Being a dog owner

I recently learned something about being a dog owner. The dog is charming, sweet, loyal, handsome. A positively protective and willing to please animal. Until the neighbors cat gets involved. There are hundreds of cats roaming around the area. There is one cat in particular that haunts our back yard. This cat taunts our dog. She sits in high places and meows and hisses at the dog. She jumps down from her perch and goads the dog into chasing her to places the dog can't go. Our dog can be heard, from time to time, trying to flush this cat out from under the deck. The owners of the cat are quite aware that this happens.
The cat also uses our yard for a toilet. She digs in my garden and eliminates there, covering her 'stuff' with my mulch, displacing bulbs, tearing at roots, and killing my plants. She sleeps on our porch and prances around our yard as if it is hers. She hisses and scratchs and nips at my children if they try to pet her - while she is in our yard.
On occassion, my small children open the front door while the dog is in the house. She sees this as the perfect occassion to make a run for it. She knocks the small child over to get out of the front door. Once out there, she doesn't listen to anyone for any reason. No food can tempt her to return to her back yard. Not the promise of a walk. No sweet cajoling with offers of petting or belly scratching. Nothing.
Enter stage right, the cat. The cat is on top of a car, sees the dog, and carrys on her tradition of teasing. The dog, no longer confined to a fenced area, takes off after the cat. The cat jumps off of the car and darts underneath it. The dog ensues, barking, growling and snarling at this cat. The neighbor hears and sees it. Screams at me to get my *nasty words* dog off of his cat.
The dog, for at least 3 years, has yet to catch this cat in it's own yard. The barking, growling, snarling and chasing of the cat by my dog, in the dog's confined space was never a problem. Now, out in the open, it's MY problem. Really?
I make more of an effort to keep the dog inside. The children know to put the dog in the back yard before they open the front door. The dog is very rarely out in the neighborhood.
The cat? She still wanders at will. She still shows up in the yard, teasing the dog. The neighbor still doesn't care that the cat defiles my gardens and riles the dog. My dog still can't catch the cat.

Girls Day

It was girl's day, today. Sorta.
The girls went for hair cuts and accessory shopping and the boys took a picnic and the dog to the river.
We tried a new salon (I like it and the prices are better than the supercuts places). Cheryn was trusted to tell the stylist what she wanted - I vetoed the length and gave her a couple of other options. Marli had the same options. She made a great choice. Her hair looks great! Too great. In fact, I am thinking about either locking her in her room or imposing a pony tail rule. She can only leave the house with a pony tail.
She wanted bangs. I though, sure, bangs are fun. She hasn't had bangs since she was about two. This will be cute. Cute isn't the word. She has long bangs that are swept to the side and her curls are layered and look more like beachy waves. She is beautiful and looks much older than 13. Yikes!

The gym

The gym is an interesting place. I have put off going for a long time. I didn't want to walk my droopy, flabby self into a place with mirrors all around, toned, thin, tan people staring at themselves and showing off how fit they are. Then, I found this little place that some of my friends have been talking about. Anyone can go there, but their main target is the average american fatso. Really! So, off I go. I sign up and commit myself to this power strength class three days a week. wow! I am gonna do this!
First day was torture. I am sure this instructor is up all hours of the night imagining new ways to torture our under developed little muscles. I left the gym already aching. The day wears on, no problem. Keep moving, I'm told. Keep those lactic acids from building up. The what? Um, okay, I can keep moving. I have six kids. How can anyone with that many kids just sit? It doesn't happen. I even stand to write my blogs in case I have to take care of something in a hurry!
Then, I went to bed and spent several hours lying still. In the morning I got out of bed and nearly died. My body hurt. A lot. It hurt to lower myself onto the toilet seat. I went again for the second round. It wasn't quite as bad, but I don't think I worked very hard, because I could barely move anyway.
The third day at the gym was murder. Different instructor. Female. I swear female fitness instructors are merciless. They talk sweet, but push us to our death. Fortunately, the class is only 45 mintues long, not quite enough to actually get through death's door.
Week two rolls around. I rise at 4 am and go to it again. And again. I am committed! I am excited to be healthier! As for the mirrors, well, I can see how tortured everyone else in the class is and know that I am not alone!

