INTJ: mastermind or heroine?

So, you might have seen them around Pinterest and Facebook: Myers-Briggs charts with our favorite characters illustrating the types.

source: unknown

Star Wars.

Harry Potter.

Downton Abbey.

You guys, listen. I'm comfortable with my type. I like being an INTJ. It's one way of describing the pieces who help make up who I am.

But come on.

Seriously now, it took me three of these things to realize something: the INTJs are always the bad guys. Sure, they're smart. They're planners. They're deep.

But still.

Draco Malfoy? O'Brien? EMPEROR PALPATINE?

Are you kidding me?

I looked over the Downton Abbey chart pretty closely. Despite the way my once beloved show drop-kicked my heart and walked over the ashes of my love for Matthew and Mary (I'm feeling a bit dramatic here, I'll admit), the characters and their costumes and their shenanigans still interest me. (Well, their old shenanigans. I really don't care what happens at this point. Downton is dead to me. Do you hear me, Julian Fellowes? DEAD TO ME.)

Anyway. Forgive me, I take my fictional characters seriously. Back to my main point, once I was perusing the Downton Abbey Myers-Briggs chart I finally put my finger on what annoys me:
take the NTJ and put an "I" on the beginning: evil mastermind. Put an "E" and you get: the heroine.

Princess Leia. Mary Crawford.

This negative image of Introverts has got to stop. We are not evil masterminds. We are loveable, loyal, prone to over-thinking people who don't suffer fools and  their foolishness.

I may not be an Extrovert but I'll go toe to toe with Darth Vader if I have to, especially if he's threatening the people I love. I'll manage the family estate, I'll take care of the family (are we seeing a theme here?). I could be Princess Leia or Mary Crawford.

There may be a fine line between heroics and villainy, heroine and devious plotter. That line is not, "Would you rather go to a party or stay home and read a book?" The difference is not Extroversion vs. Introversion because E vs. I are not a moral choices, they simply exist.

Extroverts can be bad guys. Introverts can be heroes. Introverts could plot nefarious schemes. Extroverts could save the day. But those roles are never cast in stone. Extroversion is not the default, healthy psychological make-up with Introverts being twisted and in need of fixing. I don't need to be fixed or coerced into being an Extrovert.

I am not less because I am an Introvert. Only the Extroverts who run things could possibly think that. The heroes and heroines of all the stories are not all Extroverts. Sometimes they're people who would have lived quietly but have no choice to step up and make sure things are done properly. Introversion is not inherently evil and Extroversion is not inherently good. I'm sure there are folks who would rather see the world that way, but they're wrong. I'm an Introvert and I can tell you we think about this kind of thing a lot.

I am an INTJ but I am more than that. I am a free moral agent with God given strengths and abilities hindered by my own sinful nature and choices.

I stand up for the weak but I am also guilty of ignoring the needy. I'm good with words, although they often get me into trouble. I'm loyal to my family and friends and love when we're all together, but I often need to get away from them at the end of the day so I can recharge. I'm devoted to and head over heels in love with the love of my life but I often find myself annoyed by his failings (though they are small in the grand scheme of things). Please tell me that sounds more like Mary Crawford than Miss O'Brien. I'm already pretty sure it sounds more like Princess Leia than Emperor Palpatine.

Time to learn how to make some infographics myself, I guess. The only way to stop this discrimination against Introverts is for some of us who identify as such to stop being quiet.

A Most Expensive Pumpkin

So, there they sat, the two huge pumpkins left over from our church Harvest Party. For the purposes of the Harvest Party they had been cut open but not carved. Our children wanted to carve them.

Only Halloween was rainy and, more importantly, we had approximately 57,000 things to do that day. So "pumpkin carving" didn't make the to-do list.

There they sat, on the floor by our door. The kids forgot about them, even though these pumpkins were huge and sat just under our coat rack.

Maybe the ever present massive shoe pile hid them. Who can say?

The kids no longer wanted to carve funny faces on them. Halloween was over and my kids had moved on to other things (like Christmas lists).

I mentioned to Philip how we really ought to trash them. Yet there they sat. Unwanted. Neglected. Forgotten.

If you are feeling sorry for these two enormous, orange monsters, you needn't. You can be sure they took their revenge.

They began to go soft, right there on my floor, surrounded by shoes and jackets and whatever else we require to leave the house. Enter Plot Point #2: one of our library bags was also sitting there.

