First thing...

Did you know you can get free stuff if you're willing to mention it on your blog? No? Well, I didn't either, until some of the bloggers that I read regularly did. One fellow got a portable DVD player, and a digital photo frame. Another blogger received Reynolds baking cups, and then she got an mp3 player (I think it was an mp3 player. It was something electronic, anyway). "Hey," I thought, "that's pretty cool!". I left comments on both of their blogs, but no one knew how to get ahold of the mysterious Charlie, giver of free stuff.

However, Charlie saw my comments and contacted me. Nice! Sign me up, I said. I'll do it. So, a few weeks ago I got an e-mail asking if I'd be willing to try out some samples of Keri Lotion and tell you guys what I thought. Sure, why not? I can always use some lotion, and my husband has the driest hands around.

I was expecting some of those little sample packets, you know--the kind in magazines? But no, imagine my surprise when I arrived home to this huge box on my doorstep! The boys and I were both excited to open it, and the contents of the box were quite a surprise. Inside I found a good sized, nice quality tote bag. Inside the bag were 2 full-size bottles of Keri lotion (one Original and one Shea Butter), a laminated wall calendar, and an acrylic art set. There was a folder explaining that the campaign was about celebrating women and art. Cool. The boys? Thrilled. They love lotion. So the first people to try it out were the kids. We used the Shea Butter formula and slathered them up. Boy, were they soft! And they smelled good, too. It took a bit for it to soak in, a little longer than I would have liked. But that could have been due to the fact that they used alot. Alot. So, I decided to use the same kind, because I liked the way it smelled. I've been using it regularly since Friday, and my skin does feel soft. I tried the original formula, too, and while it did make my skin feel nice I wasn't a fan of the scent. Typically I purchase scented lotions (fruity or flowery) or baby lotion and the original formula just smelled like plain-jane lotion. I'm giving it to Andy for his hands--he washes them so much that they get dry and crack and this seems like it'll be just the ticket, and he's not so much worried about the fragrance as I am. *grin* I'd say the next time lotion is on my "to buy" list the Keri Shea Butter would be something I would pick up, for myself or for my lotion-addicted children. They ask for lotion after every bath, and while I would prefer they smell like baby lotion, they like the Shea Butter stuff.

Next thing...

A museum in Switzerland, the Musée de l'Elysée, has an exhibit up called We Are All Photographers Now. Photographers from around the world submit their images, and each week 100 of the images are chosen and displayed in the museum for visitors to see. Look here:
Last week one of my photographs was chosen, and there it is, in a museum in Switzerland. Pretty cool, huh? I don't get any money or anything, but I do get to know that people were looking at my work. I'm a little excited.

Last thing...

Late last week my husband called me on the phone to ask me if he could bring home a German Shepherd puppy. A co-worker of his had a litter of puppies (well, her dog did) and he's been helping her out with them and she offered him one.

To make this clear--yes, I want a dog. I would love to have a dog. But Andy and I have had this discussion a million times. Our home is small, and we live on a busy road. We are not getting a dog until we move. Plus, he's wanting a puppy. A puppy that will need housebreaking. A puppy that will chew everything in sight. Easy enough for him--he's never home. So, it would be me, 2 small kids, and a puppy (a large puppy) that needs training and constant supervision living together in a 1,000 square foot home. Yeah, that would be fun.

So, next time ya'll see my husband, give him a good whap upside the head, would you? Perhaps it would knock some sense into him.

At least he didn't just arrive home with it, right?

I didn't really take many photographs this week. Or, at least, not many worth sharing. So, here's just a sampling of what I was up to.

Ever since Drew was about 18 months old, we've had the Leapfrog Fridge Phonics set on the front of our dishwasher. And then, Nicky received the Leapfrog Fridge Farm for either his birthday or for Christmas the year he turned one. It lived on the dishwasher, too, the animals mingling in with the letters of the alphabet like one big family.

