Well, they noticed.

I was hoping that they wouldn't, but they did.

Four years ago they came for a farewell meal.

They were moving back to England, to take up a youth ministry there.

I had been painting the kitchen.

In honor of their last meal with us, I finished painting the last wall.

Half of it.

It's a central wall, that continues the length of the house, from the kitchen, becoming the hallway wall.

I painted til just past the kitchen, where it starts to become hallway.



They've come to Canada for a visit.

We had them for dinner today.

They noticed.

Four years later, the wall is still waiting to be finished.

Pathetic.

I think I am vertically challenged.

I am also horizontally challenged, but I'm working on that.

I began to suspect I was height deficient when I couldn't reach the toothpaste.

We were newly-weds, though, and I thought maybe he was just teasing.

Putting the toothpaste on the top shelf in the cabinet like that.

Then it was the mini skirts.

They were too short for good Christian girls to wear.

I could never see what the problem was.

They always came well below my knee.

Later I complained that my upper arm hurt.

From the bruising.

From banging against the doorknobs.

Suddenly everyone had to measure themselves against the door to see where the doorknob came.

(You've probably just gone to check too.)

Normal people seem to hit the doorknob with their forearms.

Recently it's been trousers and shorts.

I bought a pair of trousers that were just exactly the right length!

I was surprised, but pleased.

Then I read the tag.

They were "capris".

They're supposed to come mid-calf.

Normal people shorts are capris to me.

There ought to be a special sticker that I can put on my license plate so that I can park closer to the mall entrance.

You just have to follow me around my kitchen for a day to realize how handicapped I am.

Drag the chair here.

Kick the stool there.

Stretch.

Reach.

It's not too bad these days.

All the children have long since joined the ranks of the gloating tall.

Get that for me will you?

Put this away.

But someday this too shall cease to be.

I need to devise a strategy for when the tall people leave home.

Has anyone seen the new plastic "Yoda" beverage containers at 7-11?

There's an ugly mug.

On so many levels.

I have to get this in before THE MAN.

In the course of sorting out the vehicles, it transpired that I drove the red car to Hillary's work place, and Randall and Johanna followed in the van. Then we drove Johanna to HER work place, and while we were downtown, decided to stop for a drink.

We went into Zellers. I, a respectable 10 paces behind.

Maybe more like 5 paces.

O.K., I was tailgating, and when we got to the door, he pushed it to go through.

I thought he was pushing it open.

I followed.

One problem.

The door pulls open.

Consequently, my face came into violent contact with his elbow. (He having moved into door pulling mode.)

Now, today I am struggling with Johanna's friendly germs. She's been sharing, and they seem to have finally been caught.

I am in a physically weakened condition.

That's the only way I can explain it.

I got the giggles.

I wiggled my nose to make sure it still worked.

It did.

I kept laughing, and started snorting...

Randall quickly moved ahead of me for disassociation purposes.

All the way through Zellers, and halfway through the mall to the food court.

Laughing so hard I was crying.

Snorting.

I think I scared a couple of teenagers.

Probably thought I was some raving loony out on day parole.

I'm better now...













But I think he's given me a permanent snort.

O.K.

So, now I've added "Social Convenor" and "Mediation Services" to my list of duties.

We have a NEW driver in the house.

Yay Hillary!

Unfortunately, this puts us back to the 2 on 1 people to vehicle ratio we were at before we got the little red car.

Mom, Dad said if I got my license I could go to a movie tomorrow night.

Mom, I've made plans to go for coffee with my friend.

Two girls, who both have designs on l'auto.

So, now it's WAY past the time I had designated for retirement, and I think I have them sorted out.

To Dad, to clear THIS idea.

To Daughter #1, to present the plan.

To Daughter #2, to confirm the plan.

Back to Dad, with Daughter #2's concessions.

Back to Daughter #1, with the proposed new plan.

Back to Dad with Daughter #1's concessions.

Back to Daughter #2 with Daughter #1's concerns.