Crisis: one pumpkin fell over on aforesaid library bag. Now this bag was, as usual, full of items to be returned. See, in an effort to keep fines to a manageable level, we put items back in the bag when we finish them. Philip is usually at the library 2-3 times a week so he can tutor. He just grabs the bag on his way out the door.

Next plot point: tutoring was cancelled on Monday.

Right here is where you insert ominous music.

So Tuesday I decided there were things that simply had to go back. I would take these things and the two oldest girls to pick up another load of library holds.

I picked up the bag and discovered the pumpkins' revenge: they had leaked all over the floor and bag. I yelled (a little). Philip and I took the two offending, soft, gooey pumpkins to the trash where they will no doubt be a source of enjoyment to our resident marauding raccoon.

I wiped at the library bag but I didn't examine it closely. I was in a hurry because I had just nursed iBoy, the two younger girls were down for a nap and I needed to make my escape exit quickly.

So there I was at the library, stacking my returns on the counter when I pulled out a sloppy mess of a magazine. The pages were wet and stained with pumpkin. A librarian was standing right there.

"I need to replace this magazine," I said with forced cheerfulness I certainly did not feel. Why hadn't we put those ridiculous pumpkins straight in the bins? (More to the point: why hadn't Philip done it after I asked him? Sometimes my resolution not to be a nagging wife really does annoy me.)

"Oh my," the librarian said. "What happened here?" I answered as briefly as possible, leaving most of the blame on my oblivious children's shoulders.

"Well, at least the price is right on the cover," the librarian was decidedly more cheerful about this fact than I, "At least I don't have to look it up!"

No, there was no need for that. I'm glad I didn't complicate her life more than necessary. We could both easily read the cover price: $4.99.

I handed her a five dollar bill from my diaper bag / purse. (How I actually had $5 on me is another mystery.)

So, that was the most expensive issue of National Review I've ever read ($5 for a magazine issue?! No wonder I have to borrow them from the library instead of subscribing!), the messiest pumpkin we never carved, and I guess the library can just keep the penny as my gift to them.

Time to accept that library fines are just a part of my life, one way or another. They just aren't all covered in pumpkin guts.

In Which I Endeavor to Have Perspective

Last night we came home from church and I went to put my rings and jewelry away - the way I always do - and my earring box was gone. I looked behind the dresser. I asked the girls if they had taken it (some of my girls are little magpies).

Then I noticed the muddy footprints on the floor which lead to my husband's closet (on his side of the bed) and my closet (on my side of the bed).

My jewelry, stored in one of those three drawer organizer things from Sterilite or Rubbermaid and placed on a shelf in my closet taller than I am, was all gone. Except for one drawer, which was empty.

All gone.

My earring box that my Papaw and Mamaw gave me for Christmas when I was a very young teenager. All my jewelry that I had been given, made, inherited, or bought since I was a child. Along with Sweet Pea's birthday cash that she had just received at her birthday party.

I am still dealing with this loss. I've never been a "jewelry person". I don't wear a lot and I don't desire to own a lot. But what I owned mattered to me. There were sentimental things that can never be replaced.

It's an awful feeling.

My brother and I found the empty plastic drawers and a bunch of empty jewelry boxes in some trash cans near the end of our street. There were a few odds and ends left in the boxes, but none of the things I had been praying to find.

My Isaiah necklace, a bracelet a friend made me with the 3 oldest girls' names on it, gifts from my grandparents, my birthstone ring that my parents gave me as my class ring (remember, I was homeschooled), and things like that are all gone.

We've been dealing with a very nice police officer (female). She's sympathetic and seems to be willing to do her job, but really, there's not much to be done. It looks like kids / teenagers did this and the chances of tracking them or the jewelry down are not great.

Another thing I've learned, while looking through our family pictures to try and find pictures of certain pieces of jewelry: I am not in very many pictures. And I'm not wearing jewelry in many of those. This seems bad for several reasons. After all, I don't want my girls to look back one day and say, "Well, I think Mom was there, but I'm not sure."

Even if we had the itemized list & pictures and everything, our deductible is a high one. Considering that the items are mostly a) irreplaceable to me but b) not monetarily valuable, I doubt insurance is going to be anything but a hassle. (Query: When is insurance NOT anything but a hassle?)

