Terrariums

Bret and I finally made our terrariums. (Original post here.) He came over on Sunday afternoon and we spread everything out on the patio table so we could be as messy as we wanted.

Menards had pretty good selection of miniature plants and we picked up enough to share. We had a fern, some ground covers, two flowering thrifts and a miniature rose.

Pretty quickly it became evident that we had too many plants so we went foraging in the kitchen cupboards for other containers to fill. Here's what we ended up with.

Now the race is on to see who can keep theirs alive the longest!

Tanya's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Do you remember this book? It's one of my faves. It begins with the words, "I went to sleep with gum in my mouth and now there's gum in my hair," and ends, "It's been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, day. My mom says some days are like that."

Amen.

I had one of those yesterday.

I don't want to belabor the point, but my financial situation is getting more difficult. With the economic downturn (don't you just love that overused phrase??) the most profitable cleaning account cut back drastically. They are an automotive supplier. That cost me $600 a month. Combined with the house in Toledo not moving and I've been experiencing a few sleepless nights.

When I got the mail yesterday afternoon there was a threatening letter from the Ohio Attorney General saying I owe taxes from 2006. WTF? I paid them. April 15, 2006.  The accountant is looking into it, but I nearly threw up after reading that letter about a dozen times last night at the dinner table.

After Ali and I talked for a little while we were feeling a little better about things – after a few tears of frustration and fear.

For the next 10 days we have the kidling again. After dinner he had a few issues. We dealt with them. 

After cleaning up the dinner dishes I was still feeling a little fragile so I decided to make a pitcher of iced coffee just for myself. I don't normally do things like that. For whatever reason, if I'm the only one who likes something I just don't bother with it. But, I was feeling down and some iced coffee sounded good. Besides feeling down I was also feeling guilty because, with the amount of coffee and sugar that I put in the half-gallon pitcher, I needed to use up all the milk.

After stirring everything together I set the full pitcher on the counter while I washed out the coffee pot. The next thing I heard was Ali yelling, "No!" That was followed by a crashing sound as kidling purposely knocked the pitcher onto the floor. 

At that point things started to move in slow motion. I looked at the small tidal wave of iced coffee. It crashed into the cabinets in front of me and rebounded towards the stove. The river of brown, sticky liquid quickly made it's way under the stove and oozed over the rug.

When kidling was later asked why he knocked the pitcher off his answer was, "I just wanted to."

He went directly to bed. Did not pass go. Did not collect $200.

I'm kind of ashamed to admit that while we were scrubbing the floor under the stove I was crying – out of frustration, anger and sheer self-pity. It was pathetic. Ali was so calm. 

"Honey, just make some more!" 

"I can't!" I wailed. "We don't have any more milk!"

After turning off the cartoons and letting kidling stew in silence on the couch while we cleaned up the mess, we took him upstairs to bed. Ali got him all ready and tucked in. She laid down with him for a bit. When she was done I leaned down to give him a kiss and reminded him that today was going to be a whole new day.

All in all, yesterday was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Unfortunately some days are just like that.

The only reminders we have today are that IRS letter and a semi-sticky kitchen floor. We can deal with that later. 

I just keep telling myself that it's a brand new day.

Oliver's Next Big Adventure

Oliver had a big weekend. Never content to just do normal dog activities like running, jumping or taking a nice walk – this dog just longs for MORE. 

It was in the upper 80's all weekend so for the first time this year we opened up all the windows in the house. I checked all the screens to make sure they were secure and intact with a little bit of Oliver inspired paranoia in the back of my mind.

On Saturday afternoon I ran out to pick up a few things for dinner when I received a frantic phone call from Ali.

"OLIVER IS ON THE ROOF!!!"

Photographic documentation supplied.

That's the bedroom window, sans screen. It's in the driveway. 

No, he didn't fall off.

Yes, he got firm talking to. I can neither confirm nor deny that he might have also received an ass swatting.

No, I don't believe it did one bit of good.

Just for balance and full disclosure, this is Sammy's idea of fun on a hot Saturday afternoon. 

Good boy Sammy!

Cultivating Weeds

We're trying to add color and interest to the garden in the front of our house, but we don't have much money right now. So, we're trying to get creative. Besides having friends who are generous with their garden treasures we've decided to plant weeds.

Yep. Weeds.

I have to laugh every time I walk into the kitchen because not only are we going to nurture weeds – we've even gone so far as to start some weeds from seeds!

