The scariest Halloween video ever!

(another hat tip to my friend, Amy the Humble. She finds all this chilling information that keeps me up nights!)

The scariest Halloween picture ever!

(from my friend, Amy the Humble)

Tales from the church pew

Over the last few months I have been in the process of training the two-year-old boy to sit quietly in church. It's been quite the long process because, you see, this is not your typical boy. Or then again, maybe he is a typical boy. I don't have much boy experience. This boy, unlike my other extremely-compliant-always-did-as-he-was-told boy, does not have a nature conducive with sitting quietly for two hours. But, for those of you with restless, wiggly boys who only have an "outside voice", there is hope. Children are trainable. And, you don't have to lose your sanity in the process.

We began training the boy to sit through church in the fellowship hall. At our church, the service is piped to the fellowship hall via closed circuit television for mothers like me. I pulled two chairs side by side and had the boy sit in the chair next to me to simulate as best I could 'sitting in church'. At first we just sat through one hymn. Then two. Then through all the music. Then we added the Scripture reading and so on. Once I had him reasonably trained to sit fairly quietly downstairs, we moved upstairs on Sunday evenings since there are less people to disturb in the evening service. We sat upstairs through the music then went downstairs for the sermon. This continued until I finally made the leap and sat upstairs through an entire morning worship service. That was about two weeks ago and already there are enough funny stories to fill a scrapbook.

Sitting with the boy through a church service is akin to wrestling an alligator. Or an octopus. Or an octopus with the strength of an alligator. He is doing beautifully at staying quiet. He whispers continually through the whole service but at least it's a whisper. Most of the time. He loves the fellow that leads our music and has a tendency to shout hello to him anytime he notices him sitting up there in front. So, that is still an issue. I let him draw during church and he will occasionally put his pen to his ear and start talking to some imaginary friend on the telephone/pen. When he's doing this, he does not whisper. Last Sunday he elbowed me in the chin to which he sang out, "Sorry Mama!" He, of course, applauds wildly while cheering, "Yay!" after every prelude, hymn or instrumental offertory. These things all bring chuckles from the older folks who have been there and done that, smiles from the moms with children just past this stage because the memories are still fresh, and peals of laughter from the other children who are glad there is someone in the church acting up more than they ever did. It's nice to be a source of inspiration, I always say.

This Sunday, the boy started doing something new. He became, in the course of one Sunday morning, the Eye Police. During each and every prayer, he craned his neck around scanning the sanctuary for any perpetrator not adequately closing his or her eyes. Then he would shout out in his loudest whisper, "Close your eyes!" He did this to the visitors right behind us. He did this to his sister, Cindy Lou. He did this to our pastor even though I am QUITE sure the pastor had his eyes closed during his prayer. I can't be absolutely certain, however, because my eyes were slammed shut lest my boy announce to all within hearing distance of a loud whisper that his mother was not closing her eyes during the prayer. How embarrassing would that be?

And, so it goes. Hey, at least he was whispering and I celebrate that.

As a follow-up, here is a great article by the Headmistress, Children in Church. Read it. You'll love it!

A Slice of Yard Sale Heaven!

It was the kind of yard sale that makes your heart skip a beat when you walk up the driveway. Every where I looked there were things, wonderful things, that were just so.... ME! I found out this was the home of an elderly woman that either recently died or has been moved maybe to a nursing home. You don't want to ask such things out loud so I don't know for sure. But, her children were selling off all her worldly goods in the first of three garage sales. (I can HARDLY wait for two and three!) This elderly woman and I are obviously of one mind because everything she owned (aside from the Zip 'N Dash polyester robes) spoke to me. This was a cake decorating, quilting, gardening, juicing, healthy eating, classics reading, old hymnal loving, sunhat wearing woman. She was me in about 50 (or 60 or 70) years!

