Home Improvements

We're making progress around here. Inside and outside the house. We've technically done nothing to the outside of the house, but I consider my learning my way around town as progress.

The view from the front of our house. Just behind the kids is a slightly grassy giant dirt mound, which is most commonly used as a "rest stop." By both animals and humans. Kids on the way to school. Passersby. Whoever.

The police station behind that rest stop.

Rocks. The landmark I formerly used to find my way home.

The church next door. Seventh Day Adventists.

The government school 2 blocks from home. Their morning program starts at 7:20 with nails on the chalkboard over a PA system. I can't make out the words, but the music is familiar. Always something American.

Picture on wall outside school. Ah, the 5 senses. Important stuff.

Police station a few blocks from home.

Another landmark on the way home: teepee light pole.

My night stand next to the home school station. I just dig out what I need daily.

Keith's night stand and laundry basket.

Our living room. Currently it has just 3 chairs and the TV, but I just purchased 3 little kid chairs so that Keith and I have a place to sit.

We all have a place to hang our coats at the front door. This is fabulous. I feel like I'm at home now.

The "shelving" unit in our bedroom.

My half of the closet, which houses the medicine cabinet, all my hanging clothes (for which we purchased hangers a few days ago), any article I'd typically keep in a drawer, bed linens, bathroom products, accessories, and all of Avery's cool weather clothes.

Ivan and Avery having fun in front of my vanity. This mirror was intended for the kids' bathroom but it broke upon installation. Yes, the house came with no mirrors and few working lights.

Keith's garage, located in our bedroom.

In the absence of closet space, I'm making suitcases and laundry baskets work for the kids' closet. Located, where else but, in our bedroom.

For now they are all still in one room. This is a much better situation than where they were last week. Bunking with us. All 5 of us in our room, along with nearly everything we own, for one week while we accommodated a team from Cyprus. Fun.

The Lunch Lady

Day 3 here in Ethiopia was really like Day 1 since I slept through the first 48 hours. After organizing our supplies late into the evening, we spent the morning waiting on a vehicle. And, about the time we gave up and decided to tackle a task within walking distance, the van showed up, only to leave while I was in the bathroom.

Yes, left in the bathroom. I know what you’re thinking, but I only went number 1 and opted for time-saving hand sanitizer because there was no towel. And, it’s not like I was part of a large group that could easily lose one of its team members. There were just 10 of us! When I emerged from the bathroom, the receptionist screamed out in horror. Terrified, I checked myself for blood and spiders but quickly understood what had happened when she called one of the fortunate staff members on board, and they turned the bus around.

As it turns out, getting left behind has its perks: riding shotgun, which means eating very little dust along the way.

Our goal today was to set up 2 facilities in the Mission Ethiopia site (i.e. place of employment and empowerment for at risk individuals) at Korah, the literal trash dump where 130,000 people live.

One room was being turned into a store to display and sell items made by the women (and one man) at the site. We wanted to make it beautiful…something for them to be proud of. Why is there a jewelry store in the trash community? I mean, people who live and forage for food amongst the garbage probably find their accessories there too, right? Not in a make-shift store. Well, mission teams and individuals are coming in weekly to visit with the ladies, serve them, worship with them, learn about them, etc. The last stop on their little tour of sorts will be this store where they can purchase items to support the ministry.

The plan for the other room, which is currently being used as a soup-kitchen-like cafeteria that serves two items to children who sit on benches and eat from their laps, was to turn it into a childcare center for the younger kids of the women at the site.

Before.

After.

These rooms were pretty much plywood with a small low-quality chalkboard on one end. Look at 'em now!


Mission accomplished. In less than 6 hours. Thanks to a slew of Americans and Ethiopians working with us.

This is a picture of the lunch ladies and one of the gals who helped me serve lunch to the kiddos. We told the ladies to sit back and relax while we handled the food line. During lulls in ladling out that sauce, the women were schooling me in Amharic, teaching me words and meticulously correcting my pronunciation. Sheesh! However, I had a blast.

The lunch room in use.

Ooh, I did peeve off a few kids with the amount of food I poured for them. One girl shot me the stink eye right there in line because I gave her too much food and didn’t avert her eyes until she reached her seat where she could tell her friends about the new gal who wasn’t doing it right.