These are Morning Glory seedlings, sprouting on our kitchen table! While most people are angrily ripping Morning Glories out of their gardens, we are knowingly cultivating them. . .twelve little peat pots worth!

The idea is to train them to grow up this old ladder I found at a junk shop for $5.

Ali chose two shades of blue flowers for the ladder. We also have another, more traditional trellis outside the kitchen window that will be covered with multi-colored Morning Glory.

Wouldn't it be great if it looked something like this?? Not bad for a buck, ninety nine!

picture credit here

A Dog Story

"Hey Sammy," Oliver whispered. "Sam! Come over here! I got an idea!"

Oliver was standing next to the cover of the crawlspace that led under the house. The concrete patio was covered in mud and the sky was dripping rain. The door to the crawlspace had fallen open and Oliver had one eye on the pink insulation hiding inside there and the other eye on his brother Sam.

Sometimes Oliver got impatient with Samson. He wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer. But as he waited for Sam to appear around the corner of the garage, he was pretty sure that Samson would do whatever he asked.

"What Ollie?? Whatcha wanna do??" Samson was excited that his brother was paying attention to him instead of the squirrels.

"Sam, listen to me carefully. I want you to go under the house and drag out some of that insulation. See it right there? It's that pink stuff with the paper backing. I think it would make for a great game of keep-away! Just lay down on your belly and drag yourself under there and pull some out!"

There was a pause while Oliver watched Sammy's face.

"What do you say, buddy? You up for a game?"

Sammy looked into the doorway. It was dark in there and he didn't really like dark places. What if there was something hiding in there to scare him? In order to cover his fear, which he knew Oliver would mock, he thought for a minute and then said, "I don't know Ollie. I think Moms might get mad if we do that."

"Come on Sam! Don't be such a baby! What's the worst thing they will do to us? They never spank. All they ever does is use those stupid baby voices and say stuff like, 'What Did You Do?' and 'You're A VERY BAD DOG!' Big deal, bro! Think how much fun it would be!"

Samson knew he was right. A little talking to wouldn't hurt. But what about being scared to go under there? He just couldn't confess that to Oliver so he tried one more excuse.

"When Mom put that under there she said we had to stay away from it. That it was made of glass or something and could really hurt us Ollie! I don't want to get hurted Ollie!"

"For God's sake, Samson," Oliver sneered. "Are you going to be a puppy forever? How long are you going to let humans tell you what to do? It's time to stand on your own four feet and be a DOG!"

Sammy hated it when Oliver said stuff like that. It made him feel like a baby. Sammy was too chicken to point out that if it was bad to let humans tell you what to do maybe it was also bad to let big brothers do the same thing. Or perhaps Sam wasn't too chicken to say it. Maybe he was just too dumb to figure that out.

Regardless, it worked. Samson screwed up his courage, closed his eyes, got down on his belly and stuck his head under the house. His heart was racing as he opened up one squinty eye and looked around. It really wasn't so bad under there. It was kind of warm and the rain wasn't dripping on his head anymore. Slowly, he began to relax a little. His panting slowed, and his heart wasn't pounding quite so loudly.

"Do you see it, buddy?? Just grab one corner of it and back out slowly!" Oliver's instructions were helpful, as Sammy had already forgotten why he was in there in the first place.

"Oh yeah," he thought to himself. "Ollie is waiting so we can play a game!!"

Samson opened his mouth wide and chomped down on a piece of that paper-backed pink insulation. It crinkled a little and startled him. Sam had always had a hyperactive startle reflex and it caused him no end of embarrassment. Tonight was no different. As the paper started to make noise, adrenaline pumped into his bloodstream. He was getting scared. The faster he tried to back out of the crawlspace, the more noises were coming at him from the darkness. He couldn't get out of there fast enough.

He also couldn't let his brother down.

Scrambling, scratching, struggling and shimmying he got himself and the insulation out of the hole.

"Good job, bro! Now LET'S PARRRRR-TEEE!"

Oliver grabbed at the four foot sheet of insulation, already absorbing the rain. It tore with a satisfying sound. He ran away with a huge chunk of it in his mouth and Samson followed, joy in his face as Oliver was pleased with him. It wasn't long before the entire back yard was covered in shreds of pink.

Sammy, panting and flush with feelings of pride and success sidled up to Oliver. "I don't care what Moms say. . .I think you're the BEST brother ever!"