daylight view on previous post

Now that the sun is up (hard to tell in this region), some reflection on the previous post regarding Looks and church ladies:

I do not have a problem with people looking great and their children looking sparkley. I don't have a problem with people living in larger houses or having nicer things.
I have a problem with the pressure that some 'brothers and sisters' in the church place on others to acquire the same things. That somehow we aren't spiritual enough if we haven't been blessed financially. A good friend mentioned this disturbance a little while ago, and it has been tossing about in my mind, gathering bits and pieces here and there.
I suppose if we are doing what we believe that God has asked us to do with what he has given us, then that is all we can do. I do not in any way believe that financial prosperity is God's only way of blessing those who have been shown responsible with little, thereby giving them responsibility for more. This happens in myriad other ways. More children, a promotion at work, discipling other believers, the blessing of being present when a blind one is relieved of the scales over their eyes and confesses a spirit impoverished without God. And yes, even more hardship and more persecution.
If my harship was a small house with two adults and one child, and it has been increased to the same small house with five more children, then I will continue to give God glory for providing for our needs, giving us the gift of children, and hoping that I teach them with biblical truths as they learn to make decisions for themselves. I pray that I give thanks always for the warmth and safety of of my house, the convenience of appliances and electricity, and plenty of clothing and linens to keep us clean and comfortable.
I do spend plenty enough time pining for grand accomodations. Often I pray that God will bless me in just the ways I want to be blessed. I believe in praying specifically. I can only feel good about praying that way, though if my wants are what God wants for me. Does he want a bigger house and nicer things for me? I don't know. I do know where I am now, and I intend to bloom there.
Even if my bloom looks more like a dandelion than a rose to those around me.

Church Lady Adventures-Looks

Church ladies always look just right. no strings hanging from hems, hair in place, make up on, shoes match the outfit, no stains, children's hair combed, faces shining, ditto with the clothes.
*record skips, scratcheds*
What?
Oh, man-can I keep up with that? Appearance is somewhat important, after all, we live in the United States of America. We are expected to be overly concerned with hygene. And looks. Should that be pushed at church? The looks part. I'm all for the hygene!
Here it is, why is it so incredibly important for us to wear the latest fashions, ironed and with the right shoes, hair in place and make up on, all the children shining and perfectly coiffed and clean. I get that we don't want to appear dirty and disheveled all of the time. We need to show that we care for the gifts that God has given us. Okay. So, what if it's been a long day, I've been out with all of the children, and I have to stop in at the grocery store before I go home. It's illegal to leave the children in the vehicle while I shop, so, in come the kiddos.
They have various juice splotches on their shirts, crumbs stuck in their hair from snacks, possibly their socks actually match, and dirt and grass stains on their knees. My pony tail is coming out all over the place, my eye make up, if I bothered, is smudged terribly, and I have spit up and sticky hand prints from shoulder to knee. I have one pair of shoes left, so they go with everything, even if they don't 'go'.
No one says outright to my face that this is unacceptable. It's the looks -I promise, not perceived! And whispers, often combined with a pointing finger or gesturing hand.
pss.pss.pss "She could at least comb their hair.", "Does she ever bathe them?", "Poor children.", "What a group of little urchins." That's just at the grocery store!
At church, oh, my! I was taught as I was growing up that we bring our best to God on Sunday mornings. We are sparkling clean, we wear our best clothes, that's that. Not a bad thing to learn to do.
What happens when it's been a marathon week, sleep isn't entirely possible during the nights, something has happened to the matching shoe for at least three of the six children, and the baby has spit up on nearly every top that mom has. Mom puts a sweater over the one top that is still clean, hoping that a double layer will at least get her out the door. The children end up wearing their golashes, because they can find the mates. Make up may or may not have been applied, and again, the ponytail wins out.
We get to church to find that folks are in their sunday best. One of my boys runs by with his buzz cut grown out a bit too long and laying awkwardly on one side because he went to bed with it wet. My sweet little princess girl is somehow wearing pink and white cowboy boots that are three sizes too large and don't exactly go with the Christmas dress that she is still wearing in March. My sweater didn't make it, and my blouse has been doomed. My shirt and my shoes don't match. *sigh* I'm looking around. No one else appears to have this problem. People say they do, but I am sure they are just trying to help me feel better. Look at them! They don't look like this!
What about where we live? All kidding aside for the moment - I have actually had people say how surprised they are about where we live. After all, we have so many children that they just assumed we live in a very large house. Hmmm. We've lived in the same tiny house since we had one child. The other five showed up one right after the other and here we all live. Is there some sort of church standard about a person's dwelling? Are there particular neighborhoods that are acceptable? No, of course not, but do we think it anyway? And if so, then does that mean that people who live in less desirable areas should move when they choose to follow Christ?
Is it so impossible to believe that some of us choose to live in a means consistent with the income that has been provided to us? Is it wrong to steward what God has given us to use for his glory? Is it somehow against the grain of the body of Christ to ignore the pursuit of material wealth?
So I say, look great in your designer duds if you can afford them. Apply your make up with skill and keep it in place throughout the day if this is one of your talents. Work your magic that keeps your childrens hair in place and clothes clean all day long, if that's what you can do...but don't be harsh with me when my children play like children, then get dirty. When my nails aren't manicured and my clothes are all but worn out.
Do you have any idea how much pressure is on a mom to look good, the more children there are? It's almost like a contest. "Okay, I have four now. I can still put on make up and heels. People will still think I'm okay. ", "Number five. Going out with five children. Final coat of mascara, now the lipstick. Okay. I look like I have control over things." , "Six. I have six children. God, dear God, you have blessed me with six, but that means I have less time to get everyone out the door. I pray, dear Lord, matching shoes, with two socks per child or my hair and make up?"

