Here's a Shocker!

My sweet friend, Debbie, over at Jadehollow, made this little button for me.

Why? Well, because she is caring, thoughtful, and wonderful, of course, but also because she selected me for this award:


It's from a blog party she participated in and it could only be given to one person. And she chose ME! And she did a whole write up on me and linked people to different articles and even included some of YOUR comments. I was floored. When I popped over there for my usual read I just merrily scrolled down to see who the lucky person was going to be and - I'm dead serious here - I wasn't crossing my fingers, or legs, or eyes that it would be me because it honestly never even dawned on me to consider it.

So, when I saw my name and this darling button, my eyes did that thing where they pop out and lay on my chest. (I'm sure you've heard me mention that attractive talent I have. Once in awhile they roll right down on the floor and peer around corners and that's how I know what my kids are up to.)

I could not believe she selected me. A Mothering Award? I tried to tell her she really might retract her selection if she knew the whole story and I tried to give her some insider information, but she still hasn't pulled it down.

Maybe I should have shared more, like:

• It takes dynamite to blast my kids out of bed. I am a failure at discipline.
  
  
• Most days the answer to the query, "What's for breakfast?" is met with, "Can you not see the cereal box, bread, toaster, etc.? Are you unable to scramble eggs?
  
  
• I let my two-year-old son ride a skateboard naked down the street. Yes, I have video.
  
  
• I rant and rave about the exact same issues and always receive the exact same results. I do not know why I have not recorded these sessions and simply hit the "play" button. I could nap during presentations. Someone once said, "Yelling at your kids to make them behave is like trying to drive your car by honking the horn." Yeah, well, when you're locked in traffic sometimes that horn feels like just the thing!
  
  
• My kids once got into a fist fight over control of the television. They broke the tv control button to the tune of a hundred bucks and gave each other a good thrashing before I could get to them. Bo had a huge bruising bite mark on her arm and TWM had such a perfect, bright red slap impression on his back you could have framed it and used it for a hand print for Mother's Day. And this is one of their fondest memories.
  
  
• I can burp like nobody's business. It's a gift born from years of tummy issues. I once read a little book to my kids about helping them form memories of their favorite things. It prompted them with questions like, "When you go to bed at night, what things do you hear in the house that comfort you?" Now, I am NOT lying here when I tell you I have spent countless hours reading to and singing to my children. They know every lullaby that's ever been written and could quote chapter and verse from the volumes they've heard. This was to be my hour of appreciation. My heart filled to the brim as I awaited my longed for response about the joyousness with which I'd filled so many end-of-the-day moments. They looked at each other and almost telepathically responded in unison, "Your nighttime burp." "What?!" I asked, incredulous. "Yeah," they happily replied. "When you wander around the house putting stuff away or starting laundry after we're already in bed, you always have one big burp and it's so comforting. We know everything is just like it should be." I told you I channel a fifth grade boy. I just didn't know he visited every night and they'd like him better than me. It's good to know the stories they'll tell THEIR children.

(How I see myself)

(How my children see me)

That's just a small sampling of my mothering skills and the loving and gentle way in which my children are guided daily. I would tell you more but they are having a knock-down-drag-out over who should have to wash the pans and who got out of it last time. This seems like a good time to push that "play" button.

I leave you with these thoughts:

"It would seem that something which means poverty, disorder and violence every single day should be avoided entirely, but the desire to beget children is a natural urge." Phyllis Diller

"Parents often talk about the younger generation as if they didn't have anything to do with it." Haim Ginott

"You don't really understand human nature unless you know why a child on a merry-go-round will wave at his parents every time around - and why his parents will always wave back." William D. Tammeus

I am so blessed by all of you and I wish you the most wonderful of Mother's Days. May your children rise up and call you "Blessed!" And these are for you. :-)

With Love,

Robynn

Copyright 2009

Let HER Entertain You.....

Alright.

You deserve a laugh. I can't do better than this today. I think she captured childhood and maybe even humanity. Mind you, same mom, same exposure to God and church for both kids. Here ya go: Why We Scratch Our Heads as Parents.

Reflections.....

Do not let me linger too long alone within my thoughts because it's there the hard work is done.

When I am all consciousness

I swim in breaking waves and grasp about for tethers

upon which to anchor my vitality

through my writing.

