Calgon, take me away!

So you think you're just going to swing in for a state inspection on your car and swing right out again.

Oh, no.

One lower control arm, two tires, an alignment and $500 later, I do have a sticker on it. Why did we move to Virginia?

But while I was in the waiting room (for 3 1/2 hours) a lady came in with a little boy who she babysits. She was also accompanied by an older lady who I assumed was her mother. Somehow, in the course of the one hour she was there, I found out the lady is a full-time daycare provider. She only had the one little boy today because the other children she kept (both from one family) were taken away from her "for no reason at all" the other day. The mother won't talk to her, won't give her an excuse, won't return her calls. Then I found out the elderly lady is the mother of a friend who has alzheimer's (the mother, not the friend), so this lady takes care of her during the day. Imagine that - being a daycare provider for tots and elders at the same time. Then somehow, please don't ask me why, this lady started telling me about getting her first mammogram yesterday. She described the process (like I'd never been through it) and exclaimed that it really didn't hurt as much as she thought it would. She went through this whole description at full volume in a waiting room full of people. I wanted to shush her! Then she said her friend told her that her first colonoscopy at age 50 would be much worse and she was really worried about that.

Next time I'm taking my book and staying in the car when they jack it up to the ceiling. It's got to be better than reliving mammograms and dreading colonoscopies.

Be thankful ~

Karen

Hey, I just remembered!

It's NATIONAL PRO-LIFE T-SHIRT DAY!!!!!

So wear your pro-life gear today and make people think about the precious babies that are thrown away every day!




Be thankful ~

Karen

Where's the beef?

Abbie has issues with beef. About a year and a half ago, she started feeling sick after we ate at a fast food place. First it was burgers, then it included Taco Bell, until finally she was getting sick when I cooked beef at home. So we lived on chicken and fish. Not so bad really, but sometimes you just want some BEEF.

One day I was talking to a group of other moms about it and one suggested that I go to a local grocery store and get some organic beef - the kind that says, "grass fed cattle, never given antibiotics or growth hormones." So I did. And you know what? She didn't get sick!

Now that would seem like a wonderful fix, except that this organic beef is horribly expensive. For a while our commissary had it, but they've stopped carrying it. Now we've found we can get it cheaper at Target, but they only have ground beef - no roasts, no steaks.

Then a few weeks ago Abbie's friend, Boo, said she wanted to take her to Chipotle's for lunch. She said they served only organic beef. I heard that and was immediately skeptical, but Abbie was hopeful.

So a few friends went there for lunch and Abbie started interrogating the manager, telling her that if it was not truly organic beef, she would have food poisoning by that night (that's how regular beef makes her feel). The manager assured her it was indeed organic, so they ate lunch. And Abbie waited. And waited.

And NO PUKING! Can you tell she's excited?

So go to Chipotle and get some real organic beef!

Be thankful ~

Karen

A new Sunday school class website.

Ben teaches Sunday School. The college and career class. Hanging out with younger people has its advantages, and one of them is that they keep you on your toes, technologically. But since I lack a bit of technological savvy, the advantage turns into a disadvantage for me. One of our students, bless her heart, set up a website for us thinking I could keep it going.

Sadly, she was very mistaken.

Week after week I would type up the list of prayer request and click the wrong button, making them all disappear forever into cyberspace, never to be retrieved again. Sometimes two or three times in one day. Some weeks I just purposed in my heart to pray enough for the whole class - it would be easier than getting those requests posted on the website.

So today while I was sitting in class feeling the familiar guilt for not updating the website in MONTHS, I had a brainstorm - make a class BLOG!!!!

Oh, I cannot tell you the utter relief and giddy joy I felt at the thought of having a website I could actually USE! So I've done it, and while it's nothing fancy, at least I can understand how it works. Go here to see it. I've sent an e-mail to the entire class inviting them to it.

Surely, I will sleep better tonight.