***DISCLAIMER

If you look good, I don't hate you. I do make an effort now and then, because I feel good about being able to do it sometimes. We DO have a shoe tree - but, it is rarely in season. If we haven't invited you to our house, don't feel bad, it's just big enough for the eight of us and, in true American fashion, we have too much stuff so there isn't any room for you to sit.

grouch

I'm a grumpity ol' grouch today. I admit it. I don't like how it makes me feel. I have a terrible headache, stomach ache and am super tired. I'd love to snuggle up under a fluffy blanket with a cup of coffee a book and an assortment of DVD's.......but. I have children to care for, classes to drop off and pick up for, lessons to prepare for, bible study class to study for, laundry to fold and put away, dishes to wash, food to cook, diapers to change, floors to sweep, and even a dog to pay attention to, bills to pay, remember personally where everyone put everything that they can not easily locate. sigh. And there is cheese dried on to the inside of the cheese grater. And two babies are crying. See you later!

Stupid Random Thoughts

Man, oh Man! Here I am, excited about getting to work on writing a book. Thoughts colliding in my mind, scrambeling to be the first to be written down. The link up togther forming sentences, paragraphs, description. Title ideas, topic ideas. How to keep things general. What style to use.
I am so excited to be writing a book! I am continuing my bible studies, and want this book to be a reflection of who God has created me to be.

Then, I opened my mouth.

These wonderful, linked up thoughts were not great. They didn't link up in any real order. Things have begun to come out of my mouth that are so completely random, all I can do is laugh. Hard. And pray that the random things are not unGodly.

I blurted out some inane thing about snakes being able to see through their eyelids, and the relationship between man and serpent/Jesus Christ and Satan according to God in the book of Genesis, during a bible study about the book of Matthew. What? I have no idea. It seemed to make sense in my head, when I said it out loud, it was just strange.

My husband showed me some coats he picked up for the boys at a second hand store. I told him that one of them looked great. The other, I said, "doesn't look very orange." Blank stare. "What?" I ask. He tells me it isn't supposed to be orange. At all. Warm is what I meant. Why did orange come out? I don't recall even thinking about anything orange.

My hope is that by writing more things down, and being able to cross off the crazy random things, my thoughts will be more centered. Instead of things swimming through my head and oozing out of my mouth, they will be contained and categorized. Not that I will suddenly be eloquent and sound knowing and wise, but that I will strive for wise in my speech.

I have a feeling I'll be wasting loads of notebook paper...