This bauble attracts me and I set out

with a mad stroke to capture it.

That object looms into view

and I backstroke with abandon toward its bobbing form

upon my mental waters.

I am even content to remain ostensibly stationary

for I still create energy and waves

by my treading.

These are the places of felicity

where frolicking lends itself to humor

and ideas crash and spray against the rocks

in gleaming sunlight.

But left stranded on shore

without my mad splashing to distract me

and the impressions and images that are ever with me

constantly beckoning

overtake me.

I rise to follow the gentle swing

of the ebb and flow below the fray.

I sway downward past the wildness of the surface

into the muddy silt of stillness

where distraction is spent

and light softly shares its shadow

and fragments.

It is there

through opaque and muted contours

clarity is born.

But birth

for all its loveliness

is also mewling and messy.

(By Robynn Reilly)

And it takes time. It takes the very thing we feel we can least afford. But without it, nothing would continue and change could not be effected. We travail, and after a time, we pray that our laboring has not been in vain.

My thoughts there have given birth to sadness and great compassion for those who are wounded within our homeschooling group, but it has also come with courage.

I could write volumes here about outlandish remarks, judgements, and bullying directed toward women and children by a few men within this local community, and believe me when I say my flesh is sorely tempted to create a list. But it would change little and reduce me.

What I feel compelled to do is to stop grumbling (which does nothing) and be brave enough to call behavior what it is. Some things are worth standing up for and speaking out against, especially when it tears at the very fabric of something so precious.

I can pray for their censure so more are not injured, and perhaps that will happen. But I also realize contrite and humble hearts are necessary and people must be willing to change. I struggle to have faith or vision for such a possibility as these are old, established patterns. Hubris, adorned in the torn and tattered clothes of false piety, seems rarely to recognize its own near nakedness. But I am required to believe change is possible. I don't get a pass.

And then I want to shout from the rooftops to the injured: "This isn't us! This isn't who we strive to be! Please don't see us through the distorted lens that has been provided!" I want to rush in and fix the hurts and tend to the wounds. I want my own pain to be healed. Mostly, I want to see our community lovingly supporting each other and operating in ways of blessing even when we differ. Maybe, especially when we differ.

So, what do I do?

I have to recognize my own heart must be examined everyday and that's a full time, never-ending job where ugliness can take up residence too easily. I must strive to be the thing I long for; I must pray for change; I'm required to have courage when it's called for and to seek wisdom I may not possess. I must have an abundantly grateful heart for the large numbers of men and women within this community who are loving and kind servants, and who possess the courage, gentleness, and self-sacrificing willingness to serve in humility. They are the majority! I must rejoice and be glad!

And finally, I have to swim hard for the surface because it's time to breathe fresh air and exult in the wonderful absurdities of life. They make me laugh and I miss laughing with YOU. Because it really is true......."A merry heart (DOES!) doeth good, like a medicine!" (Proverbs 17:22 KJV)

"....weeping may endure for a night but joy cometh in the morning." (Psalm 30:5b KJV)

Copyright 2009 - All Rights Reserved

"Ima Dud" by C.U. Less.........

I like to laugh. Did you know that?

What I don't like, yea, even DETEST is to be a project.

Consequently, I have wrestled with whether to simply be absent without explanation - is that A.W.O.E. (as is "Eh, WOE is me?) - or do I have enough confidence in our relationship to let you into my world? Will I cause you to think of me as morose, a flop, a pariah, the one to avoid at parties because all they can talk about is themselves and their latest malady?

It has been my privilege to know people with the direst, even fatal, health issues who, when you visited them, managed to minister to you and leave you with a smile. Obviously, that was not true on those really awful days that serious illness invariably brings and then it was my privilege to try and offer comfort. But as soon as they could, they were encouraging others and drawing attention away from themselves. This seems to have everything to do with their measure of faith. They see life in the bigger picture. They know where they're going when they transition out of this visible world. My level of illness, in its present form, does not seem to threaten my life and yet no one can give me a prognosis.

I struggle with a nerve disease that causes me small muscle loss and rotten pain at times. It is idiopathic meaning, after countless doctors and tests, they have no idea what causes it. It is progressive. So far (eleven years) it has been slow most of the time, though never leaving me pain free or without symptoms. Occasionally, for no known reason, it rachets up and just takes out muscles at will and leaves me wiped out. It affects my legs, feet, tongue, soft palate, and throat. For the last three weeks it has been escalating.