Got my first shower tonight, even though my odor was barely noticeable.

The Lone Traveler

Why am I in Ethiopia?

Ah, many reasons.

1. We had hoped I could come back during the summer.

2. The stateside founder of the ministry we'll be working with was planning a trip in October along with a stateside volunteer. This should be a totally different experience with the Boss Man here.

3. There are several opportunities for me here this week...new developments within the organization and decisions being made...that will forecast the next 5-10 years. I would love to see those first hand...you know, since we'll be living here in a few months. God willing, of course.

4. I need to get to know the Ethiopian staff and those being served through the ministries here. A large part of what Keith and I will be doing here is relational ministry. That may not even sound like a real kind of ministry to some of you, but it is perhaps the most effective kind.

5. So, if you were moving across the ocean, wouldn't you jump at the chance to figure life out there? Even Ethiopia is getting less scary...I mean more totally awesome...the more I am here.

Are those enough reasons?

Why didn't I tell anyone, not even my BFF or my parents?

1. I did tell 2 friends (who have the luxury of flying for free) in September when Keith and I discussed the trip. Sadly, neither could join me.

2. You are aware of the communication situation between Keith and me. Not another word of making the trip until last week when he asked before purchasing a plane ticket, "So are you really going to Ethiopia?"

3. And the days leading up to my departure were filled with arranging child care and preparing food for 22 out of the 27 meals for which I would be absent. It really just slipped my mind.

So there.

How was my first solo international traveling experience?

First we should address the fact...the miracle...that I was even permitted to do so. I don't have a clue. You and I are seeing a new side of Keith. Perhaps my hauling the kids and Simon to Oklahoma and Texas proved to him that I'm wearing big girl pants and can keep track of my own passport. I will say he sent me off with a verbal list of instructions and walked me to the front of the security line. That sweet man.

One of the things Keith mandated was that I "make friends" with a traveler so that upon arrival amidst the chaos of baggage claim in Ethiopia someone might notice if I need assistance. Or if I happen to go missing. That lucky person was the gal in front of me to check in for my connection in DC. She and her husband were adopting from Ethiopia but were on this trip to go backpacking in Tanzania. For fun. Not my cup of tea, but I'll take what I can get.

I struck gold at the check-in counter with an airline employee who had been disapprovingly weighing everyone's carry-ons, shaking his head at them. Yes, they weigh and measure your carry-on bag! The limit is 17 pounds, and mine was 10.5 over. But, I had greeted him cheerily and pretended to understand his English as he tried to make conversation. He said something to the effect that he could tell my heart was happy for Ethiopia. So, he leaned down and quietly said he was going to just check that bag for free and then kindly waved me away when he saw my other carry-on, which was perhaps heavier than the first. Bless him!

I have no complaints about the flight accept that a flight attendant adamantly woke me from my first and only good nap, despite the pleas of the man and woman next to me to just let me sleep, so that she could force on me a gluten-free meal that I did not order. Peaking out from under my eye mask, I tried to shoo her away but she was relentless. Finally I took out an ear plug with one hand, the other holding the meal she refused to take away, and heard the woman 2 seats down say she did order a gluten-free meal. I handed it to her before Pushy Flight Attendant could even reach for the slip verifying that the meal indeed belonged to the woman in seat J and not to me in seat L.

The best in-flight movie was "Rock of Ages." Although I found it under the category Blockbusters, I felt it fit better in Classics. Stellar cast. Amazing music. You mean you haven't even heard of it? Me either. However, I must have the movie and the soundtrack. Hint, hint to anyone who is looking for a going-away gift idea.

At the horrific baggage claim, my backpacking friends were no where to be found. But the good news is that not a single stranger approached me offering help. I, however, tried to take a luggage cart from one man, whom I had assumed was an airline employee dutifully bringing in carts for arriving passengers. I later realized the guys with that job were wearing earthy-toned scrubs and not a navy Polo wind-breaker that I mistook for part of a Delta uniform. He politely told me he needed both carts. Awkward? Yes. But even more awkward was that he and his brother fell in line directly behind me to wait an eternity at customs. Born and raised in Ethiopia, they had spent the last 8 years in New York and their English was impeccable. The 3 of us traded stories of past, present and future as they walked me through customs and all the way to the man holding this sign:

Trip 3, Day 7: The Conclusion

We are grateful for those friends and family who have been so supportive already. It seems like everyone and their dogs are praying for us. Whether they were joking or not, I have been encouraged by some of our dearest friends who have offered to buy us a cow. Keith goes through 2 gallons of milk per week. Oh, Ethiopia has milk, but it's either powdered or $5 per quart. A few other helpful, loving, maybe bizarre offers: Simon has been claimed. There is actually a line of families waiting on us to get out of here so they can have him. Everyone adores him, obviously. A friend asked how she could send me cases of tampons. (She asked me this with neither of us knowing the official tampon situation there, only that products in general are usually of a lower quality. Ahh, the luxury of finely crafted toiletries. Something I will miss.) Many individuals have expressed interest / desire to come for a visit. FYI: I have taken down names and will be contacting you to set up a trip once we move. A family we had nearly lost contact with said they had been praying about moving and now want to come with us. A few friends have already committed to support us financially. Um, we will need many more.

Now, to those of you who are supportive but also secretly praying that God will change our hearts and close all doors, we have sad news. The move to Ethiopia is looking more and more like a done deal with each encounter, experience, conversation, contact, etc. We have said this move is solely the result of where we feel God is leading us. (And, the entire story of how we arrived at that decision will unfold at another time.) We will continue on that path until He leads us elsewhere.

We’ll go ahead and start answering some of the questions you have:

Q. When are you moving?

A. Our goal is to be back here before the end of the first quarter of 2013. That gives us about a year to get things in order.

Q. How will Jessica survive on Ethiopian cuisine?

A. Ah, great question. That was actually my first question as well. We sent a list of questions to the first couple we found living in Ethiopia. The only one I added to the list was, “Can someone live in Ethiopia and not eat injera?” Their reply: “Yes, but with difficulty.” God never promised an easy road. This will just be the price I pay for putting all previous wait staff, dinner guests, hostesses, friends, family, my husband, etc. through hell because of a lifetime of picky eating habits. On that note, I have eaten a surprisingly large selection and amount of food here. Yesterday at a non-tourist-catering restaurant, I finished 80% of my meal. I was told there were no substitutions, withholdings of sauce (Gasp!), or changes to menu items, but the cappuccino came with about a cup of cocoa powder dumped right on top of the tiny porcelain cup. Delectable!

That Darn Napkin!

We returned from holiday traveling on Tuesday at midnight to a house with no food and a thermostat reading 56 degrees. After our world tour and 40 hours in the mini, I have no funny, exciting or disgusting stories to tell. I am just thankful for a trip during which no one projectile vomited from across the vehicle into my bag, that we didn’t blow a trailer tire first on a bridge and then on the exit ramp, that my driving shift occurred during a section with no construction (meaning we didn’t get lost), and, for the first time, I am thankful for boys who poop a lot, which meant more than one potty break in a 12-hour stretch and stops that gave Avery and me a chance to consume a meal in the comfort of a Chick-Fil-A rather than from a moving vehicle.

While in my hometown, I attended the funeral of my ex-brother-in-law. Adding to the tragedy and sorrow of the family and friends was that he committed suicide, leaving no explanation. As I sat behind his mom, brother, daughter and ex-wife, I listened as the pastor attempted to release any person of the guilt imposed by such a death. He explained that in this young man’s case, as is the case with many suicides, there was something evil inside of him…that had eaten away at him for a long time. And, even though Jesus saved him 18 months prior, this evil had such a hold on him that it finally took his life.

On our 12-hour drive home, Keith and I listened to a sermon during which Matt Chandler of the Village Church spoke of a staff member who had recently committed suicide. We didn’t purposefully put it on. That’s just what we do: listen to sermons and books and have some good discussion afterwards. This topic just happened to come up. Anyway, a couple of things Chandler said really stuck out for me: 1) Jesus died on the cross to cover all sins: past, present and future, which includes suicide. 2) If you’re sick, get help. People run to doctors all the time for physical ailments. Why is there such a stigma associated with seeking help for mental illness? If you suspected a broken foot, would you let shame (or whatever) keep you from seeing a doctor? If so, it will never stop hurting and those crutches are going to slow you down quite a bit, keeping you from much of your everyday activity. Why would you go through life suffering from the crazies when there is help available? Whether it’s a minor broken bone or a few irrational thoughts, get help.