Like I said, I am still processing this. It's an awful feeling and I was actually physically sick over it last night. But today I am seeking perspective and God is actually helping me to find it.

Here are some things I'm thankful for today:
1. We weren't home.
2. No one was hurt.
3. Nothing in our house was broken, ransacked, or destroyed.
4. They didn't take our new camera (which was sitting out in the next room), computer, or anything electronic (TV, DVD player, the girls' Wii).
5. They took the visible cash (Sweet Pea's birthday money) but didn't take any of our other cash we have in our home. I shall not be specific, but let me just say that we use the Dave Ramsey envelope system and I am thankful they did not find those envelopes.
6. I was wearing my favorite earrings and my wedding band / engagement ring. Many times when I'm pregnant the engagement ring gets too tight to be comfortable but so far this pregnancy it hasn't. So I had it on.
7. Pastor Dad and Mom are home from visiting my sister, brother-in-law and new nephew. I needed them around last night. And The Bear too. He was a huge help and so sweet. (Shh, don't tell him I said so.)
8. This final one is a quote Pastor Dad reminded me of:

“I thank Thee first because I was never robbed before; second, because although they took my purse they did not take my life; third, because although they took my all, it was not much; and fourth because it was I who was robbed, and not I who robbed.” - Matthew Henry (a clergyman in England in the late 1600's through the early 1700's.)

There are some small, mean, stupid, and desperate people out there. I am glad that, by God's grace, I do not have to be one of them.

High Costs & Higher Things

Did you see the recent news story on the cost of raising children? (See here: The Inflation of Life, if it somehow slipped by your radar.) Here's a quote:

The government's most recent annual report reveals a middle-income family with a child born in 2010 can expect to spend roughly $227,000 for food, shelter and other expenses necessary to raise that child - $287,000 when you factor in projected inflation.

And, no, the bill does not include the cost of college or anything related to the pregnancy and delivery.

"If you sat down to tally up the total cost of having children, you'd never have them," says Timothy Knotts, a father of four and a certified financial planner with The Hogan-Knotts Financial Group in Red Bank N.J. "It's a very expensive adventure."

Talk about a life-changing event. That's a lot of vacations, clothing, and restaurant dinners you may no longer enjoy.

Warning: in the next few paragraphs I go on a very candid rant.(Click the "read more" button if you want to read.)

Just When I Renewed My Effort to Blog Frequently...

source

First of all: I finally earned my first Amazon Associate paycheck so a huge, great big, ginormous "Thank you!" to anyone who bought anything from Amazon using that little search box on my right sidebar (or from one of my links) is in order.

Second: Blogger and Amazon have now completely messed up the Amazon Associate plug in. Messed up as in: it's not working at all. Neither is taking the credit (that is: blame) for this and neither (naturally) is trying to fix it. {bangs head on desk}

Google (and Amazon) giveth and Google (and Amazon) taketh away? Ah, the frustrations of modern life. Meanwhile, I'm researching switching completely to Wordpress. Except then I'd need to make more Amazon money to cover my domain name and the Wordpress fees. {bangs head on desk again}

I'm ending my rant now. Unless you'd like to hear more because, trust me, I could go on for awhile about my frustrations with these...well (ahem) I guess I better stop now. Wouldn't want to actually lose my temper.

Grammar & Spelling Tips for Today:

1. Definitely. I don't know about you, but I've seen about 57,321 ways to butcher this word (OK, I'm exaggerating. It's called hyperbole, folks. Learn to love it). Bloggers and Facebook friends, let's all remember: there are are a FINITE number of ways to spell this word. If your version of definitely doesn't have "FINITE" in the middle, then it's incorrect.

P.S. If you spell it "defiantly" then spell catcher will not catch it. Because defiantly is another word. Not the word you wanted, but definitely a real word.

2. Voila. It's definitely "voila"; definitely not "Wallah". Please. Voila is a French word meaning "There!" or "Behold!" My French dictionary lists pronunciation this way: vwah-LAH. When you type "Wallah", it makes my eyes bleed and French grandmas cry. So stop.

3. Your / You're. Your is possessive. Your blog. Your status. You're is a contraction for you are. You're encouraged to use the correct word in your status updates. Thank you.