I have done what I can but the medicines that help to make the pain tolerable cannot be handled by my body. A response within me causes my body to build porphyrins when I take them. Porphyrins are a blood byproduct everyone makes and most people can clear, but I can't very easily. These porphyrins have the potential to cause further nerve trauma, as well as liver and spleen damage. I've gone through two of those episodes already and they left me very ill and pretty wiped.

The pain is intense at times and I am only able to squeeze out four or five hours of broken sleep at night, for weeks on end. That, of course, makes things worse and the cycle continues. My throat is most affected right now making me feel like swallowing is difficult - and my feet and legs feel as though I've laid them on the barbeque. Not a pleasant sensation.

And I wish it didn't but emotional upset strains my system and always increases symptoms. (One reason I love the upbeat and like to laugh!)

Friday night, I came up against a man in our circle who is in charge of some important functions. He made decisions directed at me which caused me to miss a pivotal night in my daughter's life. It was a night I had longingly anticipated for many years and had dreamt of enjoying. The moment passed and it is gone to me forever. What's done is done. But it did not pass without my grieving it and spending a goodly amount of time in tears. And, of course, that made all my symptoms worse.

I did get test results back from the doctor and have been given some instructions that are time consuming. This will cause me to have to take a little time away from blogging. That means I may not visit you nearly as often as my heart would desire though I will post as much as I can. If my failure to visit you would keep you from visiting me as well, I completely understand. The blogging world is symbiotic and we all try to support one another. I won't be able to keep up with my part for a bit. I will drop in sometimes and as often as I can but it won't be nearly as often as I want to. Please forgive me in advance. I love all of you and truly look forward to reading each of your posts. All together you compile the most fantastic magazine that exists!

Anyway, just think. With any luck, you skimmed this article and missed most of the ridiculous details. Had we been at a party together, I would have had you backed into a corner and you would have been longing for a meteor to land on the house. Now you are free to run away screaming.

I promise to be back with my attempts to entertain you and TRULY TRULY do not intend to, nor do I WANT to talk about my health. Who of us doesn't struggle with SOMEthing (as I've said before)? Life is hard at times. But it is also RICH! Thank you for loving me and visiting me and please know that you are one of the brightest spots in my life and I PROMISE not to make my health a regular feature. It may bore me even more than it does you! (Okay, I realize that is NOT possible. Insert retraction here.)

MUCH Love,

Robynn

Copyright 2009

Something Wicked That Way Went............

I understand some of you are wanting to know the rest of the story of Max the Menace. It's pretty brief so I'll just call it an epilogue.

Before Max shared his breakfast with me, as it were, we had added another ball python from the collection of an aged herpetologist who became too long in the fangs to care for the snakes he had acquired. Now we had two. We enjoyed our foray into this serpentine world as part of our animal craziness and endless search to appreciate God's creatures which, yes Eddie Bluelights, included spiders.

Our biggest event came when the snake cage lid was left unsecured one night. Both snakes regularly tested its strength and would nose and push against it. That perseverance paid off one evening after we had all gone to bed. The two of them slithered their way to freedom. Our second snake was located fairly quickly the next morning but Max evaded us. Every corner was investigated and all dark places were illuminated. Max was not to be found. We could only surmise he had somehow escaped through an open window or door and headed for more heavily infested rat pastures.

About a month later, while beginning to divest ourselves of rats altogether (Jack - our dear and friendly rat companion had eaten his last piece of cheese - and Jill lived on to spite him), we were moving cages and cleaning in the garage. As Grizzly moved a panel pushed tightly against one wall, there, to our astonished eyes, lay Max. He was coiled comfortably in between a couple of two-by-fours and was living in the wall. Apparently, he had followed the vibrations emanating from the constant scurrying of the rats in the cages and planted himself near a ready food source. Unable to actually access the source of the vibration, he had hunkered down much like a starving urchin child in front of a bakery window. How he navigated his way there will remain a mystery for the ages but we were all glad he had returned if for no other reason than to know where he was at night! We had no concerns for our safety. (No one in this family is in danger of being lightweight enough to become a snake meal.) But, nevertheless, one does not like to imagine the feel of slithering glacial skin gliding against your leg under the bedcovers.