Back to Daughter #1 with Daughter #2's new offer...

Well, you get the picture.

I think they, the Daughters, were picking up my "you'd better start bending, or you'll not go anywhere" vibes.

I think it's settled.

GOOD NIGHT.

Randall was talking about a song we sang on Sunday at church. I said I wanted it sung at my funeral.

I have a bad habit of thinking out loud.

I often have to back-track, to explain the brain process that got me to whatever odd-ball statement I've just made.

I've often said, Oh- I want that song at my funeral.

For the record, if my family can handle it, here are some of the things I would like done to celebrate my life:

Elvis Presley singing "Are you lonesome tonight", where he makes a joke of the words and sings, "Do the chairs in your parlour seem empty and bare; do you gaze at your bald head and wish you had hair". He spends the rest of the song laughing helplessly as his background girls ooh and ahh. Hilarious. One of my favourite moments in recording history.

The off tune lady singing, "The Laughing Song". Don't remember who she is, but I'm sure my husband has her on a hard drive somewhere.

I think a men's quartet or choir singing "Haven of Rest".

And the Rich Mullins song "If I Stand".

I'd like cake with pink frosting. Birthday cake. To celebrate that this is the first day of the rest of my life.

I'd love lots of Reader's Digest jokes.

I hope there's more laughter than tears.




I know I often make light of my death. Of my funeral.

I think it's because I'm honestly not afraid of it.

I used to be.

I went through a phase, probably like most kids, when I was around 10 I guess, where I was becoming almost compulsive about my bedtime routine- afraid that if I altered anything, from the ritual prayers to the brushing of teeth, that something bad would happen. I was terrified, every night for a long, long time, that I wouldn't wake up in the morning.

Then one night I had a dream.

I think it was more like a vision.

More than 30 years ago, and I can still remember it.

It was from God, I think, because since that vision, I've never been afraid of what comes after this life.

In my dream/vision, it was all dark. It was just totally nothing.

I was moving in it, though, and as I moved it got lighter and lighter.

The brighter it got, the less afraid I became, and a KNOWING came to me that this was death.

I knew I was moving toward God.

I knew I was moving toward his light.

I could feel his love and I was completely at rest in it.

I KNEW that I didn't have to be afraid anymore.

And I haven't been since.

I have to tell you.

Yesterday morning, I was starting to make breakfast, when I heard this screaming and (near) swearing from under the kitchen.

Thomas sleeps/ lives/ inhabits this unfinished basement space in the house.

I thought I heard him say something like, I got stung by a bee!

I waited til he said it more than once.

I went to investigate, and, sure enough, he HAD been stung by a bee.

He knelt on it.

It was in his bed.

I gave him an antihistamine and some acetaminophen, and killed the bee for him.

This could be the grounds of much fun to be had in the days to come. Fun from his misery.

(I know, I'm STILL a bad mother!)

Just a few moments ago he started to wail, Ow.... Shoot... Ow...My Bum...

I called out to him... What's the matter?! Did you sit on a bee?

He was smiling when he told me to shut up.

Johanna is still barking like an asthmatic seal.

Poor thing.

I also suffered from seasonal allergies, which tended to lead to bronchial infections.

Spring and Fall.

My mother, bless her, used to come to me in the middle of the night bringing cough medicine when I, in my weakened state would be hacking and choking.

I used to think she did it because she loved me.

Now I know.

I was keeping her awake.

I always maintain that when you are in a situation where you could either laugh or cry, you should go with laughter.

Your face won't get puffy, and the head-ache doesn't last as long.

Well.

"The Dress" is pretty much done.

I won't be wearing it to the wedding tomorrow.

It went SO well.

My brain was firing on all cylinders, and I only made ONE mistake.

Only ONCE did my brain disengage.

Unfortunately, the scissors were in my hand at THAT EXACT MOMENT.

