Sad Face Emoji

This is what my youngest son looks like every morning before I take him to school (This isn't a picture of him. I'm just using this image as an object lesson. Sort of.).   Bless his sad little heart.  Every morning, I hold him on my lap, which is getting too small to hold him, and ask what's wrong.

This is where things get murky.  He says: He just wants to be home with me.  He feels like he should be home.  He wants to be homeschooled.  He doesn't have a best friend to play with at school.  School isn't fun anymore.  And he says it all with those eyes that look sad enough to get me to agree to anything as long as he stops giving me those eyes!

I want to know what to do.  I've talked to him about why he's feeling this way.  I've asked him question after question to try and understand what the root of the problem is.  We've prayed together before school.  I've tried giving him advice, making a plan for the day, bribing him with treats.  I don't know what else to do!

So, any advice?  Any suggestions?  All input would be welcome.  As for today... I'm picking him up early from school because I'm a sucker.

I Expect You To Read This

I was listening to a podcast while jogging this morning.  (That sentence sounds really impressive unless you know how slowly I jog.  You know those sloths in the movie Zootopia?  Me.)  And in this podcast, they were talking about the force that expectations have on us; the expectations we have of ourselves and the expectations others have for us.  The hosts did their research, and interviewed scientists who also did their research.  They spoke to a blind man who doesn't live like a blind man because no one told him he had to.  And I got to thinking about how expectations have changed the way I live.

First of all, I would never have gone out for student council in school without the expectation that I live up to my siblings' reputations.  I probably wouldn't be a jogger if my sisters hadn't expected me to go with them.  My nose would never be without a book in front of it if society didn't expect me to take care of my kids.  Actually, society's expectations don't have much to do with it, it's mostly my husband's and my parents' expectations of me that get me to put the books down for a bit.

When I was younger, the expectation was that I was "the talented" kid.  People, mostly my family, expected me to sing and dance and write and play piano and do things they all could do, too, but because I was "the talented one" I got all the praise for it.

But what about my own expectations?  What do I expect myself to do?

That's where the questions got harder because the things I expect myself to do are hard.  I expect myself to exercise regularly, and eat the way I'm supposed to, and get dressed every day, and take care of my house and family in a manner that I'm proud of.  This time of year, I expect myself to make use of the free produce people give me, so I bottle and make fruit leather and zucchini bread, and all sorts of things that I technically don't have to do.  I expect myself to go to church, and manage money wisely, and write every day, and try to help people, if I can. That's to say nothing of teaching my children how to be responsible, faithful adults when they get to that point in their lives, and making sure my husband knows he's the best husband on the planet.

I mostly do okay living up to the expectations other have of me, and I mostly do okay living up to the expectations I have of myself, but when I fail, it feels devastating. It feels like I'm not enough, that what I do isn't enough, and that who I am isn't enough.

So, yeah.  Expectations have a big hold on me.  Think about what expectations encourage you to do.

Welcome Home

Last month, my husband and I did the most grown-up thing we have ever done, and probably ever will do (aside from having kids, of course).  We bought a house.

Eek!  We bought a house!  (Yes, that is what happens in my head every time I say those words.  They are repeated with exclamation points, and squealed in a high-pitched voice that I can't duplicate outside my thoughts.)

And to welcome anyone that comes to said house, my husband bought Hopeful.

                                    

Cute, right?

Hopeful sits in his own little window overlooking the front porch.  

                                 

Can you see him in there?

So far, I've had three people either startled or laughing as I open the front door because they've just noticed the penguin checking them out.  What can I say?  Hopeful is a bit of a voyeur.

I'm hopeful that when the kids say goodbye to any future dates that may drop them off at the doorstep that there is a Hopeful voyeur watching everything they do.  And I'm hopeful they know that right behind that cute penguin is a dad polishing his rifles.  

I wish I could say I was kidding.

Taste the Sunshine

I look forward to this time of year.  It's fruit leather time!  As a kid, my grandma would pick and pick and pick apricots and then spend days blending them all up, adding dashes of sugar and lemon juice, then letting the sun dry it all out.  The taste was quintessential summer - tart and sweet and sunshine.  The fact that it stuck to teeth and tongue and cheeks didn't hurt either.

This year, I didn't have apricots enough to make leather, but I did have plums.  Never made plum anything before.  Turns out, tiny plums take a loooong time to pit.  Tiny plums are not sweet.  But add a dash of honey and some time in a dehydrator that my husband surprised me with, and ta-dah!  Fruit leather!

I sincerely hope that many of you get to eat something that brings back childhood summers.  Soon.

In My Defense

Nearly a year between blog posts.  That might be criminal in some areas.  Luckily, I'm still free and un-manacled, allowing me to post now.

You may remember this post where I talk about being diseased and how it's a lot of good times.  Turns out, I've been having those good times in spades lately.  Lots.

And while I could spend hours (and probably have) complaining about how much fun Hashimoto's disease can be, and has been, for me, I will spare you.  Hearing someone complain about their health is almost as fun as having the disease yourself.  I will simply give a statement:

I am winning, and if I'm not, I will pretend like I am.

That said, I am going back to life as I want it to be, and hope to see you there.

Anyone Have Chips?

As a kid I remember this time of year helping my mom bottle peaches and pears.  One of my favorite things to eat was toast dipped in the juices of that bottled fruit.  While I do have lots of bottles of peaches, only one of my kids actually likes to eat them, and he absolutely refuses to dip toast in it.

With that in mind, I decided to try bottling something different this year: Salsa!  Who doesn't like a good homemade salsa, right?

Evidently, my stove, countertop, and that little crack between the two of them that leads to the floorspace no one ever cleans unless they're moving, felt left out of the yummy food party.  So, like a good hostess, I left the party to those enjoying it, and took pictures.

After cleaning up that mess, this better be the best tasting salsa this side of the Rio Grande.

My kitchen stinks now.

Flora and Fauna

I was driving my car down Main Street to pick up my sister for our weekly date.  Something like this:

I stopped at a red light and picked up an unexpected passenger.  He looked something like this:

Actually, I think that Mantis is a girl.  You can tell by the delicate ankles.  *grin*  It landed on the windshield, swayed a little from the impact, and then hunkered down.  I pointed it out to my daughter who was in the car with me and we shared a little laugh.

Then the light turned green and we sped away.  Always obeying traffic laws, of course.  That little passenger must have had somewhere specific it was trying to go, because it stuck to my windshield like I was taking it to a cricket breeding ground where it would be crowned king, or queen, and be fed willing sacrifices for the rest of eternity.  Little Mantis lost ground a couple of times, sliding around corners or when I stopped, but it did not let go.

I carried that passenger for almost a mile before it found its happy hunting grounds.

A week later, another Praying Mantis stuck itself to my car.  No lie.

My daughter was again in the car with me when I pointed to the second passenger and said, "No way!"

She watched its precarious position with me for a few blocks before saying, "Mom, you know why they like our car don't you?"

"Uh..." I said, because I'm intelligent.

"Because it's a Leaf!"