Those toys were great. OK, they got a little annoying. But the boys loved them, and I think they probably learned something. Or at least it reinforced what they were already learning.

However, my kids have about outgrown them. They've both known the alphabet for forever and matching is something they're very good at. So, I thought it may be time for something a little more advanced.

I did some online searching and made some inquires, and I settled on these:

I am possibly the least sentimental girl on the face of the planet. Or, at least, I try to be. Practicality is the name of the game.

But Nicky is getting to me. He's getting big, and I can't stop it.

For 3 1/2 years I've been wishing he'd get older. Really. I am so not a baby person. I mean, they're cute and all. I even like to hold them if I can hand them over when they cry or spit up. But really, dealing with babies isn't my thing. When Nick was born I said that's it. No more babies. And then the waiting began.

Please just let them be 1 and 3, I thought. Everything will be easier when they're 1 and 3.

And it was easier. But not easier enough.

Please just let them be 2 and 4. Please. Everything will be so much simpler when they're 2 and 4.

And it was. And then the wait began for 3 and 5, of course. Because I'm never satisfied.

Certainly in another year things will be simpler, right?

So, here we are. Drew is 5 1/2 and Nick is 3 1/2. And things are much easier than they've ever been. I can go places and do things without lugging baby gear. No diapers, no bottles, no little jars of food. The kids can talk, and use the bathroom on their own. I don't have to carry them everywhere, or even think about a stroller.

And I've learned a few things.

Things like, it may be easier in some ways, but this is definitely a journey. Yes, they can use the bathroom. I still have to be able to locate one at a moment's notice. Yes, they can communicate. Loudly sometimes, and often embarrassing. I don't have to carry them anywhere. But they sure do run fast.

And every once in awhile, I miss the babies. Not the hard stuff, but the fun stuff. Holding them while they sleep, their cute little tiny outfits, making them laugh uncontrollably just by pretending to sneeze.

I told you last week that the boys got new boots because theirs were too small. Tuesday I took Nicky's pair to work to give to a co-worker with a 2 year old little boy. I never thought this would be me, but I was actually sad to see them go. Those tiny little boots with the round toes that have been so much a part of Nick for the past year and a half. I will miss them. Just like I miss his starfish hands.

And that photo up top? Every night I have to cover Nick up while he watches his movie. It's a very specific procedure--he's quite picky about it. Last night while I was getting things together for their backpacks, Nick got on the bed and covered himself up. See--he covered his lions up first and then did his own blanket. When I offered to straighten out the covers for him he said "I don't need you, Mom. I'm big now."

See, I got my wish. They're big. And I'm not always so sure I like it.

We had a thunderstorm last night. It was the first one in several months, and it's actually pretty unusual to have one this early in the year. I learned from this storm that Drew is still very concerned about tornadoes. He was a nervous wreck for about 20 minutes, until it had passed from directly overhead. He was convinced that every clap of thunder was the rumble of an approaching tornado, and there were several rumbles that went on for a very long time. I'm embarrassed to admit that after awhile he even had me a little worried. I used to take storms with a grain of salt, but no longer.

Anyway, so when I heard him calling for me at midnight, I figured he'd had a bad dream. He had those for a few weeks after the tornado last year. But no. He'd vomited, all over himself and his bed. Nice. And before I could even begin to get him cleaned up, he did it again. And again. And again. It was very bad.

He threw up for the last time at 6:00 this morning. Andy has court and other policeman-like duties, so here I am. I took Nicky on to the sitter's to minimize his chances of getting it again (he was sick on Friday) and Drew is here with me. He's feeling much, much better now (about noon) and is asking for pizza for lunch. And he's angry with me because I won't give it to him. But I just don't trust his instincts yet, so it's ginger ale and applesauce for lunch.

