Am I crazy???!!!

If you follow my blog, you know I've been considering the idea of homeschool. Well, I have to make a confession here: I used to think people who homeschooled their kids were a little....well, wierd. I figured they were either paranoid, or their kids were so heinous they had been kicked out of public school. (And I'm sure occasionally this holds true!) But once I started thinking about homeschooling my own kids, I realized that homeschooling is a lot more mainstream than most people think.

There are several families that are patients in our office who homeschool, and their kids are very well adjusted and "normal", for whatever that's worth. But I think a lot of people still associate negative feelings with homeschooling- like I used to do. For example, I recently told one of my husband's relatives that I was considering homeschool, and they looked at me as if I had confessed a sudden urge to join the Hare Krishnas.

Oh, well.

Today I went to my first homeschool group meeting. I figured the best way to meet other moms is to just jump in! I was a little nervous, because there were lots of families there and I didn't really know anyone, but I'm so glad I went! All the other moms were very friendly and encouraging. They are part of a co-op that meets on Fridays, with classes for different ages from preschool to high school.

So I'm going to continue doing some research online, and do some reading before I make my final decision.

Bake your cake (twice!) and eat it too!

I am woefully behind on my blog! So lets do a little catching up! This past Friday, April 17th, I had Bella's birthday party at our house. Which means I spent all day Thursday cleaning. I really don't know why, because none of the party guests gave my house the white glove test, and by the time they all left I had to do it all over again! Anyway, we had a really good time.

Bella wanted a Dora the Explorer party this year. Actually, she wanted a "Swiper party, with Dora and Boots!". So I made cupcakes with Dora toppers on them, and a small cake. The cake was an adventure. I took the last cupcakes out of the oven, popped the cake pans in, (two eight inch round cakes) and went about my business. When I checked the cakes a few minutes later, not much was going on. Apparently, out of habit, when I took the cupcakes out I had turned the oven off! I thought, "Maybe if I turn it on really quick, it'll be okay." It wasn't. Off I go to Wally World for another Pillsbury Funfetti cake mix!

It was after midnight by the time I got finished. I had planned on doing something a little more creative than just scrawling "Happy Birthday Bella!" on it, but by 11:30p.m. I was shooting for having a properly baked cake with frosting all over it.

For some reason Bella hates the Happy Birthday song.

This is her typical reaction:

Pinata madness in the playroom!

Opening her gifts.

The weather turned out to be beautiful, so after presents all the kids went outside and played in the yard for a little while. As soon as everyone left, I put Bella down for a nap- she was pooped!

Toyland, Toyland...

After this past Christmas, we looked around the house and realized it was starting to look like one of those homes they show on the Discovery Health channel, where hoarders live. It was like we were being buried alive in "stuff". By "stuff" I mostly mean toys. And more toys. We were spared the toy gifts with Abby (this year) due to the fact that she was three weeks old at Christmas and couldn't even hold her own head up, let alone appreciate a gift that came with "some assembly required" and "batteries not included". She got lots of clothes.

So we explored our options. We could a) get rid of all our worldy possessions and live on a commune. b) just flat out become hoarders...maybe we could get on t.v. or c) make more room!

Well, I didn't want to be on t.v. that bad, and people on communes probably have the heebie jeebies. (The technical name for that bacteria is actinobacillus actinomycetemcomitans). So we decided to make a playroom in the basement.

Luckily, we have a full basement. Even more luckily (more luckily? Can I say that?) it was income tax season, the season my husband longs for the most- after football season, that is. So our stars aligned, and we made a playroom! Here are some pics!


Here is the "before". Acutually this is the
"before" after Kenneth moved all the boxes that
we crammed in this corner.



Here is the room with framing and insulation...

And drywall. Ahh, there's nothing like drywall

dust in the morning...

The stairwell, painted and carpeted. The color

looks funny in this shot, it's acutally a toupe color.

And the carpet is Berber. I love it.

The finished product! I painted it "Twilight Mist".

