I'll Always be a Treasure House Kid (to the tune of the old Toys R Us commercial. you're welcome)

Hey, look at me! I got up early again today. Sure, I'm skipping Boot Camp (now imagine me making a guilty expression) but I missed every single one this summer (due to legitimate reasons like being out of town) and now the thought of Boot Camp makes me want to die. Or, rather, makes me think about how hard it will be to get back into and how hot and humid it is outside and how I will be lying in a pool of sweat feeling like death.

So I'm opting for coffee and quiet time this morning. I hear the peaceful sounds of coffee brewing and people sleeping and cats slinking. Yes, this is the right choice for today.

As of yesterday I have a newfound love: dumpster diving. Well, technically not diving because I'm pretty sure that getting in a dumpster is illegal... but... that's neither here nor there. On Sunday I noticed a big broken shelf in a trash pile and grabbed it out. After some repair (free, simple, and highly entertaining to Nils) and some paint (leftover in our garage) and some sandpaper distressing... I SOLD IT.

Um, can I tell you how fun that was?! I saved real wood from certain doom of the dump. I had a lot of fun making something very cool. I made money! Yes, this will be addicting. I already have a few other projects going now. The shelf was actually the second thing I've rehabbed for free and sold lately. Hooked. I'm hooked.

Day Three of My Captivity

I'm looking at DAY THREE stuck in our house.

So yeah, I don't have much of interest to blog about right now.

I've been barfed on six times in the last twenty-four hours. Surprisingly, that doesn't bother me. It exhausts me... but doesn't gross me out like I would have thought. Maybe because comforting my sweet Nils is more important than worrying about the vomit. Or maybe because I've spent my entire life as a barfer (oh man, I throw up easily) so vomit is commonplace rather than totally gross. Who knows.

Chris came home with a huge container of bath salts and a new candle and sent me straight into a hot bathtub. And while I was soaking away the smell of vomit, he dealt with the insurance mumbo jumbo that's been annoying me.

Last night included one vomiting child incident so I slept a portion of the night on his floor. At some point I awoke and wanted to move to my bed only to discover both of my legs were asleep. It was quite painful and comical. I ended up literally crawling to the couch where I once again attempted to stand twice, and collapsed twice, before turning into She-Ra and just using my upperbody to toss myself onto the couch. I slept there until I heard Nils throwing up again. I awoke Chris and upon going to Nils' bed, found that I must have dreamed the throwing up as Nils was fast asleep.

This morning began with coffee, more vomit, and more coffee. I miraculously got Nils to fall back asleep and wound up taking a nap as well. More coffee. More laundry. More of a day inside. I'm getting cabin fever and it might be getting weird around here. I desperately needed to get to the grocery store days ago. And needed a haircut last week that I put off until this week. So... that's a bummer.

If you would like to talk to me conversational choices are limited to Sir Ernest Shackleton, Eric Weihenmayer, Mt. Everest's Death Zone, our upcoming vacation, and Lorna's backstory on Orange is the New Black. Anything else and I can assure you I am only pretending to listen.

How to Clean Your House With Kids

I saw a website recently that had printable instructions on how to clean your house. Like, a step-by-step checklist to get your house clean.

The first step was to "pick up everything in every room."

Clearly this author doesn't have small children. I nearly snorted coffee out of my nose reading her instructions. If I cleaned my house by that list it would NEVER be clean. Ever. There is no point in picking up toys. Children see a clean room not as a clean room but as an opportunity. A clean room is like a blank canvas.

Here are my rules for cleaning a house if you have small children:

Step One: Invite someone over. This step is crucial as it will give you a deadline and purpose.
Step Two: Clean the master bedroom. This should take about 5 minutes regardless of how messy it is. Put away any laundry stacked up on the dresser. Shove all shoes back into the closet. Make the bed. Vacuum. Dust. Done. Close the master bedroom door and forbid anyone from entering on penalty of death. Or worse, penalty of lost gummies.
Step Three: Clean the dining room. Put away the stacks of laundry covering the table. Wipe it down. Floors will be done later.
Step Four: Kitchen. Put away everything strewn all over the counters. Anything that doesn't have a home should be shoved into a basket for later organization. You know, the basket full of papers from 2014. Wipe the cabinets. Wipe the counters. Leave floors for later.
Step Five: Living room. Get out the vacuum and pick up as you go. The vacuum is essential to this process as children believe it will eat toys and they will screech and scream and run in front of you "saving their toys" aka cleaning up the living room.
Step Six: Floors. Vacuum the entire house with the Step Five method. Mop tile floors.
Step Seven: Twenty minutes before guests arrive remember you have not yet cleaned the bathroom. Run through that sucker as quickly as possible. Don't try to clean the bathroom before then... the kids will just go in and brush their teeth (how does so much toothpaste get on the counter?!). Always leave the bathroom for last.

