Studying "Feminine Appeal" (Carolyn Mahaney) – new series

Seven Virtues
A couple years ago, a friend sent me a book.  She wrote something sweet in the cover.  She knew it would make me mad (the book, not her note).  It did.  I needed it to make me mad.  I needed to have that talk with God and with myself.  It changed me for the better.
Then all this stuff happened.  Layoff. Move. Pregnancy. Foreclosure Pending. Big stuff to me.
I realized what was important when I read this book the first time.  I lost sight of it again when all this stuff happened.
Starting next Sunday I will be reading it again, and posting about it here.  I would LOVE for a few of my readers to join me.  The first time I read it I didn’t work through the discussion questions and might very well avoid them this time if I’m not held accountable for doing them.
Oh yea… the book 🙂
Feminine Appeal: Seven Virtues of a Godly Wife and Mother  by Carolyn Mahaney
It is nine chapters. Nine weeks. If you want to know what chapter stung me the most, you’ll have to join me.

3 strikes…I’m done

This was my goal today:


It WAS the craft room and music room but I really needed the crib moved to it’s own room. So hubby moved the rooms around and moved my sewing stuff downstairs and this room became the school/music/ohyeahthebabysleepsinhere room.

In all the moving and with the holidays, this room turned in to a dumping ground for all things.  Today I wanted it cleaned out.  Because I want the baby to have his bed (not that he sleeps in it, but still).

Hubby doesn’t like hints. I very plainly said I NEEDED his help with the baby and the 2yo so I could work on the room.  He helped. He helped as best he could until he couldn’t help any more. 


It seems the kids wear him out fast.

The first time I had to stop was to try and settle Bubbagirl down from a T total meltdown. Still do not know what it was all about.

The second time was to nurse Peanut and put him down for a nap (that took 30 minutes).

I was making pretty good progress, when the terror that is Bubbagirl decided to start screaming about the movie she was watching and she woke up the wee little fat man named Peanut.

As I tried to nurse Peanut BACK to sleep, the diva Doodlebug and the mighty Rapunzel-Mermaid Princess Taderbug felt the overwhelming need to play 20 questions at my bedroom door regarding lunch plans.

Where the heck was their father?

So, three interruptions, three strikes and I was done.  I was so angry and frustrated. 

I kept asking myself “why can’t HE fix lunch? why can’t HE change the diaper? why can’t THEY just…..”.

(He had been helping some… but not enough for me to get this done, and I always had to ask first)

Then I felt guilty.  All of these things I’m asking him to do are my responsibility.  I shouldn’t be getting so uptight simply because my kids were being kids and they became hungry. 

Yet I feel angry whenever I’m working on something big and can’t find peace to complete it. 

This time the project wasn’t even for me (something related to my hobby or reading for fun). This time it was something very much related to my job as manager of our home.  I was trying to create a tidy and organized environment.  I was attempting to prepare my house for school to begin next week.  I endeavored to provide a sleeping place for our son so that we might have an occasional five minutes alone once in a while.

None if it helped my already weary and wobbly attitude.

It’s almost 2:30pm. Lunch is done. Hubby, surprisingly, helped clear the table.  Our girls emptied the dishwasher. They also broke another dish.  I can check off “clean kitchen floor” on my to do list for this week.

Hubby has 15 more minutes to play online before I disappear back into that room to try again.

Am I the only one that finds it this hard to get things accomplished?


**I am hoping to post a video of my room redo as a response to my friend Linda’s vlog**

“God Bless the Broken Road…

that led me straight to you.” (Rascal Flatts)

On October 1st, 1996, I went to a friends house with one of my girlfriends to have a beer and complain about my ex.  HE welcomed us in and introduced us to two of his friends. One of them was Mr. B.

At approximately 2 a.m. on November 2nd, 1996, I asked Mr. B to officially be my boyfriend.

He said okay.

Ten minutes later I asked him if he’d marry me.

He said he’d been wanting to ask me that for the past two weeks.

Mid May 1997, I baked him a chocolate cake and cooked our favorite frozen pizza (we were poor as dirt doggonit), and asked him if we could move the date up a year or so.