SO, the seam I had thoughtfully left un-sewn to accommodate a hem that needed to be finished became my nemesis. (Although WHAT I had done to IT is still uncertain)

I thought, this piece is too wide! What was I thinking to leave it so big?

And at THAT EXACT MOMENT, my brain ceased to function, and I cut that piece off.

I made both sides match.

Then I sewed.

Then I realized my mistake.

I had two options.

The first was to un-pick several solidly sewn seams, re-cut and re-attatch the new front panels of the skirt, re-sewing the whole thing.

I hate ripping out seams.

The second option was to just go with it, finish the front seam as it was and hope for the best, re-doing it next week when time is not of the essence.

I went with option 2.

I did the hand stitching at the church meeting last night.

When I got home I tried it on.

sigh

It looks completely terrible.

Well, it doesn't look completely terrible, but let's just say people would say- oh, what a lovely dress! And when is the baby due?

yeah

So, its' back to my old stand-by. The dress that makes people say - oh you look so nice. Or, Is that a new dress?

The only problem is, (and my husband doesn't get this, and I don't think I even totally get this), that the back-up dress feels like a gunny sack. A pretty pink-rose-patterned, gunny sack, but still sacky all the same.

After I stopped feeling like I wanted to cry, I told the husband that at least I can put a good face on it, and no one will know that I feel shapeless and sacky at the wedding tomorrow.

Well- now YOU do, but if we all forget we ever read this....

....maybe if I wear the 3 inch heels....

Micah's gone for the day and a night!

It's the grade 5, beginner band camp. Pray for Mrs. Wiebe! (Micah's classroom teacher) Pray for Miss Helms! (The band teacher) They have inherited all the pre-hormonal grade fives from four schools for 17 hours starting at 9:00 this morning.

I think I must be a bad mother.

I am REVELING in the thought that I don't have to stop to make lunch today.

I am ENJOYING the thought of not fighting with him at bedtime.

I COMPLETELY LOVE the idea of the quietness that he leaves in his wake.

So, I must be a bad mother.

Come to think of it, I'm even excited about the other ones starting to leave home. I'm sure I'll miss them...

In my defense, I have always maintained that the role of a parent is to work yourself out of a job.
SO, if I'm a good parent, they will be ready to leave, right?

Ah, well.

Micah's arrival in our family 11 years ago postponed empty nest syndrome for a few years.

But I can dream, can't I?

Thomas agrees with me.

Rainy days are the best.

I think it must be all my British genes.

Cloudy. Dreary. Cool. Raining. Fresh. Cars make swishy water noises as they drive by.

This is the kind of day that makes being a "stay-at-home-mother" truly worthwhile.

Other people have to get up to a gloomy, grey day.

Other people have to plod through their morning ablutions.

Other people have to look out rain-streaked office windows, and listen to irritating top-40 radio stations.

Other people might feel depressed going out into such a day as this.

I get to stay home.

I get to feel cozy and snug, listening to my favourite British radio stations (BBC7's Crime and Thriller Hour at the moment) , drinking lovely hot tea.

I get to bake (perfect on rainy days) or sew, or do laundry and read a British Mystery.

On days like today I always feel I've made a good career choice.

1 c. (250 mL) buttermilk
1 c. (250 mL) natural bran

1/4 (50 mL) cup all purpose white flour
3/4 (200 mL) cup all purpose whole wheat flour
1 1/2 tsp. (7 mL) baking powder
1 tsp. (5 mL) baking soda
1/2 tsp. (2 mL) cinnamon
3/4 (175 mL) cup raisins

1/4 (50 mL) cup canola oil
1/4 (50 mL) cup molasses
1 egg
2 tsp. (10 mL) vanilla

In med. bowl combine bran and buttermilk. Let stand 5 minutes (or til you're finished measuring out the dry ingredients).

In another bowl, combine all the dry ingredients.

To the bran mixture, add oil, molasses, egg and vanilla. Mix well.

