It is more of smock than anything. The arms are so big that they hang down like wings. This is a handy feature. When it gets hot I flap them and make a cooling breeze. It’s a nice breeze with a light powder fresh scent, unless I forgot to put on my deodorant.

My shirt is supposed to be a light bluish-gray color but it has some white paint spatters from when I painted the trim and some green from when I painted something green. There is also a spaghetti sauce spot on the right breast area from spaghetti sauce. I feel this adds to the charm.

When I wear this shirt it is a form of creative expression. It speaks for me. It communicates an important message between me and MyHusband. He sees me in my shirt and he knows it’s saying, “Hey, why don’t you go and pretend your doing something important in the garage before your wife makes the next few hours of your life a living hell.” Non-verbal communication is important in a marriage.

My shirt has been there for me through hormonal outbursts, exhausted tirades, and dually evacuating stomach flues. It’s a true friend. I know this shirt so well it’s like I can wear it any time I want. You just don’t have many human friends like that.

Today I went to put it on. It was waiting for me in the bottom of my bottom drawer. I stripped down and pulled the comforting goodness over my head. I went to flap my wings when I heard a strange sound. A moan, maybe more of crackle. I examined it closely and everything appeared fine. Then I pulled gently on the shoulder seam. It moaned again. After a few minutes of stunned silence I realized the truth, my friend was dry rotting. I checked the Internet but there was no treatment. I made a few panicked calls to a clothing specialist (my mom) but the answers were all the same. There was nothing I could do but wait for the end.

It’s a sad, sad day around the ImPerceptible household, but don’t worry about me. I’m strong and I’ll be fine. Life will go on. It just won’t be as comfortable and it will no longer contain a lightly powder scented breeze. I’ll adjust.

Me: Are you going to drink your milk out of an elephants snotty nose?

Youngest: Hey, why not?  Yesterday I drank out of a monkeys tail.

Me: Oh. 

“Is your back OK mommy?” she asked.

“Are you trying to break my back?” I asked just a little peeved that my sweet baby was trying to break my back.

“No! I think granddad was kidding. Does your back hurt?”

I assured her I was fine and we walked on. “My little scientist,” I thought proudly even though I was a little concerned that she was willing to sacrifice my back for the sake of science. But that’s my oldest. I wouldn’t want her any other way.

I guess some things never change. She had a sleepover and I heard one of her friends say “Don’t do it you might die!” I went running in to see what the hell was going on. Apparently the legend of Bloody Mary was the topic of the night. She was planning to lock herself in the bathroom and try to summons Mary’s ghost.

“Why would you try something if you thought you could die?” I asked just a little bit peeved that my hormonal pre-teen was attempting something that she thought could end in death.

“Mom! I don’t think I’ll die. I’m proving it isn’t true.”

I choked back my laughter and gave them all a poorly prepared lecture about not doing stupid things. They finally decided that they would try to see the ghost but they would go in pairs, holding hands, with the hand of the safety person on the light switch. If they saw even a flicker of red light in the mirror they would turn on the light rendering Bloody Mary unable to harm them. I left them to their own and went back up front.

I know they’re going to do stupid things. Probably their fair share of dangerous things. Didn’t we all? But after they had finally gone to sleep I peeked in the door at the faces of little girls trying so hard to grow up and I couldn’t help but worry about them. I stood there a long time and one thought kept coming to mind. Please, please, little girls, look after each other and always keep a hand on that light switch.

Things I have quit:

1. Smoking – That was a nasty habit I wish I had never started.
2. Drinking until I puke – MyHusband is not an enabler. Spending the night with your face pressed against the toilet is a fast way to learn the meaning of moderation.
3. College – Three times.
4. My job – Several times.
5. Fishing – I don’t eat fish anymore and catch and release seems cruel.
6. Eating raisins and peanuts – I guess I haven’t quit this, I just haven’t done it in a long time. It’s the ultimate in salty sweet goodness.
7. Being too shy or embarrassed to ask for what I want in bed – Who knew men really like to know what you want. Even if Especially if it’s freaky.
8. Picking a fight with my husband and grabbing my pillow and blanket to go sleep on the couch just because I want him to come in there and tell me he loves me and doesn’t want to sleep without me.
9. Studying Karate and Judo – But I can still kick the hell out of something if I want to.
10. Caring what people think about me.
11. Not caring about what people think about me.
12. Cleaning my house with harsh chemicals
13. Being afraid of spiders

I’m sure there’s more. I’ll keep you posted. Any other quitters out there?