We loaded up the car, went to the ATM and came back for more. Here are a few of my favorite things. Note the beautiful sunhat, the Wilton cake decorating supplies - some still in their original packaging from years ago. They don't make cake pans like that anymore! Note the tart dishes, the jelly rolls, the heart-shaped wedding cake pan set, the graters, the five glass pie pans and so much more!

The most expensive thing, you ask? $5.00 for the wedding cake pan set which has NEVER BEEN USED! It still has the original labels in the bottom of the pans. This retails for $59.95. I LOVE the stainless steel colander. I love stainless steel everything! This woman cared about not using aluminum cookware. Her daughter told me she was a stickler for glass and stainless steel... just like me!

The books! Oh, the books! She loved herbs, alternative medicine, healthy eating, juicing, and vegetarian cooking... just like me! I wish I could have known her.
Each book was priced 25 cents. All those cake pans? 50 cents. The beautiful garden hat? 50 cents. There was also a HUGE box of cake decorating supplies; tips, icing bags, tip storage boxes, coupler rings and the like. $5.00.

Get this! At the next sale, they plan to pull out her quilting supplies! She has frames, leather thimbles, fabric, needles and scads of books!

Yes, I'm all tingly just thinking about it! Yes, they have my number.

This is what yard sales in heaven will be like. I'm certain of it.

This is what happens when you blink.

Perfect Pumpkiny Paradise!

A Tale of Three Potties

The potty training is underway for the boy. I'm sure you don't want ALL the details but I do have an observation to share on the potty training of sons. Remember it's been nearly twelve years since I last trained a son so things have changed in the potty chair market.

Thankfully I am an avid yard sale shopper so when I buy something that doesn't work, I don't have to cry too hard over wasted money. This is a good thing because early in the summer I bought this potty seat knowing that potty training season was soon upon us. It looked lovely and I had high hopes. The problem is, there is a certain part of the potty seat that ISN'T high, ahem, if you know what I mean. $3.00 lost. Disappointing, but not a tragedy.
Bye bye yard sale potty. It was time to pull out the big guns and head to Target. This was a problem only a brand new, store bought potty could solve. When I arrived at Target, I realized I had a problem. All the potties were lacking the necessary, ahem, construction to ward off multiple bathroom floor moppings. Thankfully, I had the boy with me so I pulled each and every potty off the shelf and sat him on it trying to gauge the reliability of the, ahem, guard thingy.

This one came up the highest and seemed to be the only one that would work. $16.00 later I was the proud owner of the potty frog. Don't waste your money... unless you have girls.

You see, the problem with the potty frog is that the eyes are not, ahem, wide enough to control that which needs to be controlled. See that little dip between the eyes? Why? Why would a potty chair designer put such a dip in a potty frog's eyes unless he has a rather diabolical sense of humor? I ask you.

Also, you have to straddle the frog potty like you're riding a horse. Not a comfortable position for sitting hours on end while your mother lays across the bathroom floor reading Goodnight Moon fifty-seven times. We were dealing with the mishaps and the discomforts, however, because we have our eye on the prize. Right, Noah?

Then I saw it. This past Saturday sitting in someone's front yard covered in frost (have I mentioned it's freezing here in the deep south?), framed in streaming rays of sunlight. THE potty seat of my dreams!! They don't make them like this anymore. Look at that beautiful guard thingy! Wide. Tall. Doesn't it make you tear up a little? Not only does it, ahem, contain that which should be contained... from all sides, even... it has songs that it plays when you are successful in your attempt! This is almost as thrilling for the boy as his tee tee candy! PLUS, the little flusher makes a flushing sound and the "toilet paper" plays a nice catchy potty tune for everyone's continual - and I do mean continual - enjoyment. It's really the perfect potty seat. I brought this thing of beauty home for only $5.00! OK, for those of you doing the math, it's a total of $24.00 spent on potty seats, but I have high hopes we've finally found a keeper!

I must compose a letter to the potty seat designers of the world and explain a few things to them. They obviously have no children. And, if they do, they must all be girls.

Seriously?