It's supposed to be 60 degrees and sunny this afternoon, so I promised him that if he took a good nap and didn't get sick again we'd go out to the farm when he woke up. Just mom and Drew time. I can take some photos and he can get some fresh air to clear out his system a bit, and then we can pick Nick up at normal time.

Not bad, for a sick day.

I edited it (obviously) to be more dramatic, more colorful. It is much more vivid than the original, and I sort of like it. However, a combination of using a laptop monitor to edit (colors are a tiny bit off) and playing with it for a very long time makes me wonder if I overdid it a little. It's pretty in it's own right, but is it too much? Be honest, please.

6:00AM: Wake up because the kids are up
6:01 AM: Tell the kids to go watch cartoons
7:00 AM: Finally drag myself out of bed as Andy leaves for work, play with the boys
8:08 AM: Write today's blog entry, check e-mail and Flickr and Bloglines
8:30 AM: Take a shower and prepare for the day
8:45-10:00 AM: Make the bed, play with the boys, work on laundry, housework, etc...
10:00 AM: Persuade the boys to take a "rest" even if they don't sleep, because at
12:00 PM: It's time for Kayla's birthday party. My intent was to drop Drew off and take Nick out for lunch, but the mom asked me to take photos. So we'll all be staying. So...
12:00-2:00 PM: Photograph Kayla's birthday party, eat pizza, and have fun
2:00 PM: Go get Callie, because Mark and Mandy are gone to the Farm Machinery Show in Louisville
3:00 PM: Home with both boys and the dog.
3:00-5:00 PM: Play with boys and dog. Finish the laundry. Clean the bathroom?
5:00 PM: Start supper. Or go purchase it, one or the other
6:00 PM: Eat.
6:30ish PM: Andy should be home, he'll eat too.
7:00 PM: Bathtime for the boys
7:20 PM: Movie time for the boys
9:00 PM: Bedtime for the boys if they're not already asleep. Andy will be asleep by now, too.
9:10 PM: Silence! I can read or watch tv or use the computer uninterrupted for the first time all day!
10:00 PM: I'll be so tired by now that even though I want to stay up, I'll go on to bed even though it's Saturday and that makes me a big nerd. Callie will sleep with me.
10:00 PM Saturday-6:00 AM Sunday: Hopefully I'll be asleep all this time, but probably someone will need me around 2 AM. Usually for a drink of water.

And then we'll start all over again.

Yesterday afternoon I received an e-mail from an old friend of mine. How old? Well, we've been in school together since first grade, but I talked to my mom about it last night and she thinks perhaps we went to story hour together when we were 4. So, that would mean we've been friends for 28 1/2 years. We stayed close through high school, and have been in and out of touch for the past 15 years.

So anyway, I'm at work yesterday and I get an e-mail with the subject line "Hey, stranger" and when I saw who it was from, I actually let out a little girly squeal. And that is so not like me. But I was that excited. I e-mailed him back immediately, and he sent me his yahoo id so we could IM (yeah, I know, not supposed to do that at work. shhhh.).

He's in Kuwait. Jeremy joined the army right out of high school and has been all over the world. He's full time National Guard now, and has been in Kuwait since October.

The last time we saw each other was when I was pregnant with Drew. And I think we've talked once or twice since then. But not much. Life gets in the way, and it's easy to fall out of touch.

So, we discovered that we both have webcams (I knew that thing was a good way to spend $15) and so last night we connected and I actually got to see as well as speak to him. So nice. Andy and the boys talked to him, too. The best thing about true friends is that it's so easy to fall right back into old patterns--it was honestly like no time had passed since our last conversation. He even looks the same :-) Hopefully this time we'll do better about keeping in touch.

I'm going to end this post by telling you a story about Jeremy and me, and, indirectly, about Andy.