I will admit that even I have sought professional help for my mental wellbeing. No, I don’t suffer from depression. My issues stem from anxiety. I know you’re just shocked to learn that. When I first told Keith that I was “getting help,” he begged me not to. He said my neuroses were one of the reasons he fell in love with me. My response: I don’t want to feel like a crazy person anymore. It’s exhausting living life on the brink of insanity, just waiting for some tiny, inconsequential thing (like a napkin left on the ottoman overnight) to send me over a bridge.

On that note, I’m not suicidal either. Right now that bridge is merely metaphorical. However, there was a time when I was young…very young…and probably all the way through high school that I suppose you could call a good portion of my thought life suicidal. During those years I never would have admitted, and honestly didn’t believe, that I would ever follow through with it. But I devoted much of my mental energy on just how I would do “it.” All the different methods, which is the least painful, which is easiest to get, which would make the biggest statement, which would cause my family the least amount of suffering, would I leave a note, if so to whom. The list goes on. Even now I can’t believe how morbid this all sounds! And I was in elementary school when it began for crying out loud! Seriously, what kind of child, or person, thinks like that? A seemingly normal, stable person. That’s who! I mean, do I look like a crazy, suicidal gal to you? Don’t answer that.

This kind of thinking is not “normal.” Normal would mean it’s just fine and dandy. Like Christmas candy. But it probably is more common than anyone thinks. Bottom line, get help if you need it. Even if you think you don’t need it.

I definitely don’t mean to be Debbie Downer. So, here are a few more things for which I am thankful:

• A God who chose me and loved me enough to send his only Son so that I could live and have fellowship with Him.
• Jesus who died on the cross to cover my sins. All of them.
• A magnificent husband who is gifted in countless ways and who I believe could do ANYTHING. Marrying that boy has turned out to be one of the best decisions of my life.
• Three disobedient children whom God uses daily to remind me of His love, mercy and grace.

If you are getting used to and possibly looking forward to pictures at the end of each post, I regretfully end this one with none. The only pictures I took over Thanksgiving were with other people’s cameras, and most of them included the kids with their extended canine family members. Still, adorable. Perhaps I will acquire them for a future post.

No More Wire Hangers!!!

Someone, ahem, told me I need to be more positive about my kids whilst blogging. So, don't give up on me!

Life is really getting so much easier for me. I no longer require a visual on the boys at all times. Yes, one can wander behind a wall without my fearing he will attempt to pry off outlet covers. Not the outlet plugs. Even my dog can pluck out those useless pieces of plastic. The cover plate that is screwed into the wall. How in the world? Um, that really happened. On several occasions.

Here's how easy it's getting around here. One day last week I vacuumed the entire house. The whole darn thing! I had started out during naptime just wanting to get downstairs done. It was killing me, and I'm not even psycho about clean floors. Okay, maybe the kitchen floor. But that's it! We had even had company the previous night, and I didn't even have the decency to vacuum for them. So, proof of my regular, not psycho, need for freshly vacuumed carpets.

When the kids' rest period was over, I honestly thought I was done with my beloved miracle of machines for the day. My plan for the time between nap and Keith's arrival was to do some number/counting activities with the boys. Oh, they can count: Garris to 20 and Ivan to at least 10. But they need help assigning those values to objects and digits. This plan included a special number puzzle from the playroom. When I retrieved this spectacular teaching tool...Gasp! The purple number 7 was missing!

Are you hearing horror movie music like I am? You know...the music that plays as someone's being stabbed to death behind a shower curtain.

Again, gasp! My mind flashed back to a scene a few days prior when I walked in on all 3 of the kids...even Avery...hurling various wooden puzzle pieces across the room. Oh, I lost it. You know I did. Throwing. In. My. House. This time...enormous gasp! After apparently a not-so-thorough glance that my demands had been met and all pieces were returned to their rightful homes, I hadn't thought about those puzzles. Until now. Dun dun dunnn! WHERE IS THE PURPLE NUMBER 7?!!!