And, that's the story of how I spent the morning picking up a garbage bag full of dripping insulation.

Language - The Power of Lists

It's been awhile since I've participated in the weekly writing prompt from Sunday Scribblings. Click on over there to read other writings on "Language."

Lists

Words on paper
Orderly, straight, only two or three per line.

Organize garage
Samson to vet
Find tax records
Bake cake

Lengthy slips of paper
that dictate action.
Do this! Do that!

I compulsively keep lists.

The power I give them is magical.
These words
          removed from my head
          concrete
          blue ink on white paper
Named and claimed
         they drive my choices.

How easily life can become a list.
How quickly words can become the master and I, the bondswoman.

Perhaps it's time for revolution.

Weekend Memories

• Dr. James calling Samson "one handsome boy" before giving him his vaccinations. He gave her kisses in return. Guess there were no hard feelings there.

• Riding our bicycles across town to Brett's soccer game. We took a blanket to sit on and were surprised later in the evening when sunburns began to appear.

• Making our garden plants happy as they are beginning to appear by dividing and replanting.

• Finding two small poppy plants in the incredibly sherbet-y colors of salmon and yellow.

• Having a good friend who was also working outside on Saturday afternoon make his garden happy by sharing his plants. He gave us buttercups, sedum and some other things that will be a surprise in a few months! We also inherited a very big cotoneaster bush to hide our gas meter. Thanks Lou!

• Waiting until 8:30 Saturday night to go out and eat sushi when it's half price. That means we got to eat more. . .

• Mowing the grass for the first time this year.

• Sleeping well on Saturday night after working so hard all day.

• A quiet Sunday of napping, creating and baking while God watered all our new gardening ideas.

It was a really complete two days - fully balancing inside and outside; active and resting; physical and mental; giving and taking.

I still feel the peace and joy of it. Think I can hang on to it until next Saturday?

Top 16 Reasons Why Gay Marriage is WRONG

In light of the recent events in Iowa and Vermont, it is now, more than ever, imperative to understand how fundamentally wrong gay marriage is. 

16. Gay marriage will change the foundation of society; we could never adapt to new social norms. Just like we haven't adapted to cars, the service-sector economy, or longer life spans.

15. Gay culture is a new fad created by the liberal media to undermine long-standing traditions. We know this is true because gay sex did not exist in ancient Greece and Rome.

14. There are plenty of straight families looking to adopt, and every unwanted child already has a loving family. This is why foster care does not exist.

13. Conservatives know best how to create strong families. That is why it is not true that Texas and Mississippi have the highest teen birthrates, and Massachusetts, Vermont, and New Hampshire have the lowest. This is a myth spread by the liberal media.

12. Marriage is a religious institution, defined by churches. This is why atheists do not marry. Christians also never get a divorce.

11. Children can never succeed without a male and a female role model at home. That's why our society has no single parents.

10. Gay marriage is not supported by religion. In a theocracy like ours, the values of one religion are imposed on the entire country. That's why we have only one religion in America.

9. Obviously gay parents will raise gay children, since straight parents only raise straight children.

8. Straight marriages are valid because they produce children. Gay couples, infertile couples, and old people shouldn't be allowed to marry because our orphanages aren't full yet, and the world needs more children.

7. Gay marriage should be decided by the people and their elected representatives, not the courts. The framers checked the courts, which represent mainstream public opinion, with legislatures created to protect the rights of minorities from the tyranny of the majority. Interference by courts in this matter is inappropriate, just as it has been every time the courts have tried to hold back legislatures pushing for civil rights.

6. Straight marriage will be less meaningful if gay marriage were allowed; the sanctity of Britany Spears' 55-hour just-for-fun marriage would be destroyed.

5. Civil unions, providing most of the same benefits as marriage with a different name are better, because "separate but equal" institutions are a good way to satisfy the demands of uppity minority groups.

4. Straight marriage has been around a long time and hasn't changed at all; women are still property, blacks still can't marry whites, and divorce is still illegal.

3. Legalizing gay marriage will open the door to all kinds of crazy behavior. People may even wish to marry their pets because a dog has legal standing and can sign a marriage contract.

2. Gay marriage will encourage people to be gay, in the same way that hanging around tall people will make you tall.

1. Being gay is not natural. Real Americans always reject unnatural things like eyeglasses, polyester, and air conditioning.

This list is courtesy of the facebook group "Gay Marriage Killed the Dinosaurs."