*pause* But first I will go send another e-mail that actually includes the link to the blog. *sigh*

Be thankful ~

Karen

Happy times in Newark, NJ.

I can totally sympathize with this guy. While Leah's violin is not worth four million, it is worth a lot and to lose it would be very hard indeed. The musician in this story says that the violin is not just an object, it becomes an extension of your body. I would say Leah has definitely developed an emotional attachment to her violin, and all the insurance policies in the world couldn't replace it, though we have them just in case.

Get it? Just in case?

Sorry.

Be thankful ~

Karen

A Horrible Honeymoon

Since I am fresh out of ideas for another post this week, I share this story with you. It's the true story of this woman's honeymoon. Too horrible to be true, yet there it is. Please go read it - you won't be sorry.

Be thankful ~

Karen

The Man-boy.

We have been having us some serious rain lately. So much that the leak around the chimney in my bedroom has revived and is making hay while the sun don't shine. And whenever we have lots of rain, the "river" out back gets crazy. Usually it's not much more than a slow trickle - kind of murky and slow and nasty looking - about 20 feet across. That's how it was Sunday afternoon when Elijah and his friend, Jonathan, took two scooters across to the other side so they could ride said scooters down the steep slope and INTO THE RIVER. Ahem. Usually you just walk across and it's only about ankle deep, which is what they did that day with the scooters. When the scooter-fun wore off, they got interested in something else, like maybe Tarzan swinging out over the water, and left their vehicles on the other side.

Then came the rain. A LOT of it.

Yesterday morning Elijah remembered the scooters on the other bank and asked me to go down with him so he could swim across and retrieve them. We got down there and the water was rushing, swirling, at least three feet higher than normal. I took one look and said, "Elijah, I cannot, under any circumstances, call your daddy in Detroit and tell him I let you get swept away in the river. The scooters will have to wait."

To my surprise, he didn't protest. He had already felt how cold the water was and saw how quickly it was rushing. It struck me though, that the same boy who would ride a scooter down a steep, muddy slope into a river had enough common sense not to go down to the same river, now rushing and swirling, alone. I believe I see faint glimmers of maturity.

That said, this is the same boy who, on the way home from a dental cleaning yesterday morning, accused me of taking him to the "devil's office." And might occasionally build entire lego towns. And primps for 30 minutes before going to church. And still has hundreds of hot wheels cars. And works like a man. And still has a favorite stuffed animal.



The little boy inside the young man. I love this stage.

Be thankful ~

Karen

Question of the day.

After PE at the Y yesterday, Elijah and I headed to Walmart. I needed a few things for my friend, Cari's baby shower last night, which Elijah didn't know about. Elijah wandered off to look at things that interest him and we met up at the checkout. He is very protective of me, never allowing me to lift anything heavy, and since there was a bread machine in the cart, he started unloading. After removing the bread maker, he turned back to the cart and saw two very large packages of newborn-sized diapers. He stopped cold.

He looked at me. Looked at the diapers. Looked back at me and asked, "Is there something I need to know?"

"Yeah," I said. "Mrs. F. just had a baby."

His relief was evident. Something about being the youngest and wanting it to stay that way.

Then, because he is 14 and his gut is a bottomless pit, he NEEDED something to eat for the 20-minute ride home. He grabbed a bag of Fiery Habanero Doritos. I looked at him with raised eyebrows but said nothing.

When we were on our way, he broke out the bag and popped one in his mouth.

"Mmmmmmm!" "Oooooo!" "These are awesome!"

Pop another chip. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

Pause.

"Oh my dude!" (drop bag of chips and grab water bottle) "That's kinda hot!" (guzzle 16 ounces of water, wipe tears from eyes) "Whoa! Man, those are good!"

Crunch more chips, wipe more tears, blow smoke out ears.

By this time I was laughing so hard I had to pull over in the parking lot. He had tears rolling down his face while he continued to eat the offending chips and breathe with his mouth open in an effort to cool things down. I tried to take a video of him with my phone, but as soon as he realized what I was doing he put on the stoneface. Male pride, I think.

