Ginger Unplugged

In case my husband Facebooks this, I wanted to get the real story in writing...because I like to think was justified! Back Story: Around bedtime tonight, Sleestack whines and whines for me to put her to bed. I explain many times that she has to actually get ready for bed before I can put her in it. Her father is trying to help her with this but she keeps crying and yelling for Mom to put her to bed. Ack. She is finally ready and asks me to change her pajama shirt because there is some undetectable something in the elbow that is causing her great pain. Fine.  She is finally in the bed, and I'm sent to get her water. I sing her choice of song. It's time for her to pray and she's suddenly forgotten how and I am out of patience. Normal people would probably just say the prayer for the child. Do I? No. I'm sick of being ordered around by a two-year-old. Me: You're not going to pray? Sleestack: I don't know how. Me: Seriously? Fine. Then we won't...

There's this thing that's been bugging me for a month now--just something someone said at a Christmas party. (No, not a family Christmas party). My husband and I were telling Flying Monkey stories, as we often do, and Evil Person asked, "Are you sure your parenting skills haven't just slipped?" Evil person was making choice comments to everyone, I noticed, so at least I didn't feel particularly singled out for abuse but... Of COURSE I'm not sure the Monkey would still fly if I were a better mother. Don't we all wonder that about our children? Yes, it's true. I could follow him around all day with educational activities, a snack and a warm bottle but then the house wouldn't get clean, the other three children wouldn't get fed, let alone their parents, and I would have even less of a life than I do now. There may not be a Flying Monkey in that case, but there would certainly be a Cackling Wicked Witch and four other very unhappy family member...

Today is Thanksgiving, that day of the year when my grandma Lois wants the whole family in her house for dinner. Let me elaborate: the whole thirty-four member family, and possibly friends, in her lovely but small 1940's style house. Twelve of those 34 members are children under the age of 10 (and one is a flying monkey). Cap this off with the fact that Grandma has a little yard, the weather has recently grown COLD and Grandma and Grandpa like it quiet and calm. Like REALLY like it quiet and calm. And did I mention that Grandma went to the hospital the day after Thanksgiving a couple of years ago from all the stress of trying to keep everyone quiet? At least that's what we think it was. Or the stress of everyone not being quiet despite her stern looks. So last night my mother called me. She had that tone between anger and hysteria that means "Look, don't discuss, just do this." "Hi," she said. "Do you have Apples Junior?" What the heck? "Y...

A few weeks ago several women in my church group got together and decided it would be fun to do a mini Parade of Homes through our neighborhood--you know, where people tramp through houses to get ideas for their own ( I think that's what they do anyway, I have never actually attended a Parade of Homes). Did these Christian women decide to parade through their own homes like the selfless and giving daughters of God that they are? NO. They want to parade through mine. MINE. Yes, yes, I KNOW I could have said, "no." I really do know this. Thank you for the emails with the practice exercises attached, by the way. Unfortunately, they came too late because here I am cleaning and cleaning and I just can't stop. I have a problem. I have OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). If you are an alcoholic, you do not go to bars, wild parties or the refrigerated section of gas stations. If you are OCD, you do not clean. Unless you REALLY want to clean. But with a possible one hundred w...