Laundry

Our washing machine is broken. The piles are dirty clothes are starting to grow, overflowing their containers and spilling onto the kitchen floor. Our washer and dryer are stuffed into the small utility room off the kitchen, along with the dog crate and a myriad of small kitchen appliances that don't often get used. This tiny space also manages to house the furnace and hot water heater.

In the butter yellow house on Hurd Avenue there's really no place to hide the overflow of a busy life. Or of a broken washer.

Laundry is my favorite household task. There is something about removing warm, softly scented pieces of clothing from the dryer that brings me squarely into the moment. The rhythm of bending, grabbing, folding, smoothing and breathing is meditation in motion. I watch the sun rising out the windows above the dryer and feel at peace.

I'm not sure where this love of laundry came from. I don't really think it was from my mother. The house I grew up in was huge. It was old and had lots of quirks. There was a bathtub in a closet and a tombstone for a dog in the front yard. The kitchen had a fireplace and there was a laundry chute that dumped it's contents on the basement floor.

You could ignore a whole lot of laundry if you never went down the basement.

It was often my job to go down there and put the clothes that were in the washer into the dryer and bring the newly dried clothes upstairs to fold. There was only one problem with that – I was scared to go into the basement. It was dark and the washer and dryer were in the opposite corner from the stairs. The house had a huge, old fashioned gas furnace who's ductwork reminded me of octopus arms. They snaked around and terminated at various spots in the ceiling. In order to get to the laundry area you were forced to duck to get under those huge arms.

As soon as I got to the foot of the stairs leading down the basement my stomach would lurch and seize and I would run, ducking and weaving around the furnace monster – trying not to panic. As I wildly flailed around for the single light bulb's pull string above the washer, the mountain of laundry underneath the chute would cast shadows on the walls. It was only after finally turning on the light that I could breathe again.

I hated that laundry was my responsibility.

When my mother would call for me to go down there and bring up another load of clothes sometimes I would pretend that I couldn't hear her. I would continue reading my book or listening to my radio as though her request had never come. Eventually she would call out, "Have you gotten that laundry yet?" I would mutter under my breath, "Give me a minute," knowing that I couldn't put off the attention to the laundry forever.

I wasn't lazy or bad-tempered. I was simply overcome by the tedium of constantly doing something that never ended. No matter how many trips I made to the basement, no matter how many times I confronted my fear of the furnace, there was always more laundry to do. The mountains of muddy jeans, twisted up t-shirts, wadded pajamas, damp towels and knotted sheets were just waiting to reappear. Day in. Day out.

When I walked into my kitchen this morning and saw the overflowing baskets of dirty laundry that were demanding some kind of attention, I saw my life. It too demands attention. It cries out for some kind of completion, just like the countless tasks that fill up my days. When I was ten I perfected the art of ignoring my chores and feigning deafness to the calls of my mother. I did it at my own peril. I still do.

But, I can't ignore life. Like a mountain of dirty laundry, sometimes life reeks with reality. It is here. It is now. I don't have a choice but to just live.

Good and Bad

Bad:

I seem to have blog laryngitis. It's not that I don't have anything to say – for some reason I just can't say anything right now. I hope it heals up soon.

Bad:

Today is April 15th.

Good:

I finished my taxes this morning.

Bad:

Self-employment taxes.

Good:

My status on Facebook says, "It's April 15th. Is there something I'm supposed to be doing??" My friend's eloquent response – "Nope, nothing at all. At least that is what your future bunkmate named Bertha is hoping. :)"

Bad:

The thought of Bertha.

Good:

At least the thought of Bertha made me laugh!

Good:

I can still think of enough good things to balance it all out! This picture made me smile today. Hope you do too!

FYI - Today is also the anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic. I'm just sayin. . .

Picture credit here.

Happy Easter

It's been a long Holy Week. I feel like I'm walking towards something I can't really see. Kind of disconcerting but I trust it will be a peaceful destination.

I'm preparing food for my friend's mother's funeral tomorrow. She was a Messianic Jew and she passed into new life on Tuesday evening. My friend said that his mother had been mostly unconscious for the previous two days but as the time of her passing grew near she opened her eyes, smiled and reached upwards towards the heavens before peacefully crossing over.

Tuesday night was also happened to be Birkat Hachamah, the Jewish celebration of the creation of the sun. The Talmud, a text of Jewish civil and religious laws, explains that when the sun returns to the same position it occupied at the time of its conception, a blessing is made. The Jewish calendar states that the sun returns to this position the fourth day of the week at 6 p.m. on Tuesday once every 28 years. 