Badda Bing Badda Boom. Clean house in 7 simple steps.

Optional Step 8: think to oneself "hm. perhaps I should dust..." (said the woman with a major dust allergy) and wander around the house with a damp cloth during that weird interim when waiting for guests to arrive. Remember that it's been a while since cleaning the master bathroom and make a mental note to do that at some point in the future.

Yes, this is really how our house gets clean. Stay tuned for tips on how to declutter.

Okay, here it is: one step to declutter...
Don't let empty diaper boxes leave your house unless they are full of stuff to drop off at Goodwill. I never recycle those big boxes. I put them on my dresser and slowly (or not so slowly) fill them with stuff to get rid of. Voila! Constantly decluttering.

This Morning

This morning I can't help but wonder how many Americans who are angry, scared, prejudiced against Muslims have ever actually really known anyone who is Muslim.

This morning I am worn out from yesterday... a day that began full of promise and list item check-offing. A day that crashed into a migraine with aura (the worst scariest kind), a sore upper back (the spot on my body where I used to repeatedly pull the same muscle and thus was freaked out that I might pull it again and be unable to move for days), and a sick Nils. Luckily, migraines with aura (though I lose my vision due to the aura and they hit fast and hard) don't tend to last very long (a few hours) so I was out of bed by the evening and able to help Chris when he found that Nils had thrown up in his bed and merely scooted over and gone back to sleep. So, with sore head and sore back I slept on Nils' floor and awoke periodically with him to "shush" him back into slumber.

This morning I keep thinking about Sarah Condon's latest for Mockingbird: Of Lice and Life and the Relief of Naming the Mother in the Room. Yes, yes, that resonates around here.

This morning I am relieved to have an email from the church where I have been the guest speaker as of late, telling me that people have been talking about the topic and anyone who has missed one has been worried about what they missed. Whew. I put so much work into teaching and it's hard to tell if people care or not. It's nice to know when they care.

This morning I'm thinking about the things that I can do while staying home all day with poor Nils. Laundry of course... because there is always freaking laundry. Perhaps I should pack for the wedding. Thanks to Kelly, grandmothers expect kids' hand print ornaments every year so I better get those rolling. I shouldn't complain because they are awesome and I'm happy to have them as well... but dang, Kel, you couldn't have chosen easier hand print ornaments to make each year than sewing them?! Those are a labor of love far above and beyond any pot of caramel corn.

This morning kids are watching Thomas the Tank Engine and I'm just thinking about how someday they'll be old enough to watch 30 Rock and they'll be like, "what is this crap? This is so weird! What year is this from?... and wait... I know that voice... is that guy the narrator from Thomas?!" and I'll just say, "Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice!"

Rejoice! Rejoice!

Sometimes a few days at home is just what the doctor ordered. And no, I don't mean my own grown-up life-in-suburbia two-kids-and-two-cats home. I mean home home. ET phone home. Big Money Texas. Beaumont, y'all. There's just something about driving down I-10 and seeing a huge alligator welcome you to Beaumont that just screams... well, I'm not sure what that screams actually... something.

Ah, yes, a few days at home with my family was wonderful. I slept in my own room. Well, for like five seconds. I slept in Hunter's room for two nights as I crashed while tucking in C and spent a few sleepless nights shushing N from Kelly's bed as well. Evidently we like to leave my mother with sheets to wash on every single bed. Sorry, Mom. Carolena came home talking about how the Piney Woods make you sneeze to which I like to respond in a weird creepy Cajun/country/made up accent, "Yyyeeeeppp, that's liiife behiiind the piiiine currrtain. I was born in that there briar patch."

I never claim(ed) to be normal.

We ate fabulous food (but awesomely not toooo much of it), danced the Charleston (because, duh), played games (nope, other people did that. I read BFrank's bio), and were just happy to all be together.

But, as all good things must come to an end, Saturday morning arrived and the piney woods had taken their toll. My sinuses have forgotten how to survive in such extreme circumstances. My children were exhausted. My mother was remembering her own Benjamin Franklin research ("fish and visitors" you know). So we loaded up the plethora of Coke glasses I'd reclaimed from the attic (I'm sure Chris is thrilled) and headed home.

We came home with a pile of dirty laundry (because I did not heed my mother's advice to wash it before leaving) and arrived to a completely empty refrigerator. So I started a load of laundry and hopped out to the grocery store.