Sat

54°F 39°F

Sun

58°F 38°F

Um, could I get Al Gore's phone number, please? I want my money back.

I funny, Mama

This is my boy's new phrase. What he's really saying is, "I'm too cute to get in trouble, right?" You'll hear this phrase during these situations:

~ When he's just thrown your shatterproof cornucopia across the room shattering it to pieces.
"I funny, Mama!"

~When you finally catch him as he runs away squealing since you've told him it's time for bed.
"I funny, Mama!"

~When he heads to the front yard displaying his inner nudist after a bath.
"I funny, Mama!"

~When he beans you in the back of the head with his John Deere tractor as you're driving down the road.
"I funny, Mama!"

~When he talks out loud in church and you give him "the look".
"I funny, Mama!"

~When he pours all the crayons on to the floor.
"I funny, Mama!"

~When he opens the back gate and laughs uproariously as all four dogs tear off for parts unknown.
"I funny, Mama!"

~When he colors the part in his hair with a Sharpie.
"I funny, Mama!"

The problem... he IS funny! Hilariously funny! And, it's hard for a mother with her eye on proper discipline to keep a straight face much less actually do any disciplining.

It's official.

He's got me wrapped around his little finger. And, he knows it.

I'm sunk.

For your next round of Trivial Pursuit...

Here is an interesting bit of trivia on a prize that has become trivial.

An excerpt:

"But the prize has been used as a weapon, too. A Nobel to Carter, a Nobel to Gore, a Nobel to Obama. It appears that the parliament of Norway does not like George W. Bush very much. Carter was given a prize for negotiating a nuclear non-proliferation agreement with North Korea that was violated almost immediately. Gore's came just before his global warming hypothesis began to unravel among serious scientists and practically anyone else with a thermometer. Obama got one, well, just for being Obama. Or, more to the point, for not being Bush.

And let's not forget Arafat. Alfred Nobel tried to buy atonement from the intellectual world for the 'sin' of creating an explosive. But in 1994, in its finite wisdom, the Nobel committee bestowed his prize on the greatest recruiter of suicide bombers in history."

The Nobel Peace Prize is neither noble nor peaceful... discuss.

I really hoped to make it at least a week without having to talk about Obama. I was my intention to do so. Hey! According to the standards of the Nobel Peace Prize Committee, I qualify for a Nobel Peace Prize! I'll wait by the mailbox for mine to arrive since they are passing them out like Cracker Jack toys apparently. Wait. You do have to do something for a Cracker Jack toy (purchase the box, open it, dig down to the bottom and so on) so that probably isn't a good analogy.

When I awoke this morning to the news that Barack Obama had won the Nobel Peace Prize I realized we have officially arrived in The Twilight Zone. Can anything be more ridiculous than that? Let's discuss the issue of the nomination deadline of February 1st. The man had been president for less than TWO WEEKS! What could any one human being do to earn a Nobel Peace Prize in two weeks? A more pointed question, what did this man do to earn a Nobel Peace Prize in two weeks?

:: crickets :: :: crickets ::

I know.

Of course, it has been a fun day. The whole thing is so ludicrous that very funny people have been making me laugh myself hoarse. My facebook friends have been chiming in. One of them said she heard Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize in Physics... for walking on water. Another said that Randy, Simon and Paula must have been the judges. Rush Limbaugh said that now Obama's head is big enough to fit his ears. And, Glenn Beck awarded himself Oscars, Grammys, Lifetime Achievement Awards and even honorary degrees from Harvard and Cambridge... all for his good intentions. I laughed. Oh, how I have laughed. The fodder for the late night comics will last for eons.

But, you know me. There is a closet conspiracy theorist hiding deep within. As funny as it is and as much as I have guffawed with the rest of you, I have to ask myself why. Why did they give him this award? Oh, I know that the Nobel Peace Prize lost all integrity when they gave it to Al Gore. But, still.