As I said, Jeremy and I went to first grade together. Ms. Dickerson was our teacher. One of the most coveted duties in our classroom (I think in any first grade classroom at the time) was the chore of banging out the erasers at the end of the day. Remember that? Taking them outside and beating 2 erasers together and making a huge cloud of chalk dust? I can still smell the chalk. Or, you could bang them on the bricks of the school and make patterns. But, I digress... One day it was finally my turn to do the erasers. I can't remember the exact circumstances, but for some reason Ms. Dickerson left the room. Jeremy thought he'd take advantage of her absence and make me let him do the erasers. I wouldn't, so he stabbed me in the cheek with a pencil. Seriously! It hurt, and it bled, and he got into trouble. I still, to this day, have a blue mark on my cheek left by that pencil lead.

Last night, while we were IM'ing, I told Andy this story. And he said "let me see! Oh, wow!"

You see, in 8 years of marriage and 10 or more years of knowing each other, Andy never noticed the blue scar on my cheek that's been there for 26 years. Observant fellow, isn't he?

Old friends are great. If there's someone you've lost touch with, call or write them today. I bet they'll make a little girly squeal when they open their e-mail and see your name.

Way back, when I asked for ideas for blog posts, Natalie said she'd like to know more about my job. And on Tuesday, when I mentioned my job in passing, I got a few inquiries about just what exactly I do. So, here you go.

I work in a veterinary diagnostic laboratory. Our mission is to find out why animals are sick, or dying, or have died. This can be accomplished using several methods, by doing bloodwork, or bacterial cultures, or toxicology screens. It's much like a human laboratory--if you go to the lab at the hospital to have your blood drawn or to have a throat culture done, they're going to do tests on your sample. We do the same tests, only on animals.

Every day, the lab receives samples from veterinarians all over the region, and often from other parts of the country. We might receive blood, or stool samples, or urine. Feed samples, hair, or tumors that were removed during surgery. And, several times a day, we receive an entire animal. Everything from pet hamsters and dogs and cats to cows, pigs, and horses. Alpacas, llamas, sheep and goats. Snakes and the occasional exotic creature like a wallaby. Chickens, and sometimes ostriches.

An entire animal is here for a necropsy. A necropsy is the same thing as an autopsy performed on a deceased human--only the term is different. The animal is opened up and examined to determine cause of death. Samples are taken from that animal and routed to various parts of the lab--bacteriology, clinical chemistry, virology, serology, toxicology, or histopathology, depending on what the pathologist sees upon examination.

My main duties are in the histopathology department. I am a histologist, but not, because I've never had any formal histology training. My BS degree is in agriculture/animal health. I've worked here for 10 1/2 years. We take tissues that the pathologist fixed in formalin and process them so that the pathologists can look at them microscopically. This involves cutting a very small piece of the tissue, putting it through the tissue processor, embedding the processed tissue in paraffin wax, cutting thin slices of the tissue with a microtome, mounting those slices on slides, staining the slides with Hematoxylin and Eosin, applying a coverslip, and routing the slides to the patholgist. We also perform this routine with tissues mailed in from veterinarians--they do surgery to remove a tumor from a pet, send it to us in formalin, and it's processed exactly the same way.

Got it? It's difficult to explain. Simpler to demonstrate, but that would be difficult on the blog.

If you've ever had a biopsy, or a mass removed, and they sent it to the lab for diagnosis, this is what happened to it. It's exactly the same in the human world as in the veterinary world, except we move much faster. The biopsy results that you wait a week or two for we'll have out in 2-3 days.

When I began working here, I worked in necropsy. I was the prosector, which meant that it was my job to open up the animals and prepare them for examination by the pathologist. It was also my job to clean up the carcass after they were finished and ready it for disposal. Believe it or not, I loved that job. It was interesting and ever-changing and I learned something every day. I moved to the histology department when a position opened up simply for the money--this job pays nearly twice what I was making in necropsy (which still isn't much, trust me. we are hugely underpaid). If they'd pay me my current salary to work in there I'd move back in a heartbeat.