Chris tossed our bags into our bedroom and we started hauling down the Christmas decorations. A tree was purchased and decorated. Lights were strung up outside. I pulled out white paper and started cutting out snowflakes galore. I have priorities after all. The laundry will eventually get done. The grocery buying can wait. But the joy and anticipation of Advent? The excitement and wonder of incarnation? The mystery of love and God among us in a hurting and war-torn world? Yeah, I'm ready to get into that. So we pulled out the things that we claim as "Christmas" and started pouring them all over our household. There is so much in this world that I can't control. There is so much anger and hate and hurt. But you know what I can control? Whether or not there is a 7ft tree taking up residence in the living room. Yeah, we're ready for Advent. We're ready for a season of hope. A season of reflecting on peace, on Emmanuel.

So this morning we awoke to a twinkling Christmas tree. A good-smelling-happiness-inducing slice of Advent. A reminder of hope. A reminder of peace. A reminder that God is with us. Nils stares at it in impish wonder and joy. His face glows in merriment that can't be contained nor described. "Tree! Tree!" he exclaims while dancing and pointing. Carolena sighs and stares dreamily at its twinkling lights. They know nothing of the hurt and pain of the world. They know only of love and comfort and joy. Children at Christmas time. I'm just ready for that.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

Dance Fever

Carolena never naps.
Never.
Hardly ever.
Okay, so when Carolena naps you know something is amiss.
"Something" to the tune of "get the thermometer."
Maybe no naps is a first Svendsen girl thing?
So yesterday when both children were sleeping at 3pm I should have known. I should have known that meant my Wednesday "study day" would be gone. I should have realized that both kids would be home from school today. I should have studied. I should have cleaned the kitchen. I should have studied! I should have ironed. I should have studied!! I should have thought to use that time wisely, very wisely.
I didn't.
Or did I?
I did THIS.
Luckily I could teach the Good Samaritan, Mary/Martha, and Prodigal Son in my sleep (famous last words) and hey, there's always Friday and Saturday to review! So studying is overrated.

Hmmm... I wonder how Sunday's crowd would feel about practicing the Charleston instead...

I'm Being Swallowed By a Boa Constrictor...

Oh no, oh no, he swallowed my toe! He swallowed my toe!

With two little ones under the age of five and a second (very loveable but sometimes somewhat demanding) spouse named "the Church," life involves a lot of squeezing right now. Squeezing in the things that have to happen like laundry and dinner and vestry meetings and working to fill them with love as best we can rather than stress. My little helper monkeys folding laundry help to fill that task with love (and wrinkles) and the combination of working ahead, a freezer, and a crock pot sure does fill our dinners with less stress and more love. And pizza and a movie as the standing vestry night activity around here will forever be what my children think "vestry" means. Someday they'll be active adults in a parish, run for vestry, and be disappointed to discover that the meeting doesn't mean hitting up the redbox (or future equivalent), tossing on pajamas, and spreading "the pizza blanket" across the living room.

I don't have time for squeezing in Facebook or watching tv or movies. But I do have time for crafting with my kids. And baking a freezer full of baked goods for the school fall fair. And squeezing in the library, and decorating for Halloween (it's an on-going creative process around here), and more baking for the school fair. I've squeezed in time for reading for fun falling asleep snuggled with my book (Into the Wild at the moment) and am exactly one week ahead in my work on the Gospel of Mark... which isn't as good as it sounds because I really need to squeeze in the end of that and get to work on Luke! Yikes!

We've squeezed in ballet lessons, and pumpkin patches, and plenty of spontaneous family dance parties... most of which are initiated by Nils hearing a song he likes on Pandora and yelling "come on! come on!" dancing around the den. He loves my "Proud Mary" station. We're also squeezing in more than enough time for preschool humor knock-knock jokes. Nils loves those as well and has already added his own to the mix... spoiler alert: boy humor evidently begins before the age of two. You don't want to answer the door if he says "knock knock!"

I'm squeezing in my early morning workouts. We're squeezing in special family time being sure to mark it off in advance on the calendar... because we're taking the wisdom of older, wiser clergy families and refusing to let our family get squeezed out. And in the midst of all of the squeezing we find rejoicing and prayer and thanksgiving. Constant thanksgiving.

I'm being swallowed by a boa constrictor... but I'm a Syltherin so it's just fine. We're doing alright. We'll just toss the boa a party hat and invite it to the next Proud Mary living room dance party.

“after all, the best part of a holiday is perhaps not so much to be resting yourself, as to see all the other fellows busy working.”