4.To / Too / Two. To can be used as a preposition. To can also be used as an infinitive with a verb ("I need to study Fourth Grade Grammar again.") Too is a synonym for also. It can also mean "excessive". ("I am too tired to correct your paper right now.") Two is a number. (One, two, three...) The most common mistake I see is using "to" when the blogger (facebook-er, twitter-er, etc.) meant to say "too". Yes, I know they're all pronounced the same way. And yes, I've typed the wrong one on occasion (sometimes my fingers are faster than my brain). At least double check before making this mistake on something permanent like a scrapbook page or birth announcement.

5. Their / There / They're. Their is possessive. (As in: They neglected grammar on their blogs.) There indicates place. If you are there, then you are not here. "They're" is, once again, a contraction. They're really starting to annoy me now. We'll have to save the "it's / its" discussion for another day.

Frustrated by the vagaries of  English? Here's a poem called "The Chaos" for your enjoyment.

The Non-Ideal Homeschool Day

Some days are just not good school days. It could be the kids. It could be the weather. It could just be...you.

The mom. The teacher. The mood setter. {gulp}

For whatever reason, I am not in the best of moods today. Each little thing seems like the one more thing that I don't want to deal with. (Forgive the bad grammar. Apparently a semi-bad mood causes me to end sentences with prepositions. Gasp!)

But, it turns out, I can deal. I have to let Holy Spirit work through me and enable me to manage myself and my attitude (the hardest management job I have!) When I do that, I can take this day one step at a time.

You know what this looks like:
- get dressed
- make the bed
- feed the children
- sweep the floor
- run the washing machine, dryer, and dishwasher, all at once if necessary
- take a nap, or at least have the kids take a nap
- make emails, phone calls and the like to rearrange a few things on the schedule
- do necessary school work, including the basics but also some fun things like writing pen-pals
- and then declare it good and go outside and enjoy the unseasonably warm day (the kids). Or, you know, curl up with a good book next to a window where the sun is shining through (me).

Some days (most days?) are not destined to be the ideal homeschool or family day. When that happens, cut everyone some slack and ease up. Try not to worry about the days in the future when you just know you will have too much to do and you'll fall behind on school and the kids will never progress any further in their math books and...

One step at time. That's my homeschool hint of the day. But I'm really just preaching to myself and it's not just applicable for homeschooling either. Funny how often that happens around here.

Picture credit: stock.xchng

In Which I Hold Forth on Blogging

Giveaways - If you are giving something away on your blog, have your readers leave a comment. Have extra entries (and comments) for things like following your blog, following you on Twitter, befriending you on Facebook, etc. When I see a giveaway like this:

For one entry simply:
1. Follow this blog
2. Write a post about why you follow this blog
3. Go to this website
4. Come back here and tell me your favorite thing about aforesaid website
5. Donate blood
6. Type in pi to one hundred digits.
7. Come back here and leave a comment to tell me all these steps are complete.
8. And remember - if all these steps aren't complete, you'll be disqualified
9. Don't forget about pi to one hundred digits...

Sorry, I just dozed off there for a second. And I am for sure not entering your contest. Anyone willing to jump through more than two hoops is welcome to whatever it is you're giving away. (If you'd like to enter a giveaway that doesn't have hoops, my mom has one going on right now!)

Just.Give.It.Away.Already. If I have to make my part time job entering your contest, it isn't a gift.

Facebook - If you have a fan page for your blog, feel free to mention it. If you put out a friend request in order to increase your blog visibility and then, once you have thousands of blog followers and Facebook friends, drop your friends because you don't need them any more  ("See you on my fan page!"), then you are what is known as a jerk. Either do a fan page or friend request but not both. And certainly don't penalize the people who helped you get so many blog readers if you must change from befriending to fans.

I will not link to blogs that have acted this way. I still read them if I find them useful, but I will not link to them. For similar reasons, I do not link to many "big" blogs. Pioneer Woman doesn't need my help.

Issues - Remember that there are two sides to pretty much any story. Also remember that there is no list of fifteen things you can do to have a perfect life, perfect family and perfect health. Blogs about food and "natural" living are particularly egregious about this. I don't care if you are so into raw milk that you sit under the cow to drink it - just because I am not convinced about the virtue of such behavior doesn't mean I am poisoning my children.

