Blah day

I’m sick.

It’s raining.

The grass in the yard is almost three feet high.

The grass in the other yard is almost two.

We can’t install the carpet.

My kitchen is filthy.

The ants are invading my bed.

The kids are running water all over the bathroom floor.

I have two grocery bags of meat from the butcher I have to de-skin, de-fat and freeze today.

I am tired of painting trim.

We are beginning to pack for the move, and we are scrambling to finish the house at the same time.

My rent is now 5 days late & counting…

My hair has finally grown below my shoulders and the super-fine stuff is breaking and snarling.  I MUST get it cut.  I hate getting my hair cut.  I have never, never, never found a style that looked good.  I liked pinning it up, but I can’t brush it!  I hate my hair.

I hate my life today.

I have no clean underwear so I can’t get dressed.  I feel sloppy in my robe.

Blessings?  Bleagh.

Ok- I know I have blessings.  New house!  New car!  Money in the bank, friends, relations, health, religious freedom, internet connection, great opportunity…

What I need now is for my children to go AWAY for a couple of days so I can enjoy them!

Wait….  I guess my children are a blessing, too.  But after the soft-boiled egg crisis, and the milk crisis, and the laundry crisis, and the water on the bathroom floor crisis, and the we-don’t-want-to-clean-again crisis, I am about ready to lock them all in their rooms for the rest of the day.  Unfortunately, they don’t all have rooms.

It is 9:25 on Friday morning, and I don’t know how I’m going to make it through this day.  Oh, and I just looked in the dining room and can now add the egg-all-over-the-tables-floor-and-wall crisis.

Sigh.

Sometimes keeping my temper stinks.

Correction

I need to post a correction of my MSG post- modified corn starch (found as the 2nd ingredient in Cheerios) does NOT contain MSG.  MSG is a protein, and could be found in modified corn protein, not starch.  So I incorrectly gave Cheerios a bad rap with that- on the other hand, Cheerios contains a preservative that is an industrial cleaner, so you might want to consider that!

Bible reading & new paint

Hey!  I found a nice bible reading checklist on the web this morning.  I tried to put it on my page as a link, but I’m not sure where it will appear.  We could have an easter egg hunt to find it!  I wish I could figure out how to make words in my posts active so you can click on them & go there, but alas, my technical capability has not yet advanced that far.

I think this bible checklist will be valuable for me.  I like to read the bible out of order, randomly, and sometimes upside down and backwards.  (Literally backwards- I find something I like and then I keep reading what was before it, and what was before that… )  This way maybe I can see the parts I’m neglecting.  Also Christian people seem to keep score.  “Well, I’ve read the bible thus and such many times…”  I think they’re expecting bible-reading pins on their robes in heaven.  I think some people will clank when they walk.

New house news:  Neal finally (after much nagging) rollered my paint.  I really wanted to see how it would look- if the green I chose was dingy or looked ok with the woodwork.  It looks really nice.  It’s more yellow than an olive green and looks cheerful.  It looks really beautiful with the paper I chose and I can’t wait to get it up.  I finally pinned Neal down about decorating his room.  We’re going to paint it a light tan, kind of an oatmeal color, and put up lots of framed prints of waterfalls and mountains and sunsets in black frames.  I think it will be kind of sophisticated looking.

The other rooms are looking lovely, but we discovered some water damage in the bathroom that somehow got missed in the inspection.  Just what I wanted- to have to rip out another bathroom wall.

A lady came up to me after church yesterday and said she had read my MSG post, which was really nice!  I love finding out that some of the people I’m giving my blog address to are actually visiting me!  Welcome.

Well, now that I have this nifty little checklist, I must go use it.  Check out the Blue Line Bible link on my blog roll- I like this site for online bible reading.

MSG- hidden and not-so-hidden

Everyone knows about MSG, right?  It’s a flavor-enhancer found in many foods, especially chicken products and anything chicken-flavored.  Oh, and Chinese food, right?  MSG headache?  You know what I’m talking about.

We all know we’re not supposed to give it to babies, because MSG acts on the neurons in their brain, causing them to continuously fire until they die.  It causes brain damage, and is cautioned against for pregnant and nursing mothers and children whose brains are still developing.  It’s also dangerous for people with degenerative brain diseases, like Parkinsons & Alzheimers for obvious reasons.