I also work some in the receiving department as needed, opening samples and routing them and, my favorite part, talking to the farmers and producers that bring in animals for examination. Mostly that's routine, occasionally horrible, but sometimes I meet some really neat people that otherwise I never would have crossed paths with.

OK, I think that covers it. The floor is open for comments and/or questions.

edited to add: i gotta tell you, blogger spell check nearly wore itself out checking this post. and i didn't have anything misspelled!

edited again to answer inquires: it doesn't really smell at the lab. or, it doesn't really smell like dead animals most of the time, let's put it that way. in really hot weather or if we get something really, um, decomposed, there is a strong odor, but not for too long. most of the time it smells more like chemicals than anything. and i don't smell hardly anything any more--after 10 years i'm so used to it that it has to be pretty bad for me to notice. and the human body has a self-defense mechanism known as 'olfactory overload' that keeps you from smelling really bad smells after about 15 minutes or so. really! and, working there while i was pregnant wasn't an issue. it didn't affect my morning sickness in the least. i was sick whether i was there or not! the most difficult part was avoiding hazardous chemicals during my pregnancies.

In many ways, I'm not "girly". I don't wear makeup, I don't do much with my hair. You'll rarely find me in a dress or a skirt, or even something that's not jeans or corduroys, for that matter. I don't have my ears pierced. I enjoy farm work, and yard work, and I don't mind getting my hands (or the rest of me, for that matter) dirty. I drive a 4-wheel drive pickup truck. And I'm certainly not squeamish, as evidenced by my job.

But in some ways I'm a little more stereotypically feminine. Take my love of shoes, for instance. I love shoes. I could buy a pair of shoes every day and still not be satisfied. Not that I wear all of them--as a matter of fact, I have several pair that have only been worn once or twice, and I wear tennis shoes almost every day to work. But I love to try them on, and buy them, and to have the option to wear them if I choose. Unfortunately, shoes are expensive. So I don't get to indulge my habit as often as I would like.

Which is why I am more than a little jealous of my kids. Their feet grow so fast that they need shoes every 6 months or so. They need more than one pair, of course--nice shoes, tennis shoes, rain boots, and, for my boys, cowboy boots. And lately, they've worn some of them out before outgrowing them, necessitating even more new shoes.

Last night I broke down and ordered them new boots. Both of them wear their cowboy boots as often as possible, and their little toes were getting pinched. So, we went online and ordered them each a new pair (you'd think Nick could wear Drew's old ones, but he's worn them so much that the heels are worn down and the soles are nearly worn through!). Drew choose a pair of distressed brown Roper style boots like his daddy wears, and Nick finally chose a pair of brown leather pointy-toed cowboy boots. Nick had to be gently talked out of the pink pair, and Drew had to be talked out of the red and black $100 pair. They should be here by Friday, and they can't wait.

But what about me? I didn't get any new boots. And I'm the one that loves shoes! I wish my feet were still growing...

This is the schoolwork that Drew brought home in his backpack today. 53 different sheets, all completed last week at school. This does not include anything that he did at home--those 11 worksheets, 1 book report, and 5 phonics books that he read. See? They do a bunch of classwork! Don't you think that's alot?

Also in his backpack today was an invitation to a birthday party. This is the first birthday party invitation we've received that's not for both boys. It's already causing problems, and the party isn't until the 17th! It's also the first party Drew has been invited to that is a "drop-off" party, meaning I leave him there for 2 hours. Not that I think he'll be scared or sad if I leave him there--he'll be absolutely fine. He's very excited about the prospect, actually. I just worry about his behavior when I'm not there to reign him in. I guess at some point I'll have to let him go and assume I've raised him right, right? That can be difficult to do, especially because as I type this he's acting terribly--not following basic house rules and making his brother cry on purpose and being generally disobedient.

The boys and I have decided to visit my parents this weekend. It was a rather spur-of-the-moment decision made just yesterday. Fortunately they don't live so far away as to make short spur-of-the-moment trips out of the question.