I want to feed my family wisely. I want us to pursue good health. I take my kids to the Farmer's Market... every once in a while. We take supplements. We try to eat a balanced diet (whatever that is!). But I am not willing to make food, natural or otherwise, an idol in my life. Food isn't the answer to every health problem, and bloggers who pretend like it is are doing themselves and their readers a disservice. (One side note here: another pet peeve is quoting a book about diet or food and saying it is "extensively footnoted and researched" when in fact the footnotes are for other studies by the author. That's not the same thing.)

And don't even get me started on vaccinations - talk about a hot button, personal issue! I don't think I've seen a discussion break down any faster than that one always does.

I feel better now.

Be sure to check back here at Candid Diversions for my new facebook fan page, a list of ten ways to never gain another pound and an e-book giveaway consisting of five easy steps to enter!

These are the candid opinions of an opinionated blogger. Your mileage may vary (or YMMV, as we say in the biz). And that last paragraph was in no way meant to be taken seriously. But if you have a list of ten ways to never gain another pound but still eat what I want, feel free to let me know.

A Little Annoyance

Ever schedule a doctor's appointment for some symptoms that had been driving you crazy for a week, only to have those symptoms disappear the day of the appointment? That happened to me today.

I suppose I'm thankful for this, although it makes me a little crazy: I really wanted to find out what was causing the symptoms and now I'll never know. I hope. Yes, I know I contradict myself. It happens.

Meanwhile, we have plenty to keep us busy today. Life in a homeschooling family with four kids is never dull.

How Good Could It Be?

At the risk of being a little too transparent, a little too out there, sharing a little too much...

Well, you get the idea. This quick post may just be a little too.

I stood in line at a mega big-box store the other day. It was the quick check out. I only had one item.

The lady looked at my item, looked at me, scanned the item, placed it in a bag. I wished I could sink into the floor. Why, oh why, did this store not have u-scan? I love u-scan. (I dislike it when people who don't know how to u-scan are using u-scan but that's another story.)

"Have a nice day," the cashier said as I walked away with my purchase.

I mean, seriously, how nice could my day be when I'm buying a product with "nit" emblazoned on the box?

Yup. You know what that means. One of the charming girls and yes, only one- thank goodness, had some unwanted visitors this week. It's under control.

But I think I would have preferred sympathetic silence from that cashier instead of a cheerful "have a nice day", you know?

To Whom It May Concern*

"They" did not miscalculate my due date. (For that matter: neither did I)

And, contrary to possible appearances, I am not "ready to pop". Whatever that means. In my experience, very little "pops" when a baby comes. Unless you count that sound I heard when my water broke with Tigger.

Possible replacement phrases for the above:

1. "You must have so much to do before the baby comes. Is there anything I can do to help?"

2. "You look very nice today."

Thank you very much.

*This has been a "please don't annoy the pregnant woman who is great with child" post.*

An Observation from the Playground

Yesterday a friend and I decided that we weren't hot enough in our nice air conditioned homes. So we went to the park and watched our kiddos play on the playground for two hours. Other people had the same lapse in judgment so, while talking with my friend, I also engaged in one of my favorite outside activities: people watching.

There seemed to be several grandmas there with their grandchildren, which is not unusual. One set (a grandma, granddaughter and grandson) caught my attention. The grandma sat on the next bench over from us. Her grandkids were playing on a structure not far from us. The little girl (around 6 or 7 years old) starting acting mean with the other kids around her (including her own brother).

The grandma called the girl. No response. Called again. Still no response. Called again. The girl started drifting over our direction.

Now, I'd like to interject here that my own children are often prone to Playground Induced Deafness. Yesterday it was Sweet Pea. We hadn't been there ten minutes before I had occasion to call her over to me. I had to call several times before I had to insist she come and remind her that obedience is not optional. I did this quickly and unobtrusively and sent her back to playing.

I confess all that because I want you to know that I understand how playground discipline is often different from home. That's a fact. But discipline must still exist in some form.

This grandma called her granddaughter by name. Again. The granddaughter removed one of her ear buds.

Problem 1: This child is playing at a playground. Does she require constant background music as if her life is a movie and she's choosing the soundtrack? Take away the IPOD.

"What?" This child said in a belligerent tone. (You're shocked by that, I know.)

"Come over here." The girl cocked her head to the side.

"What do you want, Loser?" (I was shocked at this point. Note the child has still not complied and is now calling her own grandma a loser.)