Not long after, it was decided we had exhausted our snake adventures and were ready to move on. We found a worthy home for both our reptile friends, divested ourselves of rats, and closed the chapter of comfortably draped snakes and undigested rodents. No more would I sit at the computer feeling shoulder massages or lurching warnings. But our animal adventures were far from over. And, knowing us, it's quite likely we'll find ourselves boarding a hippopotamus or crocodile. (And I know you'll believe me when I tell you I actually DO have a hippopotamus story.......!)

Happy "Tails" to you!

Copyright 2009

"Something Wicked This Way Comes........"

In case you're wondering what to do today and just can't come up with anything, let me offer you this advice: Do anything except hold a snake right after it eats. I know the risk of this is high. I'm here for you.

I offer this tip from first hand experience. They don't like it.

I have learned quite a bit about feeding snakes. And I have also learned quite a bit about snakes that have been fed. You should probably stop reading at this point.

Goodbye! Have a nice snake-free day!

(Elevator music here.....................)




You're still here aren't you.

Suit yourself but I will not be responsible for the violent illness you are about to experience. Please keep all arms and legs inside the ride until it comes to a complete stop.

Several years ago, being the demented homeschoolers we are and having a sickening and morbid fascination delightful and childlike curiosity about nature, we decided to buy a snake. We had been to the fair and seen ball pythons, and, discovering they rarely bite and don't have big fangs (they're constrictors) we figured this was the three-foot-long, two inch diameter reptile for us.



Twenty bucks later we were picking ticks off a snake.

Yes, that's right dear reader. Did you realize not only dogs get big, fat disgusting ticks but so do snakes? Aren't snakes, in their own dear way, gross enough already?

Well, the answer to that silly query is no, they are not. They can, in fact, become much grosser for a variety of reasons.

We learned about snake ticks through vast internet searches. We always search endlessly about whatever new endeavor we embark upon so we may never have to do actual housework or yardwork again be good and trusted guardians of anything we acquire. Upon discovering snake ticks we also learned how to remove them. You must inspect millions of snake scales while looking through a magnifying glass and checking for little black things attached under said scales. If you are cursed and reviled among women lucky, you will find them. You then use tweezers to pull them off. You must do this for a SNAKE'S comfort and health even though you might be tempted to let your best friend die of tick poisoning before combing through her entire body hunting for ticks.

The next adventure will be getting your snake to eat. Yes, snakes, just like everything else, must take in nourishment. Purina does not make snake food for you to put in a cute little bowl with your pet snake's name emblazoned on the side. (Our snake's name was "Max." My apologies to our wonderful HUMAN friend, Max. It was before we knew you. He was nothing like you. I have never even known you to have fleas, let alone ticks.)

Back to feeding your snake. Where snake food comes from is from rats. That's right. Rats give birth to other rats and, before they are fully grown, you feed those rats to your snake. So, you will have to go to the pet store to buy what they call "feeder" rats. You may feel somewhat squeamish about this but it is, after all, what snakes do: keep rodent populations down. But, occasionally, in the feeding process, problems arise. Some snakes can actually be fearful of live rodents running around their cage and so develop eating reluctance. They can even die if they wait too long to eat. You, therefore, as the pet owner, must take them to therapy where they will lie on very long, narrow couches and tell their therapist about how having ticks picked off of them has made them afraid of EVERYthing. The therapist will admonish you and then advise you to kill your snake's food before you offer it.

That's right. In order to become a qualified and caring snake owner, you may personally, with your own personage, in person, have to kill rats, or at least knock them out. This is simple, the websites all say. Simply grab them by the tail, give them a swing, and bop their heads against something hard. This will knock them out kill them instantly. At that time, lay the soundly "sleeping" rat in the snake's cage and, if given ample privacy, he will consume them without terror to the rat or snake. They claim this is the most humane way rodents are eaten in captivity or in the wild. This seems to make sense and you hate and loathe your husband for ever bringing this stupid thing into the house appreciate the man you've married when he offers to take care of this unpleasant business.