As we were walking up I caught the distinct sound of Buffett, Jimmy Buffett. I have a tendency towards denial and I assured myself that they were playing a tape until the singer was ready to sing. We got a bag of cotton candy and some lemonade. After talking with a few friends we went and sat down. It was five o’clock somewhere. I talked with the girls for a bit and then a Volcano was about to explode, but we didn’t know where we wanted to go.

Slowly reality began to set in and when the singer began to sing a Kenny Chesney tune I began to cycle rapidly through the five stages of grief. Once I landed firmly on stage 5, acceptance, I asked the girls if they wanted to sing along. “No, not really” they told me. We hung around for a little bit then we walked down to Caroline Street for some ice cream.

There was a man in the ice cream shop and he had commitment issues. We waited as he sampled flavor after flavor of ice cream. It was starting to get on my nerves. Finally I got a chance to order.

“I want a single scoop of rum raisin.”

No sample! I’m wild and crazy like that. It was good.

As we walked back I cursed Jimmy Buffett. “My ice cream is a frozen rum concoction! He’s in my head. He’s in my head!” I scared the hell out of that dude on the Harley but the kids and I thought it was funny.

I want to make it clear that I’m not a Buffett hater but when you’re expecting this and you get a barefoot guy with a tambourine named Island Jimmy, who happens to be asking people to form a conga line, there is a large chance of disappointment. The worse part is I have no idea if the guy has his own music or if he just does Buffett/Chesney covers. He had a nice voice.

But we made the most of it and all in all we had a good day. Except for that guy on the Harley. I think he may have peed his pants.

This is the first song I ever remember hearing. ‘Looking Out My Back Door’ My mom would play it, (on 8 track through speakers big enough to use as an end table) and we would sing it and dance around the kitchen. It’s the only song I have listened to in every stage of my life and one of the first songs I put on my iPod. This video makes me laugh. The couch, the hair, the posters. So many memories. I wonder if our parents realize how much they warped our minds in the 70’S.

My first record was ‘Snoopy Vs. The Red Baron’. My dad got it from a yard sale and gave it to me. I would play it over and over and shout out the lyrics while my dad pretended he was the Red Baron and I was Snoopy.

Those memories are delicate and come to me in small bits and pieces. Other songs come to mind but they don’t have any substance. Just flashes here and there. That holds true until ‘The Boss’ came on the scene. Born in the USA was released just before my Birthday in 1984 and I bought the cassette with my birthday money. I wore that tape out. I’m not completely sure why that album spoke to me back then, but it still speaks to me know. Except now I know ‘I’m on Fire’ isn’t a sex song. My mix wouldn’t be complete without one of his songs. For this ‘getting old’ mix I chose ‘Dancing in the Dark’

I was listening to ‘Groove Me’ when I got arrested. There were no charges filed against me because it isn’t illegal to drive around without a car full of drunk teenagers unless you’re not a teenager. I had listened to those MADD people. I was the designated driver! Good thing both the police and my parents had a sense of humor.

There were a bunch of songs from high school and college that remind me of new experiences and crazy carefree nights but none of those belong on this mix. They’re all about being young.

Getting married makes you old and the first time I heard this song ‘If I Had a Million Dollars’ it reminded me of my husband and all the silly things we discuss pretending they are the most important things in the world.

The first time I felt my oldest move, and I was sure it wasn’t gas, was when I was listening to ‘Mars, The Bringer of War’. She would squirm and kick when it got loud. Then I played it over and over because feeling her alive inside me was the most wonderful feeling I had ever had in my life. Afterwards I worried that I had scared her for life, pre-natally. What kind of mom plays her unborn child songs about war? For this mix I selected ‘Saturn, The Bringer of Old Age’.

The girls being babies brings to mind so many conflicting emotions. There were so many changes. Physical, emotional, social, you name it, it changed. Sleepless nights, no money, funerals, hurt feelings, and arguments come to mind. First smiles, birthday cakes, kissing little tiny toes, and Raffi also comes to mind. I’m not sure how I survived. I’m not sure how MyHusband’s and my relationship survived either. But it did. There are probably hundreds of songs that could work for this period of my life but I picked ‘She’s Becoming Gold’.