Next the granddaughter went flying head over heels across the playground, courtesy of the back of her grandmother's hand.

OK, no, that didn't happen. That's what I wish would have happened.

"I just want to tell you something," the appropriately chastised grandma said. The girl sauntered over, one earbud still dangling. The grandma exhorted her to play nice and the child ran back to whatever she had been doing, inserting the earbud on the way.

Problem 2: I understand kids get to act different when out and about with grandparents but that does not excuse that kind of behavior or disrespect. Pack the kid up and leave. Pronto. Do not pass go. Do not collect ice cream on the way home.

Because you know what? Later, when it was time for this crew to leave (a bit before we did) the grandma asked each of her grandkids what kind of ice cream they wanted. Snotty Princess Ipod shouted, "Chocolate!"

If I ever, ever hear about one of my children acting that way toward one of their grandparents (or great grandparents or pretty much any authority figure ever), I can promise you they will not be worrying about what flavor of ice cream they get. Playgrounds, ice cream, mp3 players and just generally anything fun you can think of that a child might enjoy, are all privileges not rights.

You have my permission to act accordingly on this information. You're welcome.

Water, Water, Everywhere

In order to celebrate the end of VBS we decided to spend Saturday...wait for it...cleaning up a flooded basement.

Let's face the facts: water does not belong in my basement unless it's in my washing machine or water heater.

Seeing as it was the end of VBS I had intended to sleep in Saturday morning. The only thing on my Saturday agenda was the Fennec's First Birthday Pool Party Extravaganza in the afternoon. It was dark and stormy, perfect sleeping conditions.

Until your husband comes in and tells you the basement is flooding and he's off to visitation. "See you later!"

Not happy times. Polly helped me go down and assess the damage. It wasn't good and, since it was still raining outside, water was still coming inside.

We started the clean up process downstairs and upstairs (after a week of VBS our house looked like...OK, just use your imaginations as no suitable analogy springs to mind). Polly and I were washing clothes and putting them away to rescue them from the water. Tigger and Sweet Pea were supposed to be putting toys and books away in their room. (Sample dialog from Tigger: "WHY oh why am I the only one picking up. I always have to do all the work in this house!" Not very wise on her part, under the circumstances.)

Then Prince Charming came home and it stopped raining and we made it to Fen's party. A good time was had by all except for the fact that swimming was canceled. Water, water, everywhere, but not a drop to swim in. 

Then we brought our sugared up girls home and re-started clean up. Two children earned themselves tickets to naptime. By the end of the afternoon things were in slightly better shape (and by "things" I mean actual things, the children, and myself).

I haven't been down there yet this morning - it's been raining again - but I sincerely hope there won't be any need for special gear. And the girls are agitating for their little swimming pool and their new slip 'n' slide (courtesy of the VBS prize store) to be set up.

You'd think they would have had enough of water by now. I know I have.

The Valuable Medical Advice of the Day

I am still pregnant. I do not take that blessing lightly, I assure you. The baby's heartbeat was, and I quote, "Good."

So there's that.

As I previously mentioned, I did not see my regular doctor, by which I mean the doctor I saw at my first appointment. No, that would be too easy. Because I liked her and she actually listened to me and answered my questions.

This doctor was older. An older man, to be precise, with white hair and a twinge of a European accent. Now my primary care physician is an older man. I like him and he's a good doctor. But for my O.B. I - just to be completely honest - prefer a woman. My reasoning: I'd like someone who has either 1.) actually been pregnant herself or 2.) is biologically constructed to possibly be pregnant at some point.

The fact that the doctor today was a man didn't necessarily mean nothing good would come of the visit. As I said, I got to hear that priceless "swish swish" heartbeat again, so that was good.

But that was the only good thing about my visit. This man asked me if I had felt the baby yet. I said something along the lines of, "I'm not sure. I kind of thought I did yesterday." I find being too confident about these sorts of questions is likely to get you handed a kick count chart and I'm not ready for that yet.

"No," he said. "18-20 weeks. That's when you start feeling the baby." (Side note: I am officially 17 weeks pregnant.) Then why did he ask me in the first place? (Side note #2: this is my 4th pregnancy. I'm positive I've felt at least one of my babies by this point. Tigger, if I recall correctly - no surprise there.)