As previously noted in my blog, I won't use a color

unless I like the color and the name. The small door

on the left is a large closet under the stairs.

I don't have a pic of the ceiling fan, but it's really cute. Each blade is a different

pastel color. Kudos to my hubby for picking it out all by himself.

The Difference of a Day

I'm so behind on my blog! Things have been so busy. The funny thing is, I should have more time to blog now. Theoretically.

Since Abbigail was born, I've really been wanting to spend more time with my girls. They grow so very quickly. And even though they are in excellent hands while I'm at work (Mon. and Tues. with Nana, Wed. and Thurs. with Aunt Beth) it grated on me that I only got three days with them, and other people got four. Shouldn't I have the majority?

So I did some financial figuring to see if I could cut back a day at work. I made lists and calculations. There are things I'm willing to give up if need be...trash pickup, yes. Eating out, yes. Cell phone, absolutely not. (We don't even have a land line!)

Once I decided it was possible, the next step was bringing it up at the next Board Meeting. (i.e. the dinner table). So after we had eaten, I blurted out, "We need to talk!" And the thing is, I hate it when people begin conversations that way! So I laid out "The Plan" for hubby, and he agreed we could make it work.

Then came the fun part. Asking The Boss. Now don't get me wrong, The Boss is a nice guy. He's always treated me excellently. As far as my nervous system is concerned, that does not matter one tiny bit. I still got the works: sweaty palms, dry mouth, stomach doing backflips. Anyway, I caught him alone in his office, ran in, and shut the door. At that point there was no turning back. You don't go in The Boss' office and shut the door to discuss the weather.

Before he could even ask, I said, "I'm not pregnant!". Because The Boss always assumes that's what you are coming to tell him. When you work with several women in childbearing age, it's actually a pretty common occurance so I understand where he's coming from.

"I'm not pregnant, and I'm not quitting (always his second assumption), but I want to ask if you'd consider letting me cut back and work three days a week. I need to spend more time with my girls."

If you say it fast enough, your synapses get a little behind and you can keep your voice from shaking because you are nervous.

The Boss pondered a moment. Then said, "That sounds reasonable. Let me discuss it with The Other Boss and I'll let you know by the end of the day."

Luckily, it didn't take that long. He came and found me in about ten minutes and said it was okay. It's a good thing I didn't have to wait till the end of the day, because I was doing that thing where you talk a lot because you're nervous. I was starting to annoy myself.

Anyway, I now work three days a week. I now have four days off. It's a beautiful thing. The balance of my life has shifted, and you'd be amazed at the difference that one day makes. That one day is reading more stories to Bella. That one day is more cuddling with Abbigail. That one day means for the majority of my week, I am a mother and not an employee.

Don't mistake me, I love my job. But I love my kids more.

Yesterday I got my first reduced paycheck. We have a four day work week, and I gave up a day, which is a quarter of my income. And I make pretty good money, so a quarter of it was nothing to sneeze at.

It was worth every penny.

Ready for my close-up....

People always told me about second child syndrome. But I still wanted to believe it would never happen in our home. That was back when I still used the word "never" with confidence.
For example, "I will never buy my kids' clothes at Wal-mart" (read previous post!).

When Arabella was born, I had her picture made at 6 weeks, 3 months, 6 months, 9 months, you get the picture. No pun intended. In addition, I pulled out my camera for every momentous occasion. Like her sleeping in her bouncy seat. I think I have six of those pictures in her baby album. No exaggeration. I hung them on the walls, I sat them on tables, any stationary surface in our house was likely to have a framed photo of our bundle of joy on it.

Then Abbigail arrived, and even though people told me, "You won't have hardly any pictures of the second one!" I didn't believe it. So a few weeks after she was born I defiantly scheduled a photo session. A few days before it, Abby's face started breaking out with "baby acne". I thought, well, I still want her picture, she's still cute. The day before the appointment I went to get her out of bed and instead of the adorable baby I had placed there, I found a red-faced bumpy little ugly duckling. Bless her

tiny heart, I cancelled the appointment. Then life ensued. We go busy. One day I finally succumbed to the guilt and stuffed a snapshot I'd taken of her into a frame and sat it on the sofa table. Till now it was the only picture of her on display.