Andy will be working all weekend, it's supposed to be too cold to play outside for any length of time, and, most importantly, I haven't been to visit since Christmas. Neither has Drew. And Nick hasn't been since early January. That's far too long for the boys to go without seeing their grandparents.

Both boys were super excited when I told them last night that we were going. The excitement quickly turned into a temper tantrum on Nick's part when I vetoed his idea to leave right away (right away, as in immediately, without even finishing supper. yeah, he was excited.). He doesn't quite grasp the concept of work, or school, yet.

At any rate, we're leaving first thing tomorrow morning. And we won't be back until later Sunday afternoon. That means no post tomorrow. And it means that Photo Sunday will be up pretty late on Sunday. But I know you guys will survive.

See you Sunday!

When Drew started Kindergarten last August, his teacher told us that he would have homework each Monday evening--perhaps a worksheet or two. And he did. For the first month or so of school he'd bring home two or three worksheets each Monday afternoon, and one of them was always practice writing his name. Not so bad.

After a while, the two or three worksheets each Monday became five or six worksheets each Monday. It was taking him 30-45 minutes to do his homework. I thought, being as he's not but five years old, that this was a little excessive. But still, it's only one night a week, right?

Then one day he brought home a memo stating that the kids would be allowed to check out a book from the school library every Thursday, and that he would need to read it that evening and complete a book report to be handed in on Friday. 3 complete sentences and an illustration. That can take awhile, depending on the book he's chosen. So, now we have homework on Monday nights and Thursday nights.

But wait, there's more! A few weeks after the book reports were introduced, they began practicing sight words. Each Thursday he brings home a folder containing the sight words they're working on that week. There is a worksheet, sometimes 2, for each word. Today's folder contains 8 worksheets. These have to be completed and returned by Monday.

And, since they started reading, he brings home an 18 page phonics book every night that he has to read and return the next day.

So, this week alone Drew has to complete 11 worksheets, a book report for homework, and read 5 different short stories. And, this week he's got to work on his Valentines for the party, because he's required to fill out each and every one himself, first name and last name (and some of these kids have some pretty far-out names!) plus his name. There are 17 of them to do, plus 3 teacher ones.

I have more than one issue with the amount of homework he's bringing home. First, I've seen the amount of work they do in class. It's alot. It seems like all they must do some days is fill out worksheets and write things all day long. Plus the art projects and other things they do. So he's getting tons of practice there. Second, he hates it. I mean, he despises doing the homework. He didn't mind it so much when it was just 3 sheets one night a week, but the more he has the more he protests. I realize this might be a typical reaction in his later years, but really. He's 5 and he already dreads coming home and sitting down to his homework. I'm afraid the attitude will follow him the rest of his school career, and I wouldn't blame him. And if Drew (who's a reasonably smart kid that really has no trouble doing the actual work once he puts his mind to it) hates it this much, what about the kids that struggle more? Which brings me to the third reason I have issues with the homework. Because he resists so much, it's a real pain for the parents. Instead of enjoying nice family time when we get home, or even being able to do housework while the kids play and decompress from their day, I (or Andy, if he's home) have to coax and prod the child through his homework. There have been times it's resulted in yelling or tears on my part or his or both.

I understand that they are trying to help these children learn. I get that. But I remember Kindergarten as play time and rest time and maybe learning the alphabet and colors. Learning how to interact with other kids and with teachers, and having fun. Drew's kindergarten is work, work, and more work. They are reading, and writing complete sentences. This week they're learning about electricity and today they actually did experiments with batteries and light bulbs. And I'm proud he can do so much. I really am.

But they're barely allowed to be little kids any more. And it bugs me.

The thing is, if he's not being forced to read or write, he actually enjoys it. If he didn't have all this assigned work to do all the time, he'd sit and write or read just because it's fun. But he summed it all up last night when it was time for a bedtime story and I asked him if he'd like to read some of the pages.