Then while we were driving home, he continued crunching and at one point pulled a chip out, held it in front of his mouth and blew on it, as you would a spoonful of hot soup. When our kids were little, we would tell them, "It's hot; foo it." Elijah started laughing and said, "Oh my goodness, I just foo-ed this chip."

This is my almost-15 year old talking.

"You foo-ed your chip???" (hysterical laughter)

"Yeah, what else do you call it?"

So the question of the day is, what do you call it when you blow on your food to cool it off? Please let me know the proper word usage as we'll be discussing this at the dinnertable on Friday evening.

Be thankful ~

Karen

More than you wanted to know.

Nothing makes me squeamish. Nothing. I've had a child throw up down the side of my bed. One threw up over my shoulder and down my back in the middle of a church hallway with all the ladies standing around saying how cute he was. One dog exploded out the opposite end in EVERY CARPETED ROOM in my house. So call Stanley Steemer. Or in my case, use it as a great excuse to rip the carpet out and get a hardwood floor.

So when Pete got pinkeye a few weeks ago, I thought I could doctor him myself. In reality, I just didn't want to haul that huge crate out to the 2 1/2 ton van and take the animal to the vet. I need a horse trailer for him. So I put artificial tears in his eyes a few times a day, wiped them with a warm compress, and didn't let him run in the woods - that's where he gets these things. They actually did get better, but as soon as I stopped treatment, the oozy crud returned. I resigned myself to the difficult trip.

Pete knows where we're going - it's the only place he ever goes besides the dump, and that ride is in the truck - and he starts whining like a baby about halfway there. Seriously, this big, tough bulldog cries like a GIRL. It's pathetic. We drag him in and try to get him on the scale and he shakes like a leaf. Take his temperature and he acts like he's facing a firing squad. Finally the doctor comes in and starts looking at his eyes. He needs a dye-test (not the technical name) where they slip this paper dye strip between his eyeball and upper eyelid for a few seconds. The tears dissolve the dye which then shows the ulcerated areas on his eyeballs. Isn't this fun? Pete doesn't think so, but he has a muzzle and a pinch collar on, so he doesn't have much to say. Finally the doctor prescribes an eye ointment, to be applied inside Pete's lower lids twice a day for five days.

Now drops are bad enough, but ointment? I think for the price he charges, the vet should come here and apply it FOR me. Twice a day. For five days. Elijah holds the dog between his legs and grasps him by the jowls. Pete tries valiantly to wrestle his head away, but Elijah has an iron grip and Pete likes his jowls where they are. I learn in about two seconds that this is not going to be a sterile operation, squeeze the stuff on my finger and jam it in his eye, then rub. What makes a person want to do this for a living?

So I'm glad God didn't make me squeamish. Pete is too. Really.

Be thankful ~

Karen

Music makes me happy. (Now with NEW and IMPROVED pictures!)

Saturday was Leah's junior recital which, technically, she didn't HAVE to do, but her private teacher (the director of the symphony) told her she had to. And as a proud mama, I'm glad he did. That girl has more talent in her little finger than I do in my whole body, which is actually quite a bit larger than her little finger. Here she is at six feet tall in her three inch heels:




And with her accompanist who was absolutely incredible:



Her last piece featured her as first violin playing with a string quartet and harpsichord. Picture a room full of swirly-skirted ladies being waltzed around by stodgy black-tailed gentlemen. That's what this piece sounded like.


Since Leah was wearing pink, each girl wore black with some pink accessory - the cellist has a big pink scarf tied around her ponytail. The violist (just to the left of the harpsichord) wore hot-pink patent-leather pointy-toed spiked-heel pumps. Abbie fell in love with them and got a great close-up (can you tell she's not real interested in the music?), but in the last few days McAfee has decided I don't need to see every picture I download, and it won't let me post that one. If I can figure out why, I'll share the lovely shoes. In the meantime, you'll have to take my word that those shoes were SASSY.