So I finally got in gear and made an appointment at Potrait Innovations in Johnson City for some last minute Easter pictures of my girls and my neice, Ashlyn.

It didn't start out too well. As I often still do, I misjudged how long it takes to get two little girls ready. Especially when one is running around the house yelling, "I'm naked!" while you are trying to dress her, and the other

is liable to puke at the slightest provocation. On top of that, when I got Bella's outfit out to put on her I discovered that the size 3T outfit I had purchased her was actually a 3T shirt with a pair of 24 month leggings. I put 'em on her anyway. We're petite. We got out the door, and arrived at the studio on time. We did casual pictures first, and they went surprisingly well. Abby managed to spit up on me and Aunt Rachel, without messing up her own outfit, which was nice. And Ashlyn was a little uncooperative until a second photographer came over to distract her. (I swear, the girl was using Jedi mind tricks..."You will pose the way I want you to!").

Once those shots were taken, we got the joy of changing three little girls into tights, dresses, and patent leather Sunday shoes in the midst of a photo studio. Luckily they weren't very busy because we had our wardrobe change strewn all over the waiting area. But again, I was pleasantly surprised at how well they cooperated. Even Abby breezed through her first photo shoot like a pro.

Once we were finished, the photographer asked if I would like some 'diaper shots' of Abby, since I'd never had her picture made. I said , "Sure!", and we stripped her down to her diaper. I wasn't sure she would cooperate, since we'd been wallowing her around and changing her clothes for over an hour. The photographer plopped her down on a bean bag with a blanket over it, then wrapped a pink feather boa around her. Abby kind of swatted at it, and looked up at us like, "What are you doing to me?". But then the photographer started cooing and talking to her, and then....

Magic.

The sweetest picture. And so worth waiting for.

Death of a Name-Brand Snob

Well, it was a long, slow death. But she died happy. No, I didn't lose a beloved relative, I'm talking about my inner name brand snob. The one who, in college, happily paid seventy-five dollars to have her hair highlighted, and had to have clothes from American Eagle, Gap, Abercrombie...you get the picture. My inner name brand snob used to walk into AE and not just buy a shirt or sweater, but pick out a mannequin I liked and think, "Hmmm, I'll take all that in a size two." (the me who wore a size two has died, also, but thats another story!) She also would take the long route to anywhere in Johnson City so that she could drive-thru Starbucks for a double tall extra hot caramel latte. When her niece was born, she indulged in BabyGap khaki shorts and flowered onesies for a three month old.

The death began slowly and gradually enough. First, she got married, and got a little older. She realized she didn't like to be walking around in a t-shirt she paid over twenty dollars for, only to see a group of 13 year olds wearing the same one....goodbye, American Eagle. Then came the epiphany that you don't need blasting rock music, a smog of cologne, and posters of half-naked people in order to shop...adios, Abercrombie. She started buying her niece stuff that was on sale.

You know, JCPenneys really wasn't that bad.

Next she had a baby, and started noticing that JCPenneys had really good sales if you watched for them. And hey, Proffits put coupons in the Sunday paper! With the money she saved, she could afford to have baby's picture made more often. She bought a coffee maker for home, and you know, the flavored creamers are pretty darn good.

Then baby number two came along.

Okay, so lets drop all the 'she' stuff. You know I'm talking about myself. And today I bought new outfits for my daughters and my niece to have their picture made in.....at Walmart. (gasp!) And you know what? They are really cute! And I got them all for less than $25 dollars.

(Stands up) My name is Rebekah, and I buy off-brand clothing for my children. I've been doing this for about three months now. It used to be just every once in a while, but once I started, it was hard to quit. First it was just clothes, now it's food, too...the other day I went grocery shopping and came back with more store brand items than name-brand ones....and they were good...