He said okay.

And on June 7th, 1997 we made it official.  No one has seen these pictures in a long, long time.

There were no digital cameras.  There were no limos.  There was moonshine.  There were tents in the yard (for family). There was a bonfire.  My mom was my Maid of Honor.  On his grandmother’s front steps, so she could attend the ceremony, and quickly retreat to her bed (she was undergoing chemo).



(he looks a bit devilish there doesn’t he?)


Dear Mr. B,

I loved you then. I love you now. Faults and all.  I love our fights. I love our making up.  I love the hand holding.  I love the getting lost in your eyes (still!) standing in line at Walmart.  I love that you said yes.

Happy 14 years together baby… 


Mrs. B

My Knight on a white horse…

well, ok, so there isn’t a white horse but he is definitely my hero. Again.
Since Peanut was born, we have had more weeks with Daddy out of town for work than we’ve had with him home.  This is not what his job was supposed to be like.  The occasional trip out yes, but weeks on weeks on weeks?!  I was going a little crazy.  Everything has been piling up on me.  The overwhelmed feeling wasn’t waning.  Even when people tried to help it was just too much for me to even start on.
Then we were told “someone” didn’t do “their stuff” correctly, and he would have to go out of town again tomorrow.  I cried.  Then I started crying over every thing. Every sound.  Every request.  Nothing helped. No one could help.
I told him last night that I just didn’t even want to try anymore.  I didn’t want to try and clean, or sew, or organize, or make the call, or write the article.  Every thing required so much planning and effort to get everyone else settled and quiet so that I could have five minutes to try and do dishes or shower or plan school.  It just wasn’t worth the effort anymore.  The spiral of depression was RIGHT THERE.  I was looking at it.  I told him it was there and that I was losing control of it.
I think he became more concerned than usual because he knows I have been eating better, exercising and have actually lost a few pounds and inches.  I “should have” been excited, energized, and motivated.  The fact that I wasn’t meant I was really, REALLY struggling.
There was no time or money to call in my mom for a quick “send the kids to Nanny’s house” rescue mission.  He had 24 hours to pick me up enough to get me through till his return.  He proved today how well he knows me.
**FTR: My husband HATES to change things. If he put the couch on the southern wall it should stay there forEVER and EVER Amen.  I am a rearrange-aholic. Just Sayin**
Today, HE suggested we move my sewing stuff to an area that I can get to it easier.  So I might be able to sneak a stitch in here and there while doing other things.  So into the kitchen my sewing stuff came.  All.Of.It.  Into the stuff upstairs room went all the school stuff, and the music stuff, and the computer desk.  My extra use-once-a-year appliances, they were moved onto a bookcase in the garage.  He even moved his fish tank.  It’s huge.  It’s only been moved once before, when we moved into this house a year and a half ago.  We’ve had it almost six years.

I have tubs and boxes of CRAP to get reorganized now.  Actually, the pack and play is entirely full of stuff that will need to be sorted and put away.   We were in a hurry.  That was a LOT of moving for one day.
Since the kitchen table looked like this:

and the stove/counters aren’t any better, we ordered pizza.  Not in my diet but I didn’t care.  We made a thousand trips up and down the stairs today.  I’m pooped.
BUT, I’m excited about tomorrow.  Tomorrow I can give them there lessons, and start sorting.  Maybe we’ll paint the pumpkins my in laws bought over the weekend.  At least for now I’m not crying.  If I get sad, I can go sit in the kitchen and look at my purty fabric 🙂

I've got a new attitude!