*Edited to show you the SASSY pink shoes*



Leah played beautifully and my mother cried, as usual. She may be sappier than I am. We took all the kids out for dinner, well, really my dad did. It's always great fun to watch a table full of teens/young adults EAT. Those people can put back some groceries!

So we had a great day. Next Saturday is the spring symphony concert, then the following week is GRADUATION!!! I'll try to figure out McAfee's problem before the rest of our big events. Have a wonderful week!

Be thankful ~

Karen

So there I was in my kayak, minding my own business. . .

While I realize this is a doctored video, it still cracks me up.

*Edited to add: Snopes confirms that this is part of a Powerade commercial. It's still fun to watch.*

Be thankful ~

Karen

Summer means work.

Today was perfectly lovely - sunny, 80 degrees, couldn't have been nicer. But every cloud has some rain in it - Elijah and I had to mow. He operates the big commercial Scag, and I do the trim mowing. I always get done before he does, so I get to sit in the shade and watch him work. His daddy did a great job with him - he's a good, smart worker. It's hard to appreciate just how big this mower is from the picture, but you get the idea.

We're hoping to get a few more jobs for the summer. After summer camp and a trip to Romania, Elijah's savings account will be pretty destitute. And I just love being outside. Hope the weather is lovely where you are!

Be thankful ~

Karen

Driver's Ed needs Grammar Ed.

What is with the improper use of prepositions lately? I mean, it's reaching epidemic proportion. Just this morning I was reading some of the forms that came with Abbie's driver's ed program and came across this directive: You will need to turn this document into us when you complete the course. Turn the document into them? Honey, that is WAY beyond the scope of MY powers. We'll need a miracle-worker. I corrected it with red pen and will turn it IN TO them when she completes the course.

And did you know that part of driver's ed is knowing the systems in your car? Ignition system, Accessory system, dual master cylinders, starting system (I thought that was the ignition system, but apparently they're different), where the fuel pump is located and what a solenoid does. I'm glad I already have my license, because I'm not terribly sure I could pass this course.

And you're also required to listen to a 20-minute video propaganda presentation on being an organ donor. I have nothing against being an organ donor, but really, this thing had us feeling guilty because we have two good kidneys and a spleen. Not a fan of their methods. Or their grammar.

Be thankful ~

Karen

Don't sing to me.

My family has issues with wildlife.

Don't get me wrong - we love a good walk around a zoo, and highly recommend the National Zoo to everyone who comes to visit. But we love our sleep too, and many times the wildlife interferes with that. Just last week it was warm and spring-y so we got to sleep with our windows open for the first time in months. Abbie got up in the morning looking a little bleary-eyed, so I asked how she slept. She answered, "That BIRD is SO STINKIN' LOUD." Surely, we have some birds here who don't know to use their inside voices until everyone is up. And that reminded me of when we really lived in the country.

After Ben retired from the Navy, we bought six acres in the middle of nowhere, TN. It's hard to tell people where it is, because it's not near anything. We built a house and settled in.

Then we met the neighbors.

We learned to run over copperheads in the road at night. Our neighbor, Jason, shot the rattlesnake I walked within three feet of. Brown Turantulas liked to go for evening walks about the same time we did. (Can you see why we don't live there anymore?) The frogs sang to us at night. One night there was a frog on the side of the house just outside the girls' window. Deb got so sick of the noise, she marched outside in the pitch-black, peeled that thing off the siding, and threw it as hard as she could over the cliff in the front. This from the girl who wouldn't touch a worm growing up. *Edited to add: I talked to Deb this afternoon and reminded her of this story. She laughed and then said, "You know, it was so fulfilling, and I felt SO good knowing I was going to break every bone in that frog's body." She's her daddy's girl.*

Then came the whipporwills. When we first heard them we were thrilled, having never heard one before. Then we tried to sleep. And they Never. Shut. Up. We turned on a fan in the bedroom to mask the noise. No luck. Finally, Ben got out of bed and may have gotten a rather large-caliber assault weapon, walked out the front door, and shot in the direction of the whipporwill's lovely song. Ahhh, blessed silence.