He said "No, I'm tired of reading today. We read all week, and it's not fun today. You read."

What do you think? Are we pushing our kids too hard? Or am I being unreasonable?

I have been walking 2 miles a day at lunchtime for the past 3 weeks. Today, in addition to my 2 miles at lunch I hiked around on uneven terrain at least another 2 miles taking photos, and I do that at least twice a week. I walk nearly every day, cold or not, cloudy or not, once even in the snow. I walk with a co-worker (my boss) and we move out. No dawdling around--we're getting our heart rates up and keeping them up.

So how come, when I stepped on the scale today for the first time in weeks, I found out I had gained 3 pounds?

And don't tell me it's my diet, because I've been eating pretty healthy. Really. Sure, I have the occasional fast food meal or pizza, but for the most part I have fruit or a Pop Tart for breakfast, yogurt for a mid-morning snack, soup or a turkey sandwich for lunch, and a normal supper. Rarely any snacks in the evening, rarely any candy or dessert, hardly even any cokes.

Long ago I accepted the fact that I will never be thin. I am just not built that way. I won't even be model slender, although I do have that desirable hourglass figure. I am short-waisted, and the combination of my, um, more than ample bosom (how's that for an antiquated word?) and the fact that I carry any extra right around my middle makes me look even heavier than I am. But I do want to be healthy, and I do want to be able to fit into my clothes. I want to not be embarrassed to wear shorts, or short(er) skirts, or clothes that don't fit like a potato sack.

It's not fair. The exercise should be helping. And now I don't feel like it is. Everyone vote--should I just toss the scale and be done with it?

Well, we finally got snow. A couple of inches, which is alot for around here. Or, at least it's alot when you're 5 or 3 and haven't seen snow all year. Notice the low angle of the sun in this photo? It's not evening--it's morning. Just a little after 7AM, to be precise. The boys were so thrilled with the prospect of playing in the snow that they just had to get out there as soon as possible.
Drew, of course, had a blast. Nick had fun for about 3 minutes, but then discovered that snow is cold, and wet. So he went right back inside to the cartoons, and Drew and I stayed out for about 15 more minutes before joining him. That was yesterday.

Today the snow is mostly gone, and it was back to school after 2 days off for the weather last week. I think everyone was ready to get back into some sort of routine. I know I was. The boys were absolute angels this weekend after our little discussion the other day, but 2 full days in the house with only each other for company (Andy was working) was beginning to wear on everyone's nerves.

Now, as we wait for Andy to get home from work with a pizza (Monday night is pizza night, remember?) we're working on a special project for Valentine's Day from the boys for their grandparents. It's a pretty labor-intensive project, and I can't tell you guys what it is because the grandparents read this blog (Hi, grandparents!). If you're just dying to know, I'll tell you in an e-mail--just let me know. Otherwise, we'll post the finished results on here after the gifts are dispersed.

Happy Monday, everyone!

It's Saturday. Andy left for work at 7 AM--the boys had already been up for an hour and a half. he'll be home about 7 tonight.

After he left, the boys and I climbed into my bed and had a little snuggle and a little talk. We talked about how Daddy was going to be gone until after supper. We talked about our plans for the day, both away from the house (gas station, car wash, grocery shopping) and at home (laundry, dusting and vacuuming, play outside). We talked about how Mama had been in a bad mood, and about how they've not been being on their good behavior. There was discussion of ways for them to behave better (not fight over toys, they said. watch more cartoons. play outside.) and ways for me to be more pleasant (they suggested I eat some candy and watch cartoons with them).

After a good night's sleep I'm feeling much better. In the bright sunshiny light of this morning the outlook is nicer, especially since I'm not facing a day at work. And, so far, the boys have been angels. They seem excited about our day together, but that's probably mostly because I told them if they were excellent they could pick out a treat at the store. It's gonna be cold, but sunny, so we're going outside to play, even if it's only for a few minutes. We may even bundle up and go out to the farm and visit with the cows. Who knows?