Picture the scene in Mommie Dearest where Joan, in a fit over the use of wire hangers, shakes out a powdered cleaner all over the bathroom and orders Christina to wipe it up. One by one I dumped out the toy bins and ordered the kids to put back their contents. In hopes of finding the missing purple number 7, I showed the kids how to shake out each item before placing it back in the proper bin. They quickly lost interest in this charade, so I told them we would do nothing until it was found. In the end, I spotted that pesky purple number 7, which had fallen out of an overturned toy bin and rolled just under the edge of the couch, and we all rejoiced for the end of my madness. When all items were stored away, the playroom floor was evenly coated with lint, fuzz balls and tiny bits of trash. What is a gal to do?

Well, we did our number activities. I also included a Cheerio counting exercise to double duty snack time during the lesson. Once finished, I assigned each child to a very separate location downstairs with a puzzle and instructions: If you work on this puzzle until the timer goes off, you can watch a movie until Daddy gets home. Which would give them about 10 minutes of viewing time, but I kept that tidbit to myself and let them proceed with motivation. Meanwhile, I zipped up the stairs with equipment in tow. I started at the top of the stairs and worked my way back to the playroom. May as well do all the rooms while the vacuum is up there, right?

So, I'm holding fast to that claim about being normal...and not psycho...with my need to clean. As for missing puzzle pieces? Hmm...

Okay, the truth. I'm not as wretched as you are thinking. I mean, who would go that nuts over 1 little puzzle piece. There were in fact 3 missing puzzle pieces. A red triangular prism that we found right away and a yellow, pegged circle that has yet to be spotted.

What? You want to see more of my gorgeous children? Okay... Here are some more shots from the summer.

This is from BB, Before Boys. Keith and Avery had a fun Saturday morning of water color painting. Avery's picture looks a bit like Ariel, and Keith titled his masterpiece "Origins of Drag Queen." I'm not sure who was more amused by the activity.

If forcing kids to pick strawberries and blueberries in the heat is child labor, that's not what we're doing here. Avery joined us as well, although she was too deep in the bushes with her BFF for me to get a picture.

Ivan is mad because he has to put the berries into the bucket instead of his mouth.

I'm surprised there aren't more pictures with laundry baskets in the background, as they were scattered about the house the first 8 weeks. Initially, I let Ivan fold the kitchen towels, which I use instead of paper towels...the reason none of them match. But I had to revoke that decision because he was such a perfectionist about it...refolding any towel that wasn't perfectly aligned and getting upset with a stack that was off centered. Poor little guy. Who knew this is what would become of the toddler who we saw continuously snatching and hurling items across the visitor's area at the orphanage.

More examples of the goofball we somehow produced. Seriously, neither one of has a single silly bone. It looks as if she's sketched a torrential downpour...and is laughing or cursing the unfortunate soul standing just outside the safety of that nearby tree.

Ivan spends much of his day laughing...at himself of course...or trying to get others to laugh. He's bound to end up on stage one day.

Magic spell? There is no other explanation as to why all 3 of them appear to be at rest on the couch...at the same time...in the middle of the day.

I think this was the first day Avery sweetly invited the boys into her room to play dress up. Here, Ivan has applied his own make up and finally settled on a pair of green and white suede boots. Garris spent most of his time working to find just the right number of hair accessories. Obviously, the more the better, right?

At one point, both boys were wearing fur coats. I must find those pictures!

Family Dedication, a.k.a. Baby Dedication, at our amazing church Four Corners...and our pastor Alex Early on the left.

Almost a Shower a Day

In addition to an update for you since the post about all of our changes, I'll also clarify that I am totally serious when writing these. Meaning, truthful. You may be laughing, but this is my life. Yes, I really thought I was dying on our 2nd day in Ethiopia. The only reason I didn't strip my clothes off was that I saw the remainder of my life flash before my eyes, and it included my presumably dead body...naked...being carried out of our guest home. Plus, I couldn't move my limbs, so add impossibility to embarrassment.

Yes, I really wear protection when I do laundry. I have always done other household cleaning with gloves...an item I travel with in case I encounter even a soiled dish...but the contents of Ivan's laundry basket now necessitate the use of them during this duty. On more than one occasion I have found a very used, very old, very stinky pull-up near the bottom of his basket. Surprise! Disgusting. On the upside, for now the laundry flows just a few feet down the hallway but stops before entering my room. Yay! Kids are still helping with their laundry, and I'm about to add the sorting step to their end of the chore. Soon Ivan will be the one to find and dispose of the urine-soaked wad.