The whipporwills did try to come back a few times, but all Ben had to do was open the front door and say, "Don't MAKE me come out there. . ." and they would find a different place to sing for the night.

Be thankful ~

Karen

Better than bean sprouts.

Since I am sick of thinking about Facebook, I will spend the next few moments talking about one of my favorite subjects - Food.

I love food. Of all kinds. I love Chinese and Thai, Vietnamese noodles and Mexican-cheesy-spicy stuff, a good steak or a lemon-crusted piece of salmon, ice cream, cookies, Butterscotch Krimpets, and mostly chocolate. Because I have a discriminating palate.

This is a problem for me though, because as some of you have already found out, the myth that you gain weight easily after turning 40? It is not a myth. Literally within two months of turning forty, I gained 10 pounds without changing my diet or exercise level, which just happened to be zero. No problem, I thought, I'll just up the exercise and the pounds, they will melt away. Or not. Now that I'm 46, I lift weights, use an elliptical (and not for a clothes hanger), and swim, all on a regular basis. The pounds, they are not melting away. So I cut out all food other than what is necessary to sustain life. The pounds, they are stubborn little buggers. And I am going through serious goody-withdrawal.

So in my effort to supply my body with the sugar it so fiercely craves, I've started eating fruit. Apples, pears, mangos, pineapples, and yesterday, our first seedless watermelon of the season. It is incredible - juicy, sweet, great flavor - but you know what? It isn't chocolate. And that makes me sad.

But I have an ace up my sleeve. Every Saturday I bake something for our Sunday School class the next day. We have the college and career age people, who I'm sure you know cannot function without food in their hands. And they depend on me to keep them from starving to death while we sing and take prayer requests and listen to Ben teach. So right now? The divine aroma of a chocolate cream cheese pound cake is wafting from my oven. But it's for THEM. Really. I can't let them down, right? And cream cheese is dairy, so that's good, right? And eggs? And wheat? And milk? I think this might qualify as health food!

Thank you for letting me get this off my chest, and for offering your words of wisdom and setting me straight. I feel much better about eating a huge chunk of health food now. While it's warm. With a big glass of cold milk. Thank you. Really.

Be thankful ~

Karen

Umm. . . what? Facebook's reply.

Thanks for writing into us.  Unfortunately, we cannot release any
information regarding a user's account to anyone but the account holder.
If you would like us to look into this issue, please have your son
contact us directly from his login email address and include a brief
description of the problem.  We apologize for any inconvenience.


Aside from improper use of the preposition in the first sentence, this
answer is wrong on many levels.  First, he is not an account holder
any longer - they took care of that.  Second, he is a MINOR, and hence
they should give information to his parent.  Third, a brief description
of the problem?  How about, "You deleted my account, Homer, for no reason
other than that I am home schooled."  Seriously. With over two million
children in this country being taught at home, this really is an issue
that needs to be addressed. Surely, mine are not the only ones who want
a Facebook.

So I'll have Elijah write to them and I'll let you know what happens.
Stay tuned.

Be thankful ~

Karen

ps.  I am having serious font-size issues this morning.  I think it's
because I pasted the reply from an e-mail to this post, and somehow the
blogger-font-gods are not in favor of that.  Sorry.

Facebook. Hmph.

I'm just a tad perturbed this morning. Yesterday Elijah informed me that his Facebook account had been disabled by the Facebook people themselves because he is homeschooled. I just couldn't believe it, so I tried to log in to his account and sure enough, there was the notice saying it had been disabled because he is homeschooled. I read all the FAQs about the subject, and found that, in an effort to keep Facebook a "safe" place, they verify the schools that kids claim to be enrolled in, and since you can't really verify a homeschool, they just disable those accounts. Except that all of his homeschooled friends also have Facebook accounts and none of the others were deleted. I'm trying not to get all mother-bearish here. After all, it IS just a Facebook. On the other hand, it IS how he keeps in touch with friends and siblings who live far away, and he DOES have my permission to have it, and I DO frequent my kids' Facebooks to keep an eye on things and generally be an adult presence.