No one can spend a decade as a stay at home parent and not relate to these two songs at some point. ‘Fifth Wheel’ and ‘What About Everything’. To the best of knowledge neither songwriter is a stay-at home parent but I think that says something about the human heart.

And just as a reminder to not take myself too seriously I have to include this. ‘‘As Good as I Once Was’”

So, tell me about some of the songs that mean something to you!

I tried messing around with my blog but nothing was working right and it made me angry. I was tired of the mess of unorganized files strewn around my website. I was sick of wasting my time checking stats and feeds. I felt like I had enough to worry about without trying to keep up with all the people I try to keep up with on-line. So I deleted everything. My entire site was gone and it felt good. I was no longer ImPerceptible. I was extinct.

Then I deleted my FeedBurner account, my StatCounter, and MyBlogLog. It felt even better. Like an empty room. A clean slate. An end.

I woke up Thursday morning and scoffed at the blinking light on my laptop. Today there will be no ‘spank me’ or ‘see my rack’ searches. No dumb asses asking why their potato plant is growing tomatoes. Not one person will come by my site wondering if they should color their hair with cinaberry hair color. Instead of pondering the ignorance of the universe, I could put my time to good use. So, I downloaded some music, and for good measure a little porn. My attitude started to improve.

By Thursday afternoon I was feeling like myself again. I sat and ate a bowl of vegetarian chili and thought it would taste better with some bacon. It did. Then I started re-building my blog. The time I spent as a sys admin made back-ups an obsessive compulsive habit. That made it a lot easier to put everything back where it belonged. But I made some changes.

I removed my homeschool label and unpublished most of the posts. I won’t be writing about homeschooling anymore. I feel that term homeschooler has become a label that divides people, even homeschoolers. Public, private, home, unschooling, classic, christian, secular, blah, blah, blah. Just like everyone else, I’m a parent that is doing everything she can, the best she can, so her children can grow up healthy, happy, and ready to take on whatever the world throws at them. Fuck the labels. I’m not playing anymore.

No more stats. I no longer have a FeedBurner account or a StatCounter. Unless they want to discuss a post I don’t care who stops by. I don’t care why people stop by either. If you stop by here wanting to know what happens if you have ‘too much caffeine’ or ‘pictures of dogs that fuck people’, that’s your problem, and you won’t find the answers here. I did put the MyBlogLog widget in the sidebar. I like that because it helps people find other blogs that might interest them and I like having a face (or image) to put with the names.

So now my website is nice and organized (Except I still don’t have a front page). Kinda like a long overdue spring cleaning. I’m also messing around with some new programs. I had a lot of fun re-doing my blog. I’m not bragging, but I’ve had many blog templates.  I think this is the best I’ve ever had. I can change the graphic at the top but I’m leaving it for now. It’s for a little boy that finally decided to grace the world with his presence. Happy birthday little guy. Congratulations new Mommy and Daddy!

And that’s that. How was your week?

Their dog, Copper, was having problems walking and they took him to the vet. He has an aggressive form of bone cancer and there is no treatment for it. It broke my heart. They’ve had him for less than two years. He’s barely past being a puppy. It’s just doesn’t seem right.

The girls heard me talking to her on the phone and wanted to know what was wrong. I would have preferred to take a few minutes and think of the right thing to say, whatever that is, but they looked frightened so I told them. I didn’t want their imaginations going wild. They were very upset. They loved Copper and they were worried about my niece. They remembered Hotrod and that made them more upset.

They were worried that that my brothers other dog, his chickens, our dogs, or any of us might catch it. I explained it wasn’t contagious. They wanted to know what to do to make my niece feel better. They asked questions about life and death that left me feeling bruised and broken. I think I did OK.

My youngest decided she didn’t want to think about it anymore. She went down to play with our dogs and after a little while she came back up. She got an ice pack from the freezer and laid down on the couch.

“Did you get hurt?” I asked. She put the ice pack over her heart.

“No. My heart hurts for Copper. I thought this might make it feel better.”

Damn, I can deal with a lot of things but that was just too much. It’s a good thing I stocked up on tissues the last time they were on sale.

It took me awhile to get all of my songs. There were many I wanted but none seemed special enough to purchase with a gift card. Thanks to my kids deciding to occupy themselves with something other than bickering with each other, I had some free time and attacked the music samples like rabid homeschoolers trying to get a free ride at Subway. Except I was riding Phil. It was good for me.

As I was basking in the afterglow I decided that it could be good for all of us. A virtual music orgy, compliments of Phil.