He asked if I had any questions after his perfunctory measuring of my stomach and quick listen to the heartbeat. I started to explain this horrific cold I've had for the LAST TWO WEEKS.

"Sudafed or Afrin nasal spray," he suggested. Um, yes, I've been alternating those for the LAST TWO WEEKS.

"And what about the stuff in my chest?" I asked. Predictable answer: Robitussin cough syrup. Yup, same as I'd been doing for, you guessed it, the LAST TWO WEEKS.

But the real kicker, the reason those doctors make the big bucks and are so lofty and high above us all came at the end. "Some hot tea at night would probably help," Mr. Makes More Money Than I Ever Will and Has a Fancy-Pants Medical Degree Doctor said.

Yes, that's right. Hot Tea. You heard it here first, folks.

Maybe if I hadn't been drinking hot green tea, hot red tea, hot chai tea, and generally all the forms of hot decaf tea I can get my hands on for the LAST TWO WEEKS I wouldn't feel so sarcastic right now.

In Which I Whine A Bit

I have the cold from you know where. It will not go away. Generally speaking, I tend to be leery of medicine under normal circumstances but that's especially true when I'm harboring a helpless little soul inside me. I've had to break down and take what my O.B. recommends a few times but (le sigh) it's not really helping.

So I have an O.B. appointment tomorrow, though not with my regular doctor, and I'm hoping I can convince him / her that the rudolph look is not my usual face and this stuff coming out of my lungs and sinuses is not normal and for heaven's sake (OK, really for my sake) please give me something to get. rid.of. it. yesterday.

And in further whining news, Prince Charming is away for a few days. For a good reason and with good people but still, he's away. From us. From me.

You can probably tell that I don't like it. Not one little bit.

I try to tell myself to be thankful he isn't, oh, I don't know, deployed to the big sandy spot or something but that only works during the day. At night my self-motivational speaker goes on break.

So for the first time in four pregnancies I will be marching myself to a doctor's appointment on my own. Due to the, ahem, clientele at the clinic I visit, I will most likely be oh so casually waving my ring finger around tomorrow morning, if that can be done casually. (Let's just say married folks having babies after the vows are a rarity at this office and leave it at that)

Now to get back to single parenting. Sweet Pea and Tigger may stage a coup before the day is out. Constant vigilance is required but I'd really rather take a nap.

The Importance of Driveways

For various reasons, Thursday has somehow become the Charming family day of rest. We don't have to get up early for any reason (usually), we keep outside obligations to a minimum, and so on.

This morning Prince Charming and I had really been looking forward to sleeping in. Oh, I know, poor us. I'm not really complaining, I'm just setting the stage. After several early (for us) mornings, our regular insanity inducing children's ministry Wednesday, etc., we thought a good lie in was due.

Have I ever mentioned that we live on a narrow street? A very narrow street. Which becomes even narrower because people park on it. On both sides. We don't, of course, as we have been blessed with two driveways. (On our street, this amounts to an embarrassment of riches as some folks don't even have one.)

I know I've mentioned (once or twice or a million times) that we homeschool. As homeschoolers, we have no need for the local school buses, naturally. If we did, however, Polly would have near door-to-door service because the school bus stops right in front of our house.

It comes quite early in the morning. I don't know if you can tell where this story is heading (maybe nowhere fast, like the bus this morning) but as my beloved and I were snug in our bed (wow - it sure was cold last night!) I heard the school bus pull up. But it didn't leave. I was vaguely awake at this point but Prince Charming was still dead to the world (metaphorically, of course).

Then there was a knock at our front door.

Have I ever mentioned that our front door opens into our bedroom? Prince Charming jumped out of bed (probably still not quite awake) and yanked open the door.

"Hey, could you move your truck? The school bus can't get through," I heard someone saying.

"That's not my truck," Prince Charming mumbled. "It's my neighbor's. He lives over there."

"Oh, my bad," the man said. And then he, mercifully, went away and Prince Charming closed the door against the arctic air infiltrating our room.

Yes, our neighbor parks his huge, unsightly truck in front of our house. And yes, last night he parked about a foot out from the curb, thereby hindering school buses, salt trucks, and generally anyone who might want to drive down our street. And no, he wasn't around to move it this morning. (He owns several trucks. I'm guessing the old one wouldn't be his first choice to drive here considering the current temperature.)

I watched out the window as they backed up the bus and went a different way. My only question: why didn't they just do that first?