So I wrote to the powers that be, asking how a homeschooled kid could have a Facebook with his parents' permission, without lying about his age or school as I know some kids do. I'll let you know what I find out.

In other news, day two of the yardwork marathon commences. If I can still function at the end of this, I'll see you tomorrow.

Be thankful ~

Karen

Belay my last.

I don't need hotflashes. I need Bengay. And Advil. And a hot bath. And some sympathy would be nice, too.

My WORD, Elijah and I have worked ourselves almost to death today. We worked in the garden a bit, raked some leaves (the ones from the fifty-eight Bajillion oak trees in the woods behind our house that, even though we rake three times in the fall, are STILL under the deck and in between the forsythia bushes at the back of the house in the spring. I'm telling you, someday I'm going to live IN the woods and never rake another leaf.), trimmed some hedges, dug out 8 or 10 unhealthy azaleas, went to the dump with said azaleas and various other trash, switched the battery from the truck to the van, hitched up the trailer and loaded it with all the lawn equipment, went down the street and cut the good doctor's 1.5 acres of grass, and somehow managed to clean up the kitchen and get two loads of laundry done. I think I deserve a medal! Or at least dinner that someone else has cooked. So that's what we're going to do. There's a Chili's bacon-burger calling my name. If you listen real closely you can hear it. . .

And now that I've gone back and re-read that last paragraph, I realize there is an unclear antecedent in my parenthetical phrase. It's not the fifty-eight bajillion oak trees that are under my deck, it's the LEAVES from them. Sorry for the confusion.

So.

Tomorrow we have a list almost as long which includes, but is not limited to, mowing our own grass, spraying the walkways with Roundup, driving stakes around the garden (it's a long story and I'm trying to stay away from any more parentheticals, even though I just typed one), and fun with firewood, not to mention the usual school, reading, vision therapy, and a workout at the Y. I don't dare take two days in a row off.

If I'm not back in 24 hours, send out a posse.

Be thankful ~

Karen

Maybe I need hotflashes.

OK, so you're probably getting sick of surprises, but the brown was just a wee bit too mellow for me. I'll try green for a while and see how quickly I get tired of it.

Saturday Ben declared we were finished burning a fire in the woodstove for the year. It's been fairly warm-ish, so that if there's a fire going, the temperature in the house approaches 90 and that's just a little too warm. Elijah whoops and hollers when the woodstove gets put to rest because he does most of the wood cutting and hauling. So this morning we got up and it was drizzly and gray and about 50 degrees out. It wasn't much better in the living room, so I turned the heat on. After two hours I realized that, although it was 70 in the house, we were all freezing. Elijah had the hood up on his sweatshirt and was wrapped in a blanket doing math. Abbie went back to bed. The dog was wandering forlornly around the house, stopping at the hearth with every lap, looking for heat. So I declared the previous declaration dead, and we made a fire. Everyone immediately cheered up, the house temp got up to 80+, and life got back to normal. We're so used to great heat, we can't stand the central draft. Give me the dust, give me the woodchips and bark shreds and all the mess that goes with a woodstove, but give me REAL heat!

I think we need to move to south Florida.

Be thankful ~

Karen

On a serious note.

Remember my friend, Cari, who was in labor for two and a half days and finally had Kaylie? Well, the reason they induced her labor in the first place was that she was showing signs of toxemia, with high blood pressure being the main one. But even after Kaylie was born, Cari had to stay in the hospital for six or seven days because they couldn't get her BP to come down and stay down. They finally found what they thought would be the right meds and let her come home. Well, last night she went back. The meds aren't doing the job and she said her head felt like it would explode. So if you think of it in the next few days, would you pray for Cari? Kaylie is her seventh child, so there's an obvious need at home. She does have two teenage girls who are very good at keeping things going at home, but she is still very much needed, and I know her family will appreciate your prayers. Thanks.