Add wet to dry, stir just to moisten. Fill sprayed or paper lined muffin cups. Bake at 375*F for 20 to 25 minutes. Let stand 5 minutes. Remove from pan. Makes 12.

Notes: 1. To make them fat free, use unsweetened applesauce instead of oil. Spray muffin cups, (instead of paper liners) as they will stick to the paper liners.
2. To make them cholesterol free, use 2 egg whites instead of 1 whole egg.
3. To increase the fiber add 1/8 cup (25 mL) each wheat germ and buttermilk.
4. To further increase fiber (or instead of wheat germ) add 1/8 cup (25 mL) Red River Cereal. (This gives the muffins a crunchy texture as well)

I like them with raisins. My husband likes them with fresh or whole frozen (unthawed) raspberries. (if you don't have insulin issues, I would add 1/8- 1/4 cup brown sugar after the egg when using raspberries) I like them with Red River Cereal, but they are a little heavier. They freeze well, and double easily, so when I make a batch I put what's not eaten for breakfast into the freezer for later.

I've just been cruising the web-log-world.

Very cool.

Good words. Strong Voices.

Unfortunately I've also been avoiding my current chore.

Making The Menu.

Does anyone do this anymore?

I taught myself how to plan a menu probably fifteen years ago out of sheer desperation.

Young pastor's wife. Young pastor's salary.

I was ending up with far too much month at the end of the money.

So, I discovered that if I planned a menu for the month, and did all of the non-perishable shopping for it when the pay stub was still warm, I could pretty much get through til the next paycheck.

I haven't needed to plan menus for self / family preservation for a long time, but it's still a helpful habit. I like thinking through the meals for a couple of weeks ahead. I like knowing what's there to cook. If I spend one evening or morning... or afternoon... ONE block of time doing this, I don't have to think hard again for a few weeks. I like reading my cookbooks and trying new recipes. When a new recipe is included in the menu it gets shopped for. It gets cooked. It gets tried.

sigh

Now it's 11:00 and I'd better get back to it.

Maybe if I bribe myself with a cup of tea.

There's always the new Asian cookbook to consider...

Thomas asked me to go over his Social Insurance Number application form this morning.

Name...

Address...

Date of birth...

Male/ Female...

The boys have tubes.

Hard, hard tubes- pressed cardboard? From the middle of rolls of fabric kind of tubes.

Five foot tubes.

Apparently, they make good bats.

With tennis balls.

This seems to be an enjoyable sport in the back yard.

Big brother Tosses the ball up, taking a swing at it with the tube. Little brother fetches the ball.

I had to yell at them twice.

First, I said, quit hitting balls toward the house. Quit hitting them toward the vehicles. Go into the field next door and do that.

They like our back yard. It's too far to the field.

!!!!!!!!!!!

Next, I said, quit hitting the balls toward my newly planted cherry bushes. And watch out for the raspberry bushes. GO INTO THE FIELD NEXT DOOR TO DO THAT.

IF, I said, YOU BREAK ANY WINDOWS OR BRANCHES FROM THOSE PLANTS YOUR LIFE WILL NOT BE WORTH LIVING FOR A LONG TIME.

So.

How do you make a fifteen year old's life not worth living?

It bears thinking on.

Husband thought making him get a job at McDonald's to pay for any damage he did.

I thought making him wear the McDonald's uniform to school.

Probably good for him that he stopped.

I think I must be in a time warp.

It hasn't been long enough since last Sunday.

I kept forgetting last night, that I had to wake up to Sunday. Then it would hit me. Bummer.

It's not that I don't like Sundays, it's just that they're so much work.

And they come so often.

And I've been so tired this week. (if it really WAS a week, she said suspiciously)

But, I suppose it has been.

There was Mother's Day, then the birthday party prep, then the birthday party and early dismissal day, then a couple of days of laundry and house cleaning, then opening night of the school play, then cutting out the dress for the wedding, then Church cleaning day and final performance of the school play...

This week I WILL sew that dress.

I will.

I really will.