That was the night of her passage.

The primary source of the blessing comes from five lines in the Talmud. "The Rabbis taught one who sees the sun as the beginning of its cycle, the moon in its mightiness, the planets in their orbits or the signs of the zodiac in their order should say, Bless it are you who makes the work of creation," according to the Talmud, Brachas 59B.

The purpose of the celebration is to realize that we are not our own – and that even though our lives wax and wane, like the sun and moon, we belong to God. 

I thought it a fitting tribute.

Have a blessed and fun Easter weekend. Dye a few eggs. Eat a little candy. Share a meal with someone you love. Hang on to life and hope.

Ali's Easter basket. Gotta add a little bit of chocolate!

Holy Week - Feel the Fear

This Holy Week I've been reading the book The Last Week: A Day-by-Day Account of Jesus' Final Week in Jerusalem. It's written by two top Jesus scholars Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan. These two don't carry a lot of weight with most of right-wing Christianity.

Perhaps that's why I like them so much.

They are following Jesus final seven days from the perspective of the Gospel of Mark - the oldest Gospel. It's a scholarly work - not exactly prompting the reader to wonder what the Scriptures might mean on a personal level. It's more of a work that explains Jesus' actions and why they led to his crucifixion on Friday.

One thing shines through for sure. Jesus knew exactly what he was doing and he knew what the consequences would be. It begins on Palm Sunday with two triumphal entries into Jerusalem. The first entry, that of Roman governor Pontius Pilate leading Roman soldiers into the city, symbolized military strength. The second heralded a new kind of moral hero who was praised by the people as he rode in on a humble donkey.

As I go farther into the week I'm being reintroduced to a Jesus who willingly gives up his life in a protest of those who have power but practice no justice. By the end of the week he will march himself up to Calvary and a cross and give himself up as a model for others to do the same when they are confronted with injustice.

Intellectually, I get all that. It's the intended message of God for a hurting world. Emotionally, however, I don't have a clue how it works. Here's why – somehow Jesus confronted his human fears and yet he kept moving forward.

He felt the fear. . .and did it anyway.

Fear is such a universal human condition. No one needs to be reminded of that but here are three messages I got or sent this morning.

Part of me is really tired of holding up all these walls I've built for the past 40 years. The other part of me is scared shitless to let them fall down. Any suggestions?

I am stuck. I am confused. I am wondering what the fuck life is supposed to be about. . .

They can't do anything more for mom. She had us take her off everything but pain management. We are going to take her home so she can finish this life there. I'm so sad she is leaving. Please pray for my family.

Fear is a thief. It takes and takes and takes – until there's nothing left. It sucks the energy and life right out of you. Fear never gives anything back. Yet it's the place we – where I – often live my life.

To my friend who's losing his mother – what would you do if you weren't afraid of losing her? You might spend her last days being closer to her than you ever have been before. It might be a gift to both of you.

To my friend who has closed herself off for far too long – what could you do with the energy you gain by not having to hold up those big old walls anymore? How many lives could you impact with the gift of who you are if you just let fear go?

To me – what could I do with my life, my future, my calling from God if I weren't so afraid?

We're still in Lent. The time of repentance. The roots of the Greek word for "repent" mean "to go beyond the mind that you have." 

Perhaps it's time to move beyond fear, beyond the place and mind that we have. Perhaps it's time to feel the fear. And do it anyway.

Holy Week - I'm The One Who Moved

Yesterday my friend Lou wrote a very eloquent post. Please go read it here. His words about how simple stories of faith and how questions about the nature of God can make life more full and meaningful rang true in my soul. When I read what he wrote I felt the emptiness he described.

I also remember when Lou showed up at church the first time. The congregation was still very small - probably around 20 or 25 so it was easy to spot the first timers. After talking with him for a few minutes I knew he could handle "the hot seat." My heart was so on fire with the mission of building this new worship community that I was completely consumed with making those who had been beaten up with "religion" feel comfortable, safe and loved. If I didn't ask, how could I know if we were on the right track??

I asked all the things he said I did and probably more. I remember telling him that if he didn't want to answer things - if I was being too personal - he could just tell me to shut up. He kept answering. He was honest with me. I remember thinking that night that there were areas we should immediately improve on based on the answers he was giving me.