When it's fall, fall is my favorite season. When it's "winter," "winter" is my favorite (it gets quotation marks because... well... Texas) but, man oh man, when summer comes...

 

There's just something about summer. I think it's because I live in a southern state on the coast that just makes it so darn easy to celebrate summer. I love the fall, but its hard to do fall-like things everyday when you're still wearing short sleeves and sweating buckets. In fact, just read that sentence again and substitute the word "winter" in for fall. Spring is fun... but mainly as a precursor to the jubilant summer. In fact, right now it technically still is spring... but we're calling it summer. We start the summer season early and stretch it out for as long as possible because we've got a lot of hot and sweaty months to spend along the waterfronts down here.

As mentioned and mentioned and mentioned, we kicked off summer '15 with one of my favorite vacations ever. We came back home and immediately went into my "rule" of doing something fun and summer-y every single day. So, we got a new kid pool (last year's cracked) and put up a clothes line for hanging wet clothes and towels. Carolena really wants to start hanging all of our clothes on it from the washing machine. I could totally dig that if it weren't going to be more work for me... but I mean... I'm barely keeping Mount Everest at bay here. Perhaps I'll throw the sheets out there sometimes. That does sound wonderful.

The pool has been thoroughly inaugurated through both a party with Carolena's school friends (a smashing success except for the moment when I realized there were sugar ants in the cupcakes. Did I mention the friends with "cake ladies" were there?) and a family impromptu water fight last night. Taco dinner is postponed to tonight and peanut butter sandwiches were consumed yesterday as we spent all of dinner time waging a water war in our backyard.

I told Chris and Carolena that I want our house to stay clean all summer so that any time we ever want to invite friends over we can. So far so good. The goal is to have people over on a whim any time we feel like it. I see that Tuesday is Donald Duck's birthday and Thursday is Kamehameha Day (luau anyone?) and Sunday is National Bourbon Day and Strawberry Shortcake Day so it looks like we have a lot to celebrate just this week alone.

I plan for us to spend the summer with iced teas and mint juleps and lemonade and popsicles and cookouts and the bubble machine and good books and good friends and our back deck and the splash pad and the ymca and the beach and well... you get the picture. Join me if you're interested.

“This day was the first of many similar ones for the emancipated Mole, each of them longer and full of interest as the ripening summer moved onward. He learnt to swim and to row, and entered into the joy of running water; and with his ear to the reed-stems he caught, at intervals, something of what the wind went whispering so constantly among them.” The Wind in the Willows

Elementary

First, and most importantly, The Mysterious Case of the Six Migraines in Six Weeks:
As it turns out the birth control my doctor had prescribed comes with a warning that women who get migraines with aura shouldn't take that pill. So THAT explains why I felt sick and on the verge of a migraine every single day for the last two months. Case Closed. And yes, it's lent, but can I get a Halleluiah?!

Second, The Mystery of the Mount Everest Laundry Pile:
As you know from my whining, I do an enormous amount of laundry. I just couldn't figure out why it seems like we have so much freaking laundry to do all of the time! We even have a supersized washing machine and dryer! Then, finally after years of pondering, the obvious reason came to me: I use cloth napkins and cloth towels every single day. Oh. Duh. Combine that with cloth diapers and a girl who seems to change outfits fifty times a day and yes, I do have more than the average mom's pile of laundry. Now that I have the reason (and believe that it's worth the laundry) I will stop whining. Case Closed.

Broken

When Chris gets home after being out of town for a week he is going to find me chugging coffee, and he'll wonder what happened to my decaf resolve. And I will cite Day One when I used my entire week's worth of patience on a game of Memory. And Day Two when I awoke at 6 am to a boy and a crib covered in poop.

Last week I said to my mother, "Hey! Want to come over while Chris is out of town? Not because I will be floundering and needing help desperately, but because it will be fun and we can watch chick flicks."

I'm outnumbered and they poop and eat and talk and talk and talk.

Help!

Thank God mi madre arrives today. Day Two and I am a broken woman. Now, where is my cup of coffee?

Universal Laws of Motherhood

Universal Law of Motherhood #317
If your child randomly falls of off his or her chair for no apparent reason, he or she will be holding a full open-lidded cup containing any beverage other than water.

9:15 (am of course. pm is bedtime)

At 420 my alarm went off just as I was about to open a box full of Kathy Orgain's fruitcake (which was evidently very exciting in dream world. Does she even make fruitcake? I don't know - but I have had her cookies... mmmm). Literally, I was lifting the lid when the alarm went off.