I’ve got a new attitude and a new resolve to create peace in my home.  I realize it will not always be calm and nice with four little ones running around. I also realize that I have been a big part of the problem.  My attitude has been antagonistic, even towards the kids.  My need to control things and have it done my way (the best way LOL), has left everyone feeling inadequate and unable to please me.  No wonder they seem lazy and oblivious to what needs to be done.  I wouldn’t want to try any more either.
Hubby is gone again for a few days for work.  He has forewarned me that he’ll be gone a lot over the next few weeks.  He normally returns from these trips to complete chaos and a wife ready to drop the kids in his lap and run for the hills.  Not this time.
This time I want him to come home to a calmer house, no matter what I have to do to get it that way.
I’ll light a scented candle, maybe apple cinnamon.  We’ll color Welcome Home Daddy signs.  I’ll fix dinner in the crock pot.  I will shower and brush my teeth. (No makeup… and I might be in jammies.. but I’ll aim to at least be clean 🙂  )
I want our bed made, his recliner empty, and the kitchen table clear.  Those three things would make me feel better.
I want to start teaching my family how to respect me and be considerate to my  needs by respecting them and being considerate the theirs.  I want to stop the yelling by not yelling.  I want to end the bad reactions to frustration that my children have by changing MY reactions to frustration.
And I want to go back to starting each day with God.  This time I want my kids to see me to it.
My friend Cassie said that “attitude was a choice”. She was correct. It is a choice.
What did you chose today?

Seeking acceptance…why do I care?

I do not buy fancy clothes, not even on sale.
By ‘fancy’ I mean clothes that you would wear to a typical desk job.
Or dressier.
I hardly even buy myself new non-fancy clothes (sweats, jeans, t’s) for a couple of reasons.
My size keeps changing.
It would probably require dry cleaning or ironing, both of which I am allergic.
It would be covered in drool, milk, or marker in under 60 seconds.
It would probably make me sweat more than I already do.
It would probably be constricting and uncomfy.
I would probably need new shoes.
New shoes would mean a new purse.
I rarely leave the house and when I do it is with all my children in tow which means I’m going to look like a sleep deprived stark raving mad lunatic so I might as well be comfortable right?
But then days like last Sunday come along.
There was a company picnic. All the other wives would be there in their fancy duds.  They will have gotten their mani-pedis and be sporting the latest sandal trends.
(Have  I mentioned that I can’t wear sandals because they don’t make them for short fat women with Flintstone feet? mmm.. yea…)
Their hair will be finely styled with no frizz.
Their clothes will be ironed and buttoned properly.
Their children will stand in line perfectly like a scene from the Sound of Music and all be clean, ironed and matchy matchy.
Trying to prepare for this picnic was overwhelming.  My closet was filled with clothes as old as my marriage yet I had to somehow find a way to look appropriately nice.  Not because I cared what they thought of me.  I cared what they thought of my husband.  I wanted to look nice for him.
I want to thank all of my twitter buddies for sending hugs and support that morning while I tweeted my tears out over what to wear.  I did eventually find a clean shirt.  I attempted to iron an old jumper-style dress that would allow me to nurse Peanut.  I half way blow dried my hair and then figured the humidity would only destroy my efforts and gave up.
I was clean, semi ironed, mostly dried, my shoes were white (it IS before Labor Day ya’ll), my baby was decked out, and my husband looked handsome.  This would have to suffice and it did.
We spoke with three people.  His boss. His boss’ boss. Some big wig… and we left.  Hubby’s social anxiety issues kicked in and we snuck out past the bounce house and went for a margarita.  He made his appearance.  I showed off the baby.  We came, we saw, we got drinks.
I’m not sure why I got all worked up in the first place.

Breaking in a new midwife

Nothing like switching midwife’s 4 days before your due date.  I was blessed that hubby’s boss let him take an early and long lunch to be here at the house when she arrived.  Here are some tidbits from our first visit….  where hubby lets the midwife know exactly what she’s dealing with when she takes on THIS family.
Midwife to me:  How tall are you?
Hubby: SHORT
Midwife cracks up.
Midwife to me: Weight?
Hubby: Oh lemme get the scale for her! She’s scared, won’t get on, hold on, it’s right here, come on honey don’t be afraid…
Midwife waits to see if he gets hit… then laughs.
Midwife to me: So ya’ll are legally married right?
Hubby: Yep, can’t seem to get out of it.
Midwife to me: How often do you drink?
Hubby: only four times…
*slight pause while she makes the connection that this is my FOURTH pregnancy*
Midwife cracks up laughing.
Midwife to me: Any fertility issues?
Hubby: Doesn’t look like it huh?
Midwife to me: With your other pregnancies did they have to use anything like forceps or vacumm?
(I tried to answer first…BUT)
Hubby: Yep, they used the vacuum cleaner on Doodlebug and the Salad Tongs on Taderbug, but Bubbagirl just fell out.
I thought she was gonna wet her pants.
God, I sooo love that man!