I seem to be in a blues/alt-country/Folk/Southern rock mood today.

Postcards From Hell - The Wood Brothers
Long Goodnight - Scott Miller and the Commonwealths
Wagon Wheel - Matt Anderson
Simple Song - David Saw
Heartache - Back Porch Mary
On Her Heart - Back Porch Mary
Other End Of The Road - Back Porch Mary
Eating Out Of Your Hand - Longview
Rice Beans - The Piedmont Boys

Thank you, Phil! Twice.

Homeschooling leads to educational Anarchy! Ahhh run!

[Note: I created this graphic for all educational anarchists and anyone else that wants it. Share and share alike, dervived or not derived, with or without attribution, for non-commercial use :)]

“I have been with you for almost half my life”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” he said.

Nothing else was said as we listened to the sounds of the night and he slowly fell asleep. I moved over to my side of the bed and tucked myself under my blanket. For a long time I thought about half my life. I had a lot of strange and conflicting emotions. Some what-ifs both for the past and the future. I was in a very lonely and doubtful place for awhile.

Then I rolled over and whispered into his sleeping ear.

“It’s been the best half.”

I went to sleep looking forward to the night I’d realize that I’d spent 2/3 of my life with him. I bet we’ll be really cool grandparents.

“fly through five inversions at speeds reaching 65 mph, including the world’s largest vertical loop”.

In my mind the shoulder harnesses and seatbelts were nowhere near adequate. The world is a totally different place when you’re a parent.

Just as the ride started moving I turned to MyHusband with a look of absolute panic. He has the amazing ability to read my mind and we both grabbed the handles on her shoulder harness and made sure she didn’t fall out. There was no way she was going to fall out but you don’t question a mother when she’s protecting her kids. You don’t tease her about it later either. Even if she can see it your eyes.

Indigo Blue
What is it About The Olive Garden?
Happy 5th of July
Stupid Grownups
Seven Things I Dig About Whit
Scarlet Red
Think of Me
Can’t Help But Smile
Discrete Packages
Through the Mist and Fog

Then I decided to find my most unloved post. I have many posts that belong in the virtual dumpster but the official results surprised me. Here it is.

We’re Like Corn!

Awwhh, come on! That was pure 7yo genius there. I can’t believe you guys don’t appreciate a good poop joke.

For school today we did nothing. I decided to take the day off. I had a dentist appointment. Everyone else gets the day off when they go to the dentists. So should I.

I sat in the dentists’ chair and wondered if she got her hygienist license from the Marquis De Sade School of dentistry. She poked and scraped until I bled. I figured I deserved it.

My teeth looked great. I would have to wait to see the dentists or I could leave. There was nothing wrong. I told her I would wait. He came right in. I asked him to check my filling on my back tooth. I felt weird. Nothing in particular. Just different. He said it was fine. It was just getting old. Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

Nothing remarkable happened at the grocery store. Just the same old food in the same old aisles. They gave me 20 cents off for using my own bags. But that really amounts to nothing. I thanked her anyway. I’m nothing if not polite.

I came home and decided to drop some things off at the food bank. When I got there they were closed. No one was there. So I left them nothing.

I did next to nothing for the rest of the day. I wasn’t in the mood.

Now I need to wrap up this post with something meaningful, or funny, or stupid, but I got nothing. I guess that’s the point.

“Enough. Stop it. Stop shouting. God Damn it, stop fighting!” I told them. They weren’t listening. I was trying to stay calm but it didn’t work out for me. I wondered if I should get the garden hose and spray them.

The pile eventually began to mutate and formed itself into two separate beings. They stood there face to face glaring at each other.

It was then my turn to make sense of the situation. I grabbed the pack of chicken, tore open the bag, and ripped the meat in half. I was in no mood for that crap. Squeezing it in my hands and holding it up above my head I shook my fists and yelled, “You each get half! Is that so hard to understand?”

“HALF!” I shouted as I stomped my foot on the floor.

Then I plopped the battered meat into their bare hands.

They stood there for a second looking at what was to become their lunch.

“What are we supposed to do with this?”

“Do with it as you wish.” I told them and I went to wash my hands of both the situation and the meat juice.

The oldest shoved hers into her mouth and the youngest got a piece of bread and made a sandwich. They both seemed happy.