At 545 I found myself lying on the floor in a pool of my own sweat while a small woman who looks strikingly similar to Kate Hudsen told me that while I was down there I should do some pushups. On one leg. So I did.

At 630 I walked through the door to a dark quiet calm house.
At 631 I heard Carolena yell, "Hi Mommy! Nils and I are awake!" and Nils began screaming.
At 632 I found a boy covered covered in poop.

At 645 both kids were relaxing the in the bathtub eating waffles. Turns out breakfast bathtime isn't a bad idea.

At 715 I drank a second cup of coffee

8something Chris (who gets credit for washing out poopy sheets and clothes) and Carolena headed out for some errand running

830 Nils helped me start sorting through toys and reorganizing... it goes without saying that it is now worse than when we started.

905 and Nils is in his bed loudly protesting his nap. Laundry is going and going. Ella, Frank, and Billie on the playlist. I'm ready for a hot bath with a good book. And perhaps another swig or two of coffee.

The Very Thirsty Butterfly

The Very Thirsty Butterfly
A sequel

Once upon a time there was a very hungry caterpillar. She ate and ate and ate until she turned into a chrysalis and yadda yadda yadda.

Then the beautiful butterfly had some caterpillar babies and that is where this tale begins.

The very thirsty butterfly was now a mother. And thus, her life was crazy. And that was what transformed her from a butterfly... into a very thirsty butterfly. She changed diapers and did laundry and fed those very very hungry caterpillars. So, she drank coffee. She cleaned the house (sometimes) and did more laundry and fed those very hungry caterpillars some more. Then she reheated yesterday's old cup of joe. She went grocery shopping and ran errands and did more laundry. She drank coffee by the gallon.

Night came and the very thirsty butterfly fed hungry caterpillars and bathed them and tucked them in. Then the very thirsty butterfly settled down on the couch with hopes of getting up for a glass of wine after just "resting her eyes for a minute..." but awoke a few hours later to find it was time for her to peel herself off the couch, take out her contacts, and get in bed.

Morning came and the very thirsty butterfly brewed another pot.

Wove and Mawwiage

I think the key to a healthy marriage is forgiveness.

Clearly you should take my word for it, I've been married all of 8.5 years.

Seriously though, it's forgiveness.

Sometimes you have to forgive your husband for telling the pregnant woman that you said you already could tell she was pregnant. I thought I'd said that in private.

Sometimes you have to forgive your wife for getting rid of your expensive comfortable desk chair because "it was ugly." I was young and stupid.

Sometimes you have to forgive your husband for undercooking her steak. I need to drink more wine before I eat something that can still moo.

Sometimes you have to forgive your wife for calling you and saying, "dinner is a huge burned mess please come home with pizza." Heh, yeahh...

Sometimes you have to forgive your husband for repeatedly leaving his clothes on the bathtub ledge.
Sometimes you have to forgive your wife for repeatedly leaving her clothes anywhere she damn well pleases.

Sometimes you have to forgive your wife for blogging about you.

Wove and Mawwiage... forgiveness is the key.

Clergy Spouse Confessions

Life on this side of the church can be strange. Beautiful. But strange. Especially when it comes to the laundry.

Recently I washed what I would estimate to be 30,000 white tablecloths belonging to our church. Is that my job? No. Was I happy to do it? Sure. I'm a mom. What's a few more loads of laundry? Like a few more drops to Niagara. Plus, I like helping out in ways that require little more than dumping things into the washing machine, dryer, and then sending them out the door with my hubby. That's easy cheesey. Yumm... cheese...

The laundry around here can get weird though. It seems common place now to search black shirt collars for forgotten collar studs abandoned by their wearer and sure to rip holes in my bed sheets (true story - the hole was totally round like a crop circle).

Black shirts fade to gray and yet continue to fall out of my dryer warm and ready to be hung. No need for ironing work shirts around here.

Albs are a different story. When I head toward our laundry room and see a large white ghost hanging out nearby it I know it's time for the oxiclean. Ring around the collar (eeww - tmi), port wine stains (yummm... wine...), and candle drippings are just a few of the things that can grace the alb. Have you ever ironed a huge tablecloth that has a hood and billowing sleeves? Yes? Great, then you're ready to be part of a clergy family.

Our laundry is never ending. If I were to write one of those online quizzes titled something like, "Are you ready to be a Mom?" one of the questions would be, "To what degree is your sanity based on the amount of laundry you do?" and if people answer in such a way that demonstrates a strong correlation between amount of laundry looming and sanity, I'll recommend they get a goldfish instead.