This doesn't bode well for any future snow plows, does it? We may just get snowed in for the duration this year. All for the lack of off-street parking.

Just In Case You Thought My Life Idyllic

Here's a partial reckoning of what my youngest (alias "Sweet Pea") has gotten up to today:

1. Did not take a nap at nap-time.

2. Instead, broke a piece off one of Polly's collectible birthday girls.

3. And then dumped her piggy bank out.

4. In her bed.

5. And then carried her change around in a baby food jar.

6. Thereby leaving coins all over the house.

7. Closeted herself in the bathroom. Quietly. (Should've been my clue to start searching)

8. Coated herself and the counter, toilet, floor, etc. with my new "for sensitive skin" face lotion.

9. And unrolled half a roll of toilet paper. Apparently in an attempt to clean up the lotion, 'cause every square was also lotion coated.

10. Did I mention she had an accomplice in the above escapade? It was Tigger. Who has lotion coated hair now.

So. Could I interest you in two slightly sticky little girls? They probably have enough change stuffed in their pockets for bus fare.

My Children Are Exceptional

Po Bronson and Ashley Merryman tell us in their book NurtureShock:

Observational studies have determined that siblings between the ages of three and seven clash 3.5 times per hour, on average. Some of those are brief clashes, others longer, but it adds up to ten minutes of every hour spent arguing.

Trust my children to be exceptional, even in this respect.

(Picture of sword fight taken this summer. Seemed to fit the post somehow...)

In Which I Grumble

OK, so I think I should be doing something. If only I could remember what it was.

The girls are playing dress up. They're also dressing up our borrowed boy. He is taking it patiently but let's just say jewelry is not his thing.

Prince Charming is, un-charmingly, away. He was away last night. He's away today. He'll be away tonight. The worst thing about this situation is the fact that it leaves me vehicle-less. Which makes getting to the grocery store (10 minutes away) exceedingly difficult, to say the least. (I'm sorry, did you think I was going to say the worst thing was his absence? 'Fraid not.)

Then there's this annoying allergy / cold / sinus aggravation that will not go away. And the fact that the girls have it too and only one of them is really capable of keeping her own nose wiped. I know.

I suppose I could play mindless games on facebook. (Done.)
Or read a nice novel. (Done. Just finished a not so nice one which I will not be mentioning again. No one else needs to read it. Ever.)
Or some laundry. (Done. Or doing, anyway.)
Or research. (Not done.)
Or write. (Not done)
Or clean. (Oh, it is to laugh...)

Well, how about whining to my blogging friends? Obviously, this is the option I chose. And now I can hear the laundry buzzer so I'll be running along. Just as soon as I make myself get out of this chair.

In Which I Seek Your Clothes Related Advice

No, our yard is not yet covered in leaves. It's only September 8, after all. I wore flip flops to the grocery store today. (OK, I admit: I wear them every day to every thing)

But Autumn will soon be upon us. I love Fall: cooler weather, the smell of smoke in the air, bonfires, hayrides, apples, leaves everywhere (and believe me, they are everywhere at our house. We're not much for raking) and warm sweaters for the evenings.

Which brings me to my question for all you wise blog readers:
When do you switch out your t-shirts, flip-flops and the like, for sweaters, striped tights, and so on?

I dislike the clothes switching-around process (yes, that is its technical name). It involves me (oh, alright, I admit I usually get Prince Charming to do it) lugging up multiple Rubbermaid boxes of clothes, having the girls try on the aforementioned clothes, putting the warm weather clothes back into their correct boxes, with the unfortunate exception of all the warm weather clothes that we still need because some days are warmer than others...

It all means days, if not weeks, of wardrobe limbo and it drives.me.nuts. My dream is to have my girls wear their summer clothes until Christmas (with the possible addition of a sweater or two), but I don't think I can get away with it. The little old ladies at church are already wearing sweaters and tights (apparently oblivious to the thermometer reading 70 plus temperatures). I can imagine the outcry if I don't get my girls into actual shoes and socks again sometime soon.

So: when? What works for you?

(And yes, our tiny, ancient little house has very little storage. The Rubbermaid boxes do work for me since I don't have acres of closet space. Cardboard = disintegrated mess in the basement. Closets = non-existent. Rubbermaid boxes = moisture proof & easily affordable.)