That Palm Sunday evening we were a motley congregation of broken people, looking for a little bit of peace with God. There weren't any kids in the congregation yet so I knew that asking these adults to wave their palm fronds and sing "Hosanna" was going to be uncomfortable. It was. They looked embarrassed and not real enthused as we opened the service in the traditional Palm Sunday manner. Our Bible reading that night was from Matthew 21:

When they neared Jerusalem, having arrived at Bethphage on Mount Olives, Jesus sent two disciples with these instructions: "Go over to the village across from you. You'll find a donkey tethered there, her colt with her. Untie her and bring them to me. If anyone asks what you're doing, say, 'The Master needs them!' He will send them with you."

The disciples went and did exactly what Jesus told them to do. They led the donkey and colt out, laid some of their clothes on them, and Jesus rode. Nearly all the people in the crowd threw their garments down on the road, giving him a royal welcome. Others cut branches from the trees and threw them down as a welcome mat. Crowds went ahead and crowds followed, all of them calling out, "Hosanna to David's son!" "Blessed is he who comes in God's name!" "Hosanna in highest heaven!"

As he made his entrance into Jerusalem, the whole city was shaken. Unnerved, people were asking, "What's going on here? Who is this?"

The parade crowd answered, "This is the prophet Jesus, the one from Nazareth in Galilee."

My sermon that night was about how ridiculous it feels to be a follower of Jesus. How silly it feels to wave palm branches. How it doesn't feel like the smartest decision to follow someone who's all about stirring up trouble and will be dead in less than a week.  I talked about how Jesus was always asking his followers to do things for reasons that were completely obscure to them. About how everywhere Jesus went all he did was stir up turmoil.

I said that that those two words from Scripture – "shaken" and "unnerved" – were descriptions that we needed for ourselves and our new community that night. We needed to be woken up, shoved out of our comfort zones and broken wide open so that we could learn what it might mean to be truly alive. We had become a community of people who were comfortably numb. We had isolated ourselves to keep pain and conflict at bay, but had also insulated ourselves from really living, learning and loving.

As I think about those words from six years ago, I still believe that. I also know that I'm preaching to myself now. I've retreated behind those same walls of safety, predictability and status-quo that so many of us have. I don't feel the particular connection with God that I once did. 

Maybe Holy Week 2009 can be an opportunity to become a bit shaken and unnerved. 

Where did God go when I went into my self-protective mode? Right where God always was. I'm the one who moved.

Change

It doesn't seem like it was that long ago that I was scraping snow and ice off my windshield every morning and slowly sliding my way towards Bluffton. I remember thinking, at least a hundred different times, that I couldn't wait for spring to arrive. There was a period in there that I almost succumbed to the belief that it might not return.

So, here I sit this morning, listening to the rain fall gently on the roof. I can see tree branches just beginning to bud at their tips. When you walk outside you are hit with the smell of earth. Of worms making their way out of wherever it is they have spent their winter. There is new life – green replacing grey at every turn. The cycles of life are so evident right now – beginnings and endings. And beginnings again.

And what am I doing? Wondering when it's going to stop raining. Looking past the place I wanted to be just a few short weeks ago and mentally bitching because I'm not someplace else.

How utterly human is that?

I haven't written much in the last few days because I haven't had much positive to say. Sometimes when I look at this blog I have a creeping sensation that I'm not really telling the truth about my life. When I read what's here it all appears to be so light, funny and just a little too perfect. And those periods when I'm absent from the blog are days that there's nothing light, funny or perfect going on.

So, here's some truth for today. We have had the kid-ling more than we can comfortably handle in the last few weeks. We're burned out. Stressed out. We try our very best to help him mature and be a good human being but the truth of the matter is he's not our kid. It doesn't really matter what we do.

The house in Toledo still has not sold and money situations just seem to be inching incrementally backwards. How far back can you go before stepping off the cliff?

Our house is a mess. When kid-ling is here the dogs are banished to the backyard until he goes to bed. It's been raining a lot. They have drug more dirt and mud in our house than can possibly be healthy.

The nights we don't have the kid-ling we are so tired that for dinner we scrounge the cabinets for things that don't require cooking and end up subsisting on a meal of Funyuns and string cheese. 

Tired of hearing all this yet? I am. But, it's where I am right now. And, at least occasionally, this part of my life is the truth too.

But if spring can teach me anything, there is one precious truth – things can change. You just have to wait through the rain.