Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

So I had a wonderful experience last night. To tell the story properly, I must give some background. Our basement has been in a state of remodel for the last ten years. (See here for bathroom story.) Two years ago, my dear husband finished framing the walls and I got my storage room back. I painted it and filled it with boxes and general clutter. The only problem was that he never finished the light for the room. So we've had electrical wires hanging out in two places on the wall right inside room. Wires that weren't covered with those cute colored electrical caps. (Can you see where I'm going with this?)

Last night, I went to store some shoes for Sunshine and I guess I hit against the wires with my hip, and there were some sparks, and, well, my pants caught on fire. Not badly, but how bad does it really have to be? It melted a corner of my pocket and blackened a nice area on my favorite capris.

I was a little upset. I called my dear husband and left him a voice message. I'm guessing that I sounded pretty pissy because when he came home he headed for the basement and fixed the light.

So, guess what? I have a light in my storage room! It only took two years and one hour. And a sacrificial pair of pants. Yeah!

Human racetrack/cushion

Yesterday, being Sunday, we went to church. Sick hubby stayed home and left me to entertain five children for an hour in the chapel. Little Sunshine (3) was not cooperating and I had to half drag him into the church. He wanted to go home and be sick with daddy. So when he sat on my lap and pulled out his cars to play, I was very thankful. I was even okay when he used my arms as racetracks. But when he decided to connect the two racetracks, and "leave them here" meant crossing my fingers and holding my arms at an awkward position, I had a few problems. But when I moved, he got louder. So what is a mom supposed to do? Yes, I sat there, arms aching, while he raced his cars up and down my arms. I even laughed when he decided that my shirt sleeves were garages and put the cars up my sleeves. The things we do to keep kids quiet.

Supermom hits a brick wall

So, what happens when supermom has surgery on her foot and has to use crutches for two weeks? Her superkids come to the rescue.

I spent last weekend plopped on the couch with my foot propelled in the air with a pile of pillows. I was told I could get up to go pee. That was it. I was to stay put for three days. Luckily, I didn't really think through the whole surgery idea and its consequences, or I would probably still be hobbling around on a sore foot instead of clomping around on crutches.

My husband stayed home on the day of the surgery and took care of me. He did really great on Saturday too. By Sunday, he was tired of playing foot maid to the surgery queen. I don't blame him. I'm rather obsessive compulsive and get upset easily when you stir my hot chocolate with the big spoon instead of the little one, or set the remote control down on my left side instead of my right. Well, maybe I'm not quite that bad. Okay, yes I am.

I was really worried about Monday morning. I had to get the kids off to school, get myself off to school, and go to work that night. However, superkids came to my rescue. They fought over who got to make my hot chocolate and who got to toast the bagels.

My Ellie has been very awesome. She has inherited her mother's obsessive behaviors (bless her heart) and she is really great at doing everything I need without my asking her - and exactly the way I would do it. Our dog has been on antibiotics. I asked her to fix a snack for him with his pill. This is a true show of her tendancies.

"Ellie, get the baggie down that has a piece of bread in it and tear off a piece. Then put a little bit of peanut butter on the bread, push the pill inside it, and fold it in half." Ellie gets everything down from the cupboard and sets in out. She tears a piece of bread. Then she says, "What side should I put the peanut butter on?"

Oh yes, I am raising a child to be just like me. I've apologized to her many times. At least I can help teach her how to overcome the obsession. Like I have. Really. Okay, not.

Anyway, I have been very humbled. I cannot do everything. I have found out how to carry a glass of water (okay, a can of Dr. Pepper) across the floor without spilling it. I hop around a lot in the kitchen and can clean for about 10 minutes before my "hopping" foot hurts too badly. I can sit on the folding table in the laundry room and fold clothes. I can even make my bed. But there is a lot that I can't do - and it takes four times as long to do it. I have had to resign myself to the fact that my house is not going to be spotless for the next few weeks, and I have to stop looking in the kitchen so I don't cringe at the mess. Recovery from hitting a brick wall takes a little time.