My belt is still residing in the van, although I have only had to use it once in the last two weeks to restrain a child. But, I have pulled it out several times as motivation to buckle up more quickly. It still hasn't been used to it's full capacity yet, i.e. for spankings. And as you might know, I never will.

I purchased 2 packs of boys' undies, and Ivan hasn't sported Dora since. Once he started wearing boys' undies consistently, he noticed the little slits in the front and informed me that his were "broken." I'm not sure I can explain to him why those holes are there though. Uh, a little help, please. Anyone?

In addition to the "chart" system, we've incorporated 3 marble jars as well. Now I find the kids sharing with a sibling at the first request, not even a request from me but from the empty-handed sibling. Opportunities to gain or lose a marble are endless. Marbles can be exchanged for treats like ice cream after dinner or special privileges like a movie and popcorn. This may not be the best parenting approach, but it works for now with our limited communication and experience.

Naptimes are bearable. The only requirement, or my goal for now, is that everyone stay in a room alone and in a bed for the most part. Right now, it's only one child I'm battling consistently. Unfortunately, he is the one who actually needs the nap. I typically smother him to capture the flailing limbs. He likes it though and buries himself into me. I just smoosh him, making sure he has a breathing hole, and wait for the signs he's fallen asleep: flinching and barely audible whimpering. One day last week it took an hour. I know this is a huge "sleep crutch," but I don't care. It's either this or walk him back to his bed every few minutes...after he's come to find me to point out some random fact or after I've found him dawdling in the hallway or bathroom. Plus, when I pick him up at any point during this rest period, he squeezes me so tightly with his arms and legs I can barely breath. What horrible mom would say no to that?

As disgusting it may sound, I really would go several days without showering, unless a dip in the pool counts. Some days there just wasn't a point in showering. And, although my dental hygiene is more important to me than my physical hygiene, often there was no way for me to get to a toothbrush until naptime, and at that point I was nearly brain dead, so who cares about clean teeth then. I couldn't let the kids out of my sight, so my options were drag all of them up to my bathroom and somehow keep them out of harm's way while I selfishly brushed my teeth or simply forgo this small, and often unnecessary, piece of my routine. Recent improvements in my hygiene: I purchased my own toothbrush and paste to keep downstairs, which means I just fall right in with the kids in their morning routine. My teeth get brushed at least twice each day. Wait! It gets better! I have been getting 5-6 showers per week! Woo hoo! That is all thanks to my gym membership with childcare, plus a new giant fantastic bag on wheels. Just ask Keith about it. He'll tell you all of it's many features.

So the black vertical bag on the bottom is my new gym bag, the reason I'm taking showers again. The yellow one on top of it is what I tote the rest of my life around in. And, that medium-sized orange rectangle is my wallet, which conveniently straps across my body so that my hands are free to keep my children from being run over when walking to and from the vehicle.

I'll take this time here at the end to post some photos from this summer. I have many more and hope to get to them soon.

Awesome Dad! Throwing Garris while Ivan is on his shoulders.

Avery striking a super cool pose at the pool.

Garris showing off that he can write his name.

Ivan loves adorning himself in stickers as much as Avery does. Um, he is practicing the skill of tracing...and below, circles.

Seriously, how did I get such a goofy daughter? And, her brothers are only exacerbating it! I have no clue why she's showing off her enormous biceps here. But, so cute!

Obviously, good at writing numbers...almost all of them.

A rare moment of cooperation. Pure bliss!

A Big Fat Muffin Mistake

The picture below is quickly becoming not only a fair representation of how our household works but also the kind of mother I have become with 3 kids. Vacuuming isn't a chore I have, in all my cruelty, assigned to a 4-year old. I mean, one day I'll gladly hand it over. But for now she needs too much assistance and still misses too much mess to make it worth the effort. My effort.

