with me. Yikes! I worried immediately our hard work over the past few months might have somehow vanished.

I'd woken up this morning with the idea that I'd ease into homeschool slowly, because we'd taken off four days last week. However, God changed my mind. I decided maybe Tater was reacting to a week without positive focused attention that he couldn't take in as a sick boy, and I couldn't give as a sick mom. In my morning quiet, it occured to me that if I began by filling my children up with fun time with me, then perhaps those sparks from yesterday could be extinguished more quickly. I think I was onto something, because after I read and talked alone with Tater he started glowing into his better self. He started offering kind things right after like, "Mom, would you like me to make you lunch?" and "Would you like part of the candy bar I won?" I still can't believe the transforming power of just a little love.

I'll end with a touching passage I read with Tater today from one of my all time favorite books The Education of Little Tree. Little Tree is a small boy who lived with his Cherokee grandparents in the mountains after the death of his mother and father. One of the family hounds named ol Ringer died, and these are Little Tree's thoughts after they buried the dog together as a family.

I felt total bad about it, and empty. Granpa said he knew how I felt, for he was feeling the same way. But Granpa said everything you lost which you had loved give you that feeling. He said the only way round it was not to love anything, which was worse because you would feel empty all the time.

Granpa said supposin' ol' Ringer had not been faithful; then we would not be proud of him. That would be a worse feeling. Which is right. Granpa said when I got old, I would remember ol' Ringer, and I would like it- to remember. He said it was a funny thing, but when you got old and remembered them you loved, you only remembered the good, never the bad, which proved the bad didn't count nohow.

Helen and I paid an unexpected visit to 1983 this evening.

I called her to catch up. We were going to meet for lunch tomorrow, but she'd rather not eat out with a flu leper.

So, Helen and I found ourselves on the phone with one another watching Prince on television while he crooned Purple Rain in a pretty long coat in the exact same fashion he used to do before either of us could drive.

Helen and I spent far too many of our teen hours on the phone with one another in the same manner watching Prince on MTV, wasting away our youth.

I have to admit, he's still got it going on after twenty-two years. Wasn't his beautiful name symbol guitar all that? And the lit up marching band back-up rocked.

Come to think of it, Helen and I still got it going on as well. You should see us dance.

She's a Fighter

Pooh Bear astonishes me. Her pie pan sparkling eyes and dainty flower smile don't fool me, because I am her mother. She's a fighter- knock down, drag out, kicking and screaming fighter.
On top of the flu, she has a raging sinus infection which makes her cough. Alot. She coughed a good deal in the night and is plumb exhausted today. Her response to a fever, sore throat, sick tummy? To quote her as I have heard many times in the past few days, "I DON'T WANT TO BE SICK!" In the early hours of the morning, I tried settling her with calming words, "Lie very still. Rest sitting up on my shoulders and the pillows. When you move it shakes all that yuck around inside you and make you cough more. Relax." At this suggestion she responded in quite an unladylike manner. She kicked her legs and shouted, "I...DON'T...LIKE...COUGHING. Grrrrr!" Buck took a unsuccessful stab at a story with pink ponies as a distraction to which she growled, "Argghhh. ." and "I don't LIKE the taste of that medicine!"

Over the last few days, she's got her daddy carrying her long body around the house like a rag doll. I'm not much help as my nagging cough turned into chills, fever, sweats, aches everywhere, and troubled breathing. Peace and Wise One also have symptoms now though not as severe as Tater.

Buck took Pooh Bear to the doctor and returned home bearing gifts of X-0-Force legos for the bored boys and yet another pink pony for the miserable girl.

Mom, did I ever kick and yell, "I don't LIKE having the flu!"? Did you try to tell me, "That's the wrong kind of fighting. Breathe deeply. Look for peace to fight this thing" and that "It simply takes time to heal"? I know it now, Ma. I know it now.

It's the flu! Tator is having his worst day. Pooh Bear is getting better with a 100.2 temp, but Buck has 101.1 temp now, and I can't get rid of a nagging little cough. Tamiflu to the rescue.
Somehow Peace and Wise One have avoided all symptoms thus far.