Be thankful ~

Karen

Surprise!

Yes, I felt the need for a little mellow in my not-so-mellow life, and since brown is the new black (what does that mean, anyway?), I opted for a little mellow brown. If I were really techno-savvy, I would change the font to comic sans which I just think is so very soothing to look at, but I'm not so I won't. And we'll all just have to be satisfied with it.

And speaking of brown (Don't you love my great transitioning ability? It's a gift.), I have two truckloads of brown in my backyard right now. Brown manure, to be specific. And it is the loveliest manure I have ever gotten! It has very few shavings in it and is already quite broken-down, so it doesn't smell terrible and isn't attracting flies. I will have the most delicious tomatoes, the crispiest, coolest cucumbers, and the most prolific squash plants ever, so this summer when you get a hankerin' (that's a redneck word for desire) for a REAL tomato and cucumber salad, come right here and I will share a picture with you. Or you could drive to my house and get some real-time veggies and make your own, but with gas prices as high as they are, it might be better to just enjoy the pictures. Now if someone wants to develop scratch-n-sniff technology for blogger that would be nifty and I would surely take advantage of it. But until then, I'll take photos and you can drool on your keyboards.

In other terribly uninteresting news, did you know that dogs can get pinkeye? Apparently so, for my dog has it. At the moment we are treating him with artificial tears, but I may see a vet visit in the near future. The tears help, but we can't seem to get rid of it permanently. Along these lines, I have had nightmares about him going blind. Can you picture a 70-pound dog crashing through the house, knocking things to kingdom come? Neither can I. How do you help a blind dog? With a seeing-eye person? And along THOSE lines, I have considered over the years that it might be fun to raise a service dog. I know you have to go through a home study like in adoption, and you have to be able to give the dog up at whatever age they say they want it by (wow, that was terrible sentence structure, but you get my point), but I just think it would be a neat undertaking.

So.

A new look, horse manure, tomato and cucumber salad, doggie pinkeye, and service dogs, all in one post. My friends, that takes talent.

Be thankful ~

Karen

The tax man cometh. Or not.

Knowing beyond any reasonable doubt that we had procrastinated long enough, Ben and I went to see our accountant Monday night. Ben paced and fretted. I handed over every piece of paper pertaining to our financial life for the last year, one by one, as it was asked for. You know, even when you pay someone else to do your taxes, it's still a lot of work. The organizing. The REMEMBERING - God, help me - the remembering is worse than the fifty-two worksheets to see if you qualify for a deduction on the cost of your liver pills. We have to remember every measly job Ben did, how many trips he made, organize the receipts, did he pay a kid labor, everything but how many times he blew his nose. But since I've done this a time or 25, I have a system for keeping track of the totally useless information the accountant wants every year, so I don't sweat it. Ben was sure we would owe this year, but I knew differently. Every month I see what comes in and what goes out. And most importantly, what DOESN'T come in. That rental house that my daughter and son-in-law are living in for almost nothing? It really helps come tax time. We show a huge loss and the IRS feels sorry for us. Well, maybe not, but at least they don't make us pay for owning it.

So while we were sitting across the desk from Ms. Tax-lady, we were having a conversation about where to claim the tuition expenses on the return. And believe me, with three in college, the tuition expenses are a BIG DEAL. Ms. Tax-lady informed us that, if we lived in Georgia, our kids would go to college for free. FOR FREE. ALL OF THEM.

I feel the urge to move coming on.

Be thankful ~

Karen

National Pro-Life T-Shirt Day

Come watch our friend Boo in this video. She's the one with the long, dark hair and light colored jeans. And don't forget to wear your pro-life t-shirt on April 29th! I'll be wearing mine!

Be thankful ~

Karen