I have to look good, so it doesn't frighten the Bride. I have to make 20 years of wedded bliss look like bliss! I can't go looking worn out and washed out and fed up. (or worn out, washed up and fed out!)

Besides, my husband is officiating, and he'll be wearing a suit, and he DOES look good in a suit.

Well.

I have half an hour before I should start making my way to the car and so to church.

So, off I go to look in the closet.

And take some more drugs.

And put away my muffins. (Anyone need a fabulous recipe for low sugar, low fat, high fiber bran muffins?)

And get looking beautiful.

Hmm.

I'd better get at it. The beautiful part could take longer this morning. I don't want to scare any of the little children.

By the by.... when you want to get sent home from church cleaning days, or school supervision days, or work, just show up with no make-up. Don't go looking like you just got up, but leave off the make-up; lipstick with no eye goop is particularly effective! If you show up looking tired and washed out, people will think you're a trooper, they'll be sympathetic, and there's a good chance you'll get sent home.

Just don't go to the cinema or the art gallery after that. Or the funky neighborhood coffee place. You'll probably run into someone who sent you home. Grocery shopping is O.K., because that's a necessary evil, but don't put on your make-up til your mental health day is over.

Away I go.

To put on my make-up.

I don't need sympathy today.

(and I've just used up half of my getting ready time!)

Well, Johanna did really well in her school play.

I, in proper stage mother style, am seeing it twice. I went tonight with Micah, (opening night) and I'll go Saturday, (final performance) with her Dad and a friend.

I do enjoy a good musical. The Seven Brides were in fine form, and the Seven Brothers did very well too. I was quite impressed. They sang, they danced, they hit most of the high notes... nicely done.

Now it's late. Micah's finally in bed. Thomas is frantically scratching out an assignment for school... (Oh-here he comes now... "Mom can you type this for me?!")

So, here I go to save his sorry but yet again. Hillary said I should make him type it himself, but what I can do in 10 minutes, will take him an hour. The only problem is that I can't read his writing, so he usually has to dictate for me. I consider it training for my next career as a court stenographer.

sigh

Right.

Well, I'm just home from a lovely riparian picnic with the 11 year old. (If you needed to look it up you've either forgotten Hyacinth Bucket -pronounced "Bouquet", or you've never met her on "Keeping up Appearances"!)

I brought the jam sandwich, the juice box, the cut up apples in a bag, the cookies and the book.

I met him at school and we walked the 2 1/2 blocks to the river, found a shaded bench and spent a nice 45 minutes.

The dry grass makes pleasant sounds when the wind whispers through it, and there was a cheery little bird in one of the leafless branches just up from where we sat.

We're reading (well, I'm reading, he's listening!) Robert Louis Stevenson's "The Black Arrow". We're both quite enjoying it.

You should be reading this with a British accent, by the way, because it's being written with one, and since I maintain that things should be read the way they were written... It makes Robert Louis Stevenson fun. Sometimes we read him Scottish, and sometimes British. The Harry Potter books are delightful, when read properly! (Although Hagrid's accent is a bit more difficult!)

Today has been a thoroughly delightful day so far, and there is the prospect of the theatre this evening to round it off nicely. Opening night for the eldest daughter's school musical- one of my favourites, too. ("Seven Brides for Seven Brothers")

Well, back to the kitchen. I have BBC7 to keep me company as I do the washing up and then tackle my dress for the brother-in-law's wedding next week-end. (not quite a fortnight, so I'll have to sew quickly!)

....Bouquet residence; Lady of the house speaking!

I think I have Birthday Party Hangover.

And the only drinking was of lemon iced tea and koolaid.

And a diet ginger ale for the mother.

Must have been climbing the tree house ladder to hide treasure hunt keys....

Or digging holes in copses to bury treasure....

...Bow to Your Partner... Bow to the Gent across the Hall... And THAT... is All!

Well, only 45 more minutes til the birthday party is officially over.

Whew.