Once your sleepy-time rat is safely ensconced inside your snake's cage, you may find your snake still won't eat. Eating is a very private snake activity, and just as we, as travelers, may experience that uncomfortable feeling of, how shall I say it, public bathroom reluctance, so, in the almost same way, your snake won't eat because then people might actually KNOW he eats and that would be so embarrassing. If this goes on too long, sometimes help is necessary. For your snake, this means using forceps to hold your peacefully dreaming rat, prying open the jaws of your snake, and forcing the issue, as it were. This may be unpleasant but will result in severe trauma for women, children, rats, and snakes successful nourishment for your snake and establish you as a responsible pet owner.

Eventually, our snake began to eat on his own and we no longer had to resort to these draconian measures. But we also needed more rats. Thus, we purchased Jack and Jill. Jack was a pleasant fellow and became our pet. Jill, his brawling wife, chose never to make nice and bit me heartily the first day we brought her home. However, she was prolific. So much so that we sold her offspring back to the pet store on occasion. Rats give birth to LOTS of rats. She often had litters of 14 or more. Max could never keep up. Snakes typically eat only once every week or two. Consequently, Jack and Jill had separate bedrooms.

We came to be quite fond of Max. Love is perhaps too strong a word but we enjoyed his wrapping himself around our arms and moving, seemingly without effort, up our shoulders and around our throats. We tried not to take this personally and only disengaged him when we were in danger of blacking out. Bo was very good with him and "wore" him frequently around the house. The Wild Man was still too young for snake handling or charming (unless snakes are charmed by putting them in your mouth which he tried to do) but found Max's company fascinating. I came to like feeling Max draped over my shoulders and around the back of my neck as I sat typing at the keyboard. (Of course, people thought we were brave and clever incredibly stupid and moronic and we may have lost friends we actually liked.)

And it was in one of these tender snake/owner moments between Max and me that I learned a cardinal rule about snakes: They must have time to digest.

Max had just finished a particularly successful feeding session a few hours earlier when I decided we should have some warm and fuzzy bonding time together. I had work to do at the computer and thought the company would be nice. I picked him up, everyone had a look and some touching and handling, and then I placed him in his favorite position draped lazily dangling around my neck. I took my seat. I wasn't typing very long when I felt him begin to move. This wasn't all that unusual as he wasn't always stationary. In fact, his moves frequently felt almost massage-like and I reveled in the relaxing effect taking place in my shoulder muscles. I smiled. His movements seemed to become more pronounced. More than I had felt before. He seemed to be lurching, in fact. I became paralyzed and stricken dumb with the horrifying realization that this snake could hurl on me concerned.

"Grizzly!" I screamed as though my underwear had suddenly become consumed in an all out conflagration called out. "I think Max is going to throw...............................up."

And at that moment, there for me to behold in all its slime covered rat glory, was our snake's breakfast - every last dead nose, feet, fur, and tail of him - laying on my lap in one whole and intact package.

There really aren't words to describe this particular situation. You can't move or the thing will slide down your legs, and you can't simply sit still with a dead, slimy rat in your lap and a retching snake around your neck. So you just continue to shout out, "Ewww, EWWWW, EWWWWWWWWW!!! while your husband dashes in and hoses down your underwear with the fire extinguisher. Eventually you know he will discover the truth and bring you a paper towel because HE sure as heck isn't grabbing that dead slimy thing off your lap.

Thus, when you are tempted to buy snakes, kill rats, and allow serpents to encircle your throat, refrain gentle reader. Oh, not from the purchase. Ownership is delightful as you can see. But do wait a proper period of say, thirty years or so, before holding your resplendent reptile after he has dined.

Don't say I didn't tell you so because I guarantee you: you heard it here first.

"I'm not about to go out and buy a snake for a pet. I mean, I may have faced a few fears but I'm not insane." Kristen Davis

Copyright 2009

*Photos are stock imges from the internet but are very like our snake.

Observational Twitter 16

Esoteric:

"Beauty is only skin deep." Sir Thomas Overbury

Exoteric:

"Uh, okay. Can I sign up anyway?" Robynn



Bulletin::::::This just in:::::::Libby at Neas Nuttiness is in a HUGE contest to win ownership of a paying blog! Check out her site, read about it, and please send in your vote. I have no idea HOW you get paid to write a blog but apparently it has something to do with the theory of money. I have heard it exists between two leather pieces called a wallet. I keep looking but this revolutionary/evolutionary theory isn't working in MY wallet. All I have is receipts and dust. I'm pretty sure the only thing green in there might be mold.




Copyright 2009