Anyway, I apologize for my whining yesterday. I'll leave it there because it's true, but it really wasn't necessary. I started out writing a post about how I was feeling better, but the truth just came out anyway.

Photo Sunday tomorrow will feature the boys, I think. Stay tuned.

edited@3:3o to add: Thanks, Mom.

When Drew was a tiny baby and would be in an unpleasant mood, we'd call him Crab Leg. I'm not sure how it evolved from crabby to Crab Leg, but somehow it did. And even now, when I or someone else is in a not-so-pleasant mood, I'll think in my head Crab Leg.

Yesterday was just one of those days. I was a Crab Leg. I don't think anything really awful happened, but I felt like it did, all day long. No matter what I did I couldn't shake the crabbiness that settled over me the minute I got out of bed. And, given my state of mind, every little tiny thing that didn't go exactly my way (and what with small children always goes the way you want it to?) made my mood even worse. Yesterday was not a good day to be my co-worker, my friend, my husband, or my child.

I woke up this morning not feeling much better, and I surely wish I could pinpoint what my problem is so that I could make it go away. It's no good to open your eyes at 5AM and already have a headache, already feel like snapping at someone, even though the entire household is still asleep and hasn't done a thing to irritate you--yet.

Today, however, I made a concerted effort to be better. It didn't really help me feel any better, but I think everyone around me was fooled. It snowed last night, so I took the afternoon off to just be alone and to take pictures of the snow. That helped--the fresh air (even though said air wasn't but 25 degrees!), the solitude, the opportunity to do something that I enjoy without too much of a time constraint. I had time to think. And I realized that I sure did like being alone. So much, in fact, that I was mildly annoyed when my friend arrived and felt like chatting--even though it's his property I almost, just the tiniest bit, resented his presence. That's wrong.

I am not a people person. I am not a kid person. God was playing some big, cosmic joke when he gave me these boys. I love them, more than anything. I'd do anything for them without a second thought. But sometimes they get to me. Their constant energy and motion, the questions and questions and more questions. The petty arguments and power struggles and the responsibility that comes with being the mother of 2 small boys. I have a hard time, most of the time. My kids (and husband) will tell you that I'm temperamental. Moody. Controlling. Often unpleasant.

Those moments are balanced out by the times that I'm happy, and relaxed, and fun--or at least I'm making myself appear that way.

I hope.

I'm too young for a midlife crisis. I'm too old for youthful irresponsibility. But I find that lately I feel crabby and unpleasant inside, even if I don't show it on the outside. There are moments (not alot, but they happen) that I truly resent my family, just for their very presence. It annoys me (and hurts my feelings) when I've been at home with the kids for hours on end, on a weekend or after working all day, taking care of the house and fixing meals and playing games and kissing ow's and running errands and doing all of the grocery shopping and bill paying just being here, and available, and Andy arrives home like some conquering hero, swooping in and immediately getting all of the attention and love and fun while I cease to exist until someone needs permission for something, or someone needs discipline, or something is lost or maybe a favorite shirt isn't clean, at which point they're sent to find me. Sometimes I feel so much like I don't belong--like I'm a spectator in my own home. I just want to leave, or I want them to leave, so that I can be alone. And that's bad, and it makes me feel guilty, but it doesn't change what is. Because when I'm alone at least there's no one to ignore me or take advantage of me.

How do I fix it? How do I get happy and stay happy when half the time I feel like I'm in the wrong place? How do I find my way back to the person that I used to be--the person that was happy and fun and not totally worn down by responsibility? How do I be a wife and a mother--a good wife and mother--when all I really want is to be left alone?

I don't feel so hot today, and my children aren't treating me very well at all. That makes for one crabby girl. So, gaze upon the peaceful country scene that I've posted for you, and I promise to make up for my lack of enthusiasm tomorrow. OK?