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Where the BLOGGY have you been?

(Let’s start with the excuses first… they are more fun)
I’ve been making stuff like this:
Big Nana's Pincushion
and this:

and these:

and doing a lot of whining and counting down about my gigantic belly.
and panicking about what I’m going to do if I go into labor before we have a chance to get the tub trough up here. (Yea, you read that right, my midwife rocks, and instead of a OVERLY expensive fancy kiddie pool she actually has a huge Rubbermaid horse trough that ROCKS for birthin’ babies!)
We’ve fought allergies, fought housework, fought with mortgage companies over a house we can’t wait to be rid of. We’ve been pouting that our newest friends are moving away.
Just been too busy to blog I guess….. well, not really.
The truth is: once again I made it feel like work. I once again got all wrapped up in the “if I’m going to blog anyway I might as well make a buck” and it all became overwhelming. The rules, the emails, the disclaimers, the SEO, the fine line between tweeting about your blog and spamming your blog. I wasn’t writing anything dishonest by any means. I won’t do that. However, the passion and fun behind writing it was being squashed in my worry over making sure I had the write links, or tags, or …..whatever.
One of my favorite posts is the one where I made my Alpha Doodles Coloring Book. I had so much fun making it! Then all of a sudden I felt all pressured to get the next one out. I wanted to do one on numbers, and I wanted to make bookmarks, and coloring pages for Mother’s Day and Father’s Day..and…and…and…
And all of a sudden my ability to draw anything just left. I was starting to get cranky with my family because they wouldn’t ‘leave me alone’ so I could work on it.
I had also started two challenges involving reading my Bible and reconnecting with God and sadly after two weeks that became another thing for me to feel guilty about. I just couldn’t keep up.
The bad attitude spread and I haven’t checked my Google Reader in weeks either. I’ve read some posts, but it’s because the people I tweet with most have tweeted about it.
All of it stopped being a release for me. It stopped being MY MOMMY PLACE to go and hide and share and laugh. Even connecting with God was a chore instead of something I was doing because I enjoyed the connection. That made me feel sad, and overwhelmed and crappy and there the snowball begins.
The past few days have taught me a few things.
First, I don’t have to WORK to connect with God… He’s been trying to get my attention for weeks. Telling me to slow down. Now it’s in pretty uncomfy ways, forcing me to stop (and often times lay down) where I can be quiet and hear Him. I should take time to seek Him out, daily, regularly, especially when I’m not asking for something HOWEVER, He is always there, seeking me out as well. If I would only take the time to look and listen and respond.
Second, it is my blog, and I’m taking it back. It was just supposed to be fun anyway. (A version of LiveWriter that will work either WITH Ubuntu or through Wine would be great though and make it easier… just sayin’)
Third, the new homeschool curriculum that kicking my butt and making school miserable for me. Duh, I knew that would happen this month. We weren’t supposed to start it until next year. The plan was to try it out, see what it was about. There is no shame in going back to the stuff we were doing before it got here. I’ll have all summer, hanging out inside with Peanut, to work on planning for next year.
Fourth- I have the coolest most wonderful readers, tweeps, and friends EVER! Ya’ll totally rock! I also have the best family (hubby and kids)! There is nothing like being reminded DAILY that God created them JUST FOR ME…. He must have, there just no way out of all the people in the world I could have been just that ‘lucky’.
Now that you know all my excuses and all my reasons for being gone I hope you’ll forgive me, don’t unsubscribe, and hang in there a bit longer and see what gets posted next. I had a ton of ideas, but the pressure to post was just too much.
*hugs ya’ll* time to start some laundry!

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