Friday I had made the kids a special breakfast of chocolate chip muffins, which the boys kept calling cookies. Yay, Mom! Ho, ho hold on! Big mistake. Huge. When I saw a layer of crumbs under each child's chair and watched Ivan tease me by waving his muffin as far away from the table as his skinny arm could reach to shake the excess onto the floor, I gave the warning that he who made the biggest mess would clean the floor. I issued this warning knowing I would ultimately be the one who gave the floor its final inspection, but I'd let them take a fair swing at it on their little hands and knees. Well, moments after I announced the consequence, Avery looked at me, smiled and dusted all crumbs from herself and her chair onto the floor. At that point, the boys could have crumbled their remaining muffins beneath them and made less of a mess than she had.

How, you ask, is this picture a good representation of what my life has become? Despite Keith's efforts to steer the boys away from young chick flicks like Tangled by forcing them to endure the movie Cars and the dark side of He-Man, their most recent favorite movie is Annie. Yep, the one with Albert Finney and Carol Burnett. And, they are quickly falling in love with The Sound of Music, too. But, back to Annie and its relation to the picture above.

The boys seem most entertained not so much by the storyline, which...thankfully...I doubt they actually understand, but by a few details: 1) The fact that "Daddy Warbucks" is bald...much like their own daddy's self-imposed baldness. 2) The orphans' constant mockery of Miss Hannigan. 3) Miss Hannigan's mistreatment of the orphans. Oh, plus they have turned the song "Tomorrow" into "Two Marbles" because of their endless bickering and bragging over who can get or has the most marbles in his "marble jar."

They particularly love scenes in which Miss Hannigan manhandles the children by taking hold of their shirts to bring them closer while giving them some arbitrary instruction or when she goes off on a rant screaming, "Kill! Kill! Kill!" Yes, my boys imitate Miss Hannigan doing such things. Our friend Andy tells me they love Miss Hannigan because she and I have so many of the same qualities. Am I really that evil? What have I become? She's only one notch above Mommie Dearest! Why didn't I punch him? Well, this is the same Andy who came and divvied out lunch to 2 of the kiddos while I dealt with the 3rd in the pit of hell. And, if it weren't for this kind act, and many others, I would have.

So, I might be okay with reminding my kids of Miss Hannigan. I feel bad for her. Surely she didn't start out as this horrible woman. No, no, no. Those kids drove her crazy. Drove her to drink. Drove her to throw herself at every man who enters the picture, including Mr. Bundles. She probably started out at least liking kids. Now look at her! One day the punishment dolled out was skipping lunch altogether while the reward was getting cold mush for lunch. Now, I know which is worse in my book.

While I don't demand that the kids clean the floors until they shine like the top of the Chrysler Building, maybe I am a little like Miss Hannigan. Besides the chores we do each morning, cleaning is a logical and natural consequence to many of the kids' infractions. In our house you will often find kids washing walls, wiping down chairs, scrubbing bathroom floors, washing out sinks, etc. Having them clean is 3 fold: It pulls them away from a fun activity. Boo! It provides a way for them to make restitution for the wrong. Fair. And, it lightens my load. Yay!

For instance, if you put dirty shoes on the back of the seat in a vehicle, you get to clean a portion of that vehicle. Did you forget to take your own dishes to the sink after a meal? Well, you can pick up after everyone and clean the table. It's not always cleaning. You purposefully tore the puzzle box? You lose the privilege of playing with puzzles for a day. My kids seem to learn quickly, which I may regret because the van was looking mighty spiffy for a while.

These consequences have come with a recent restructuring of the way we do business around here. (Thanks to 2 books I've been reading: Creative Consequences by Blair from The Facts of Life and Parenting with Love and Logic, residing in my gym bag so I can double duty it on the treadmill). For a while I conducted my days like a short-order cook, servant and maid. No wonder the kids treated me as such. Sometimes we would begin a day in the vicious cycle of rude demands countering one bad mood. Or vice versa.

I can't do everything for my kids and expect them to be grateful...or even turn out okay. Those kinds of parents raise kids who grow up with a sense of entitlement. Having taught in schools on both ends of the socio-economic scale, I have known many kids who think they are entitled...and many who are grateful...and it's pretty easy to tell who came from which class. Plus, I'd wind up bitter because gratitude just isn't going to happen when life is handed to you on a silver platter. However, I can teach them how to do it for themselves and hope they grow in confidence and in character.

And, I won't be offended at hearing, "I love you, Miss Hannigan!"