I have my ideas. It comes on the heels of a SNL skit from last Saturday night. I heard the buzz about the SNL skit on the blogs and I went and watched. It was truly amazing. They ripped into Barack Obama like he was George Bush or Sarah Palin. I was puzzled though. The SNL people have never criticized Obama that I'm aware of (and granted I do NOT watch that show so I only see things when they get noticed in blogdom). But, this skit. It was brutal. It pointed out everything that Obama has not done that he promised to do. It listed them. There was one point in the skit where the Obama character said he had full control of the House and the Senate and he could do anything he pleased... if he wanted to... but he hasn't done it. Hmmm. Could it be that Hollywood was sending Obama a message? The message that he has the power to do whatever he wants? That he best get to work and do all the nutty things they paid for when they bought him into office? Could they be telling him to quit dragging his heels?

Then today. Nobel Peace Prize, eh? Could it be... and I'm just throwing this out there. Could it be that the international community is hailing Obama as a man of peace and disarmament and good intentions as a message that he had best be all those things? A message that he had best not increase troops in Afghanistan? A message that he best not do anything to tarnish his 'global image'?

I'm just thinking out loud here but I'm wondering who controls Obama. How much of an empty suit is he? Are his strings being pulled by a much bigger 'machine' that is controlled by the likes of unsavory dictators, Wall Street goons, power hungry special interests, and filthy rich Hollywood dolts?

Nah! That's crazy talk.

Welcome to BEAKingham Palace!

I forgot to mention the gals yesterday when rattling through my updates of man and beast alike. This happens when you have eight humans, two felines, four canines, one rabbit, eight fowl and 938 bees to remember. That's a lot for a little homesteader like me.

The ladies have forgiven me since I promised to show off their new digs compliments of Mr. P, master-builder-of-chicken-castles. The old chicken coop was just so 'last week'. You had to bend over to get into it. It was not Shelby The Serial Chicken Killer proof (Sally and Nelson, may you rest in peace). And, it was prone to mudslides. It's been a very rainy summer.

Armed with this list of problems and a few months of chicken wrangling experience under his belt, Mr. P set to work to design a castle fit for chicken royalty. Here is the newly unveiled chicken castle affectionately known as Beakingham Palace.

Notice the marble flooring. Only the best for our semi-free range, organic laying ladies. There is the magnificent Shelby The Serial Chicken Killer proof door with two - count 'em - TWO latches. Even a egg-starved raccoon with a PhD could not infiltrate this complicated security system.

Because we long to be Amish and also have a love affair with the Ingalls, Mr. P installed this Pa-approved door latch on the ladies' nesting area. It lifts up just like Laura and Mary's barn door latch much to the delight of our own prairie loving daughters.

Notice the spacious interior and the bright sunny breezeway. The laying house has a wonderful newly installed leak-free metal roof with wall to wall fragrant fresh hay replaced daily. This is what we call Chicken Love Language on the farmette.

Poppy is happiest with the feature of the chicken door. She can open and close it while standing upright with one hand. The other door took two arms and a bit of a gymnast's contortion pose to close. At night in the dark and the rain, this was a rather unpleasant task. So, she tells me. Not that I ever experienced it myself. I had a baby to rock. Or hair to wash. Or nails to do. I'm VERY busy when it's time for chicken chores.

Poppy loves her little princesses. She sits with them, kisses them, wraps them in baby blankets and strolls them through the neighborhood. The girl is going to make a fine farmer's wife someday... that is, if she can find a farmer that doesn't mind a chicken in a high chair at the dinner table. We'll wait and see how that works out.

The ladies are giving us about six to eight eggs a day which is a LOT of eggs people! Our friends and family have been the recipients of our massive overages. One can only serve omelets for dinner so many times a week before the children turn on you.

They are delightful to watch and my favorite thing is to see them trying to peck Poppy's earrings right out of her ears. That's not Poppy's favorite thing but it is quite a hoot from outside the Palace walls. You'll have to trust me on that one.