A little later they were best friends again. Sitting together discussing life. I overheard the youngest tell her sister that the chicken was pretty good. All mushed up it tasted like chicken salad. The oldest didn’t have any complaints either. Hers was like a big meatball. Except it was shape like a fist. A fistball. Kinda like a knuckle sandwich, but different. It was good to hear them laughing together. I hope it lasts.

And now I’m left thinking, “I am so gonna get the Parent of the Year award this year.” I just know it!

I made a tiny little basket. It was fun and easy, except for the top. I have enough left over to make another just like this one. Except maybe it won’t be as crooked. I think I’m going to give it to my mommy. You didn’t know I was so talented, did you?

Home was tucked between fields planted with corn or sometimes soybeans. Go-carts, dirt bikes, and BB guns. Cows mooing in the distance and naked feet run through fields and managing to miss most all of the cow piles. There were apple trees along the drive and rotten apples to pelt both the unsuspecting and the deserving. There was always the smell of gasoline and engine oil from a newly repaired engine and dust from a freshly driven road. We never did slow down. What would have been the fun?

Home was also tucked between two rivers. One tasted like salt and seaweed. The other like dirt. I swam both long before my memory can remember. I learned about love and war on their shores. Oyster shells make good bombs, unless you hurt someone. Crab pots make good forts, unless you fall on them. The sand is cold, damp and uncomfortable, unless you’re in love.

At home, big trees grew smaller as I grew taller. Grannies kitchen always had treats. A bottle of Coke tasted good even if I had to share. Green garden snakes became monstrous demons and spiders wove deadly webs between the corn. We weren’t scared. Or so we said. We had the dog and a stick to protect us. He always led us home to dinner. At the end of a long day it was the only place we wanted to go.

There were grownups that wanted to hear our stories, warm bath before bed and full round of goodnight hugs. I would fall asleep to the sound of crickets and frogs. I didn’t know they were supposed to be annoying until the trees grew too small to climb and bare feet started wearing shoes. Crab pots became work tools and Coke gave way to wine. The boys became lovely demons and girls spun their webs. But we weren’t scared. Or so we said. We had arrogance and pride to protect us. We knew how to get home for dinner. Even if it was the last place we wanted to go. We never once considered we’d miss it.

More people write about a sound, smell, or taste they find comforting or that reminds them of home at the Thinking Homeschooler Project.

I’ve been having problems this year. My birthday is coming up next month and I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to try. There were a few options but none seemed quite right. I was thinking I could take a class in something I already knew and get better at it but that didn’t seem right. I am supposed to learn something new for my birthday. My birthday is only once a year; I can take classes anytime I want. It was really starting to bug me. Then last week, we went to Jamestown.

They have a re-created Native American village and we were having fun learning to prepare hides, grinding cornmeal, watching the chickens, and learning how to cook corn soup in clay pots over coals. It was interesting but I was more interested in the grass baskets. I liked the way they felt and the way they smelled. The woven patterns seemed so complicated but unassuming. In a way, they reminded me of every person I’ve ever loved. I couldn’t stop myself from picking them up and seeing how they were made. I was still thinking about them when we went to the fort and also when we boarded the boats. I stopped thinking about them when we got to the gift shop. Good grief, there must have been a hundred screaming kids in there. But they came back to mind when I saw a basket making kit. It was for children ages 10 and up but I figured I was definitely in the up category so I bought it. They weren’t the same types of basket. The kit was for the wide reed type baskets and I really like the grass baskets. It’ll be a good start.

I’ve looked through the directions and I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to figure it out. I think it’s one of those things you just have to do. So I’ll be doing it before long. When I get a free day and feel adventurous. Wish me luck!

In no way was it what I wanted. But I held firmly and demanded it to be mine.

I’m not sure why, other than because I could.

Now I have it. But I still don’t want it. Making it mine made it change. Now I want it like it used to be.

Did I try too hard.
I guess I don’t know a good thing.
Maybe I like the bad.
I don’t know.
I don’t think I ever will.

It just wasn’t what I wanted. Now it’s mine.

[I'm not sure where this came from. I wrote the first part a long time ago and the last part a few minutes ago. And here it is. I did drink a rather large glass of Coca-Cola today. that might explain it.]

When did her legs get that long? When did her pudgy baby hands stop being pudgy? When did she stop moving like a little kid? When did she start looking like a big kid?

Where is my baby? Where did all that time go? Where did the tears in my eyes come from? Where did I put that box of tissues?