The barbequed cheese burgers for lunch were a hit. (We called them "Crabby Patties", but nobody was)

The Burried Treasure Hunt was a hit. (they were pretty smart! Figured out the puzzles that the 15 year old brother had trouble with!)

The Sponge Bob's Bikini Bottom cake was a hit. Everyone wanted Squidward's chocolate Tiki house. We saved it for Micah's Dad. Micah got Sponge Bob's cupcake pineapple house. Patrick's rock house is still there.

The paper airplane building and flying contest seems to be going well. They've been at it for more than 15 minutes anyway.

Oh- looks like they're done that. They want to play "guns", but I've just told Micah to find his Sponge Bob DVD and they can watch an episode of that and then go home.

I think Micah's getting tired of the party.

Well- so far so good.

They all want me to make their cake for their birthdays.

A couple of them want me to DO their birthday for them.

I guess the treasure hunt went really well!

(sing with a strong country twang, to the tune of "Home on the Range". Sing loudly. It will annoy your children.)

Oh give me a home, made of self-cleanin' chrome,
Where the windas all sparkle and shine....
I'd git me a book, teach the stove how ta cook,
And find out jest what is this, "free time".

I'm home, home on the range. Jest cookin' and cleanin' all day....
Oh, what I would give, fer a brain like a sieve, to fergit all this work without pay.

I became a good wife, I thought this was the life,
Well, I thought it, but I was sure wrong.
'Stead o' spendin' my day in a leisurely way,
I'm jest workin' and singin' this song...

I'm home, home on the range. Jest cookin' and cleanin' all day,
Oh, what I would give, fer a brain like a sieve, to fergit all this work without pay.

Now my time is all spent, wondrin' where the day went,
And jest why I am feelin' so tired.
'Though I love 'em to bits, 'times I'd give up the kids,
If I knew where to go to git fired.

I'm home, home on the range. Jest cookin' and cleanin' all day.
Oh, what I would give, fer a brain like a sieve, to fergit all this work without pay.

O.K.

We visited another church today.

My husband was the guest speaker.

(Pulpit exchange- we go there, he comes here; kind of like Changing Rooms meets One Hundred Huntley Street)

So.

After the service I'm standing around with my boy. People are pausing and chatting. We're doing the "small talk" thing.

We've just had communion. The boy has a retainer. Food gets stuck under it sometimes.

The lady asks the boy a question. He answers. I see something flying from his mouth. I hope it has gone unnoticed.

It has.

As the chatting continues I see a (to me HUGE) bit of chewed bread stuck to the top of the sleeve of her jacket. It's a nice linen jacket, with a matching skirt.

WHAT DO YOU DO?!?!

When someone comes out of the bathroom with toilet paper stuck to their shoe, do you tell them?

When a woman is in line at the super market and her skirt is tucked into her panty hose, do you tell her?

When the officer issuing you a speeding ticket's fly is undone, do you reach over and zip it up?

Somewhere in a small Saskatchewan town, a woman changed after church and found a wad of dried on, chewed up white ... stuff on her sleeve....Or... she didn't notice, and now it's stuck on the front of the dress beside which she hung her suit when she put on her Sunday lounging clothes...

So, is there flying food protocol?

One of my daughters was in a lot of pain today.

It's not fair, she said. I don't deserve to feel so terrible. Guys should also have to experience pain like this every month. They should suffer too.

They do, I said.

We call it P.M.S.

It's just past 7:30, and no one is up yet.

Randall's long gone for his early morning prayer meeting.

I just set a box out the back door for delivery to the recycling bin, and I stood there for a few minutes.

It smells like rain.

The birds are making nice bird sounds.

The wind chime is just barely tinkling.

mmmmm

I wish the kettle had already boiled and the tea was ready and the children didn't have school today so nobody would be descending on the kitchen in half an hour looking for breakfast and making grouchy children noises....

I think I'd escape to the gaze-bo and sip my tea and smell the rain in the air and listen to the birds.