Okay, all joking aside, I'm not going to sit here and tell you my kids never wear Gymboree (cutest clothes ever!) or BabyGap (you're never too young to be preppy!). But I will tell you I have never paid full price at Gymboree, and only once at Gap and that was for an Easter dress. Luckily, my big sis is a name brand snob, and I get her hand-me-downs. All the prestige with none of the price, hehe. Me, I go for the outlet stores and clearance racks. (Even at Wally world- today I got Bella some adorable pjs for $3, and socks for $.75 a pair!)

And you know what? It hasn't killed me yet.

The Broken Road

This past Tuesday, March 9, was a momentous occasion. There should have been a ticker-tape parade. The U.S. Postal Service should have issued a commemorative stamp. There should have been special news bulletins.

It was our fourth wedding anniversary. My favorite holiday.

I know to people who have been married twenty or thirty years, it must seem silly that I'm excited over four little years. Let me tell you, it was a long, hard road to get to these four years.

This story begins when I was in the eighth grade. I was in love with a boy we'll just call "J". Or at least, what passes for love in the eighth grade: I laughed at whatever he did, whether it was funny or not, and he stole my notebook and hid it from me. Anyway, at the end of the year he invited me to be his date for the Eighth Grade Banquet. Actually, "date" is a strong word for two kids who are nowhere near driving age. But I was exstatic. I wore my sister's hand-me-down banquet dress, mom did my hair, and his parents drove us.

We sat at a table with a girl I'll call "S." and her date, a guy named Kenneth who was two grades ahead of us. I danced every slow-dance with J, -except for one. I don't know why, and I don't recall the song that was playing, but for some reason I asked Kenneth to dance and he said yes.

Fast forward to the summer after I turned seventeen. We were both working at Food Lion, and had both just had a break-up with someone else, when we started talking and hit it off. The first night he called me, we literally talked for hours. We were pretty much inseperable from then on.

Eight months later, he proposed, and I couldn't say "yes" fast enough. I wasn't even eighteen yet, but I thought I understood the meaning of marraige and forever. I thought he was going to take care of me. We both thought we had time the change the parts of each other we didn't like.

I remember standing at the back of the church, zipped into my dress, veil just so, holding Daddy's arm. And he looked over at me and said, "You know you don't have to do this." And deep inside, I thought, "Yes I do! All these people are here, we have all those wedding gifts, we rented an apartment..." And I walked down the aisle.

It was more or less downhill from there. When my expectations weren't met, I nagged. He got angry. We stopped communicating. We were so young and inexperienced in life, we didn't even know how to find out what was wrong with our relationship so we could fix it. And then I think we both stopped trying.

Eighteen months after we said ,"I do," the judge said ,"You don't have to anymore." I moved back home with my parents, and it didn't take long to realize the emotion I felt the most of was...relief. I hadn't realized how miserable I had been. And though it was easy to lay the blame at his door, the truth is it takes two people to make a marraige work or fail.

So I moved on with my life, ignoring his attempts at reconciliation. I actually used the cliche'd phrase "over my dead body" when referring to any possibility of a future with him. I did whatever made me happy without bothering to consult a higher power. It didn't matter, he knew where to find me when the time was right.

So one night, after I was out of college and working in a dental office during the day, and helping out at Flick Video some evenings, I found myself thinking about failure, and forgiveness, and about Kenneth. I thought about what the Bible says about forgiving people. How if you pray with anything in your heart against someone, your prayer isn't heard.

So I called him. Just to apologize for the things I had done wrong, and to tell him I forgave him from the bottom of my heart. And I did.

We were married on Thursday, March 9, 2006. We met at the church after work, with a few close friends, and said our vows...again. Thirteen months later, our daughter Arabella was born. Her name means "answered prayer". She was joined this past December by her sister Abbigail.

And this past Tuesday, the florist delivered a vase with four beautiful red roses, and a card that read, "Happy Anniversary. A rose for every wonderful year."

I couldn't agree more. I love you, sweetie.

P.S. An interesting note: J and S are now married- to each other! They live not far from us, and have a beautiful little girl!