Back to shoes

My oldest daughter boobear needed new church shoes this past weekend and I needed to find some way cool shoes to go with my new skirt. I decided to take along the other girls. Little jellybean informed me that she did not have any church shoes that fit either and needed some new ones. So I helped her look for some too. It didn't go too well. Jellybean has a mind of her own and is a distant relative of the 6th dwarf in Snow White, Grumpy. The combination makes me want to scream and pull my hair at the same time. And then go drink something strong. Like a Dr. Pepper.

So after looking at several stores, pulling her through the departments, and trying to ignore the whining, I decided that I was done with her and she would be going home. As soon as we got to the car. And drove there. After I deposited her on the doorstep and went to get in the car, she decided to go onto the front deck and yell at me. "What am I supposed to wear for church, huh mom? I don't have ANY shoes!" And if that wasn't enough, after being ignored, she thought she'd call me. (Imagine an ultra-whiny voice, with a hint of snotty.) "Mom, what am I going to wear, all my shoes are too small and hurt my feet. You said I could get some shoes. Why did you take me home if I can get some shoes?"

So, since I drove to the next store laden with guilt, I found her a pair of shoes and brought them home. (I paid for them first.) Did she like them? Oh, hello! Of course not. So now I have to take back the shoes and find her more. Except, and this is the best part...I found three pairs of church shoes, one pair of brown dress boots, and one pair of black dress boots...all in her closet. They were carefully hidden, but I found them. Isn't she cute?

I am a college student - yes I am

So I have completed my second week of college and have so much writing material available that I don't know where to start. So I think I'll tell you about my first day and a classmate's shoes. Yes, shoes. Always a good topic.

I was waiting outside the classroom for my French teacher to show up and unlock the door. Other students began appearing, and we all stood in the narrow hallway and looked at each other. Surprisingly, I felt like a part of them. When I first tried going to school after being married it felt really strange. Doesn't feel strange anymore. Guess I've reached the "I'm 35 years old and don't care anymore" point of life. It feels good. Anyway...

Along comes this cute little college student, in a very pretty, flower-printed sundress. And shoes. Silver pointy shoes. I am quite proud of myself for supressing my laughter. I don't think my eyes even twinged. I thought about her all day - walking to classes, which consists of buildings that are approximately 2 miles apart from each other. In silver pointy shoes. And I was very glad that I had chosen my cushy Sketchers.

I'm REALLY liking school. It's a very different approach from my previous college experience. Mainly because I am interested in learning what is being taught and not just coasting my way through class so I can check another credit off my list.

I can converse in French. Well, if you want to know my name, nationality, and marital status - then I can converse in French. See... Bonjour. J'mappelle Colleen Henstra. Je suis americaine. Je suis mariee. Impressed? My kids are. I tell them something in French and they are so marveled at their mom that they begin laughing. Then they tell me that I'm funny. Not really sure what that is about; I haven't learned any French jokes yet.

Shakespeare anyone?

Oh that I might convey my words unto such as thee.

However, I don't really have much to say about my trip, except ... I'm home! The plays were fantastic-o and, um, well, did I say I really liked the plays?

Shakespeare rocks.

Just call me Gullible

Last year, some co-workers invited me on a trip to Cedar City for the Shakespearean Festival. I was being nice. I said it sounded fun and I would like to go. Like, being the operative word here. Like, as in not a need, but a wish, a dream, not a reality.

Next thing I knew, she had bought the tickets and told me I could pay her back with my next paycheck. I was really shocked, mostly because I didn't really think I would go, and I definately didn't think someone would just buy the tickets and expect reimbursement.

However, I was in a funny position because the person was my supervisor, so I handed over my money. I think this is how I ended up bringing the turkey for our Thanksgiving potluck last year too. And the hotdogs for the summer BBQ.

Anyway, I leave on the trip tomorrow. My friend at work was supposed to go with us but backed out at the last minute, leaving me with my supervisor and her friend. They are dressing up. Like Shakespearean people. And walking around like that. Where people can see them. I'm a little unnerved by the idea. I don't draw attention to myself on purpose.

So I'm packed and ready to go on a trip I didn't want to take. It should be fun. Well, maybe not. At least I'll have something to write home about.