Ok, so MSG is one of the things I watch for.  Especially when I buy soup, because it used to be in a lot of Campbell’s soup.  But I have to tell you something.  Actually I want to SHOUT IT FROM THE ROOFTOPS!!!  Did you know that the FDA decided at some point that MSG didn’t have to be labeled as MSG?

MSG is a chemical naturally present in many foods, foods like corn, soybeans, and tomatoes.  It can be extracted by processes that break down and isolate the proteins, usually including a filtration step that filters out unwanted protein structures and leaving the MSG proteins.  (This is a layman’s simplification- I have not actually studied how they produce the stuff, I’m just telling you what I’ve read.)  In order to get the MSG they put in ranch dressing, they take one of these foods, break it down, isolate the proteins, concentrate it, and pour it in the dressing.  This is called “injecting” MSG, and if a company does this, they must list MSG as an ingredient on the label for God and everybody to see.

HOWEVER, let’s suppose that you want to make textured vegetable protein from soy beans to make a vegetarian meat substitute.  In this case, as you are breaking down the soy beans, you create MSG as a (ahem) by-product.  Since the MSG was not injected into the food as a spice, you do not have to list it as MSG (according to the FDA) you can list it as “soy protein isolate.”   Hmmmm…..

Since there are many foods that have MSG proteins present in them, this loophole provides all kinds of opportunities for companies to put fun, flavor-enhancing MSG into their products without actually having to put MSG on the label of their box.  For an example, let’s take a look at the back of a cheerios box.

“Ingredients: Whole grain oats (includes the oat bran), Modified corn starch…”  Wait right there!  Modified corn starch?  Well, corn starch is a thickener.  I use it to thicken sauces, especially for desserts.  But what does modified mean?  According to several label watchdog groups, it’s corn starch that has been modified to become MSG!  In CHEERIOS, for Pete’s sake!!  I’ve been feeding these to my kids since they were babies!  They’re one of the first finger foods my kids ate.  And MSG is the second ingredient listed on the box.

The Catalina dressing they eat on their salads lists it as “modified food starch.”  Another good name for it is “Soy Protein Isolate,” or “Whey protein isolate,” which is the second ingredient in the Quaker Instant Oatmeal Weight Control box.  Apparently any kind of isolated protein is almost certainly MSG.  As is Hydrolyzed Protein (Hydrolyzed means “broken down by hydrogen”), Protein Extract, Yeast Extract, Autolyzed Yeast, Hydrolyzed Oat Flour, Textured Protein, and Plant Protein Extract.  It has more names, but those are some of the more common ones I found in my cabinet.

But wait, it gets worse!  Not satisfied with that level of sneakiness, they had to get sneakier!  This one cracks me up.  Let’s look at the back of the Bush’ Best Original Baked Beans can.  (Seasoned with Bacon & Brown Sugar, it says.)  “Ingredients: Prepared White Beans, Water, Brown Sugar, Sugar, Bacon, Salt, Corn Starch, Mustard (Water, Vinegar, Mustard Seed, Salt, Turmeric, Spices), Onion Powder, Caramel Color, Spices, Garlic Powder, and Natural Flavor.”   How many people here can recognize that onion powder, turmeric, mustard seed, and garlic powder are spices?  Let’s see a show of hands.  Good!  Some of you didn’t recognize turmeric as a tangy-tasting bright yellow spice often used in pickles, but most of you caught that those were spices.  Now for the trick question: if they’re willing to list the spices by name, why do they put “spices?”  Aha!  And worse yet, if they’re willing to mention all that stuff individually, all the bacon and spices and sugar and color and stuff… what do you think is the “natural flavor?”  I’ll give you three guesses and the first two don’t count.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, since MSG is a flavor, and since it is derived from natural sources such as corn, soy, oats, etc., it can be listed on products as “Natural Flavor,” or even as a spice in “Spices.”  Thus sayeth the FDA.  Now, none of my sources said that MSG is ALWAYS in there as “natural flavor,” only that it CAN be.  And frankly, I’m pretty suspicious of Bush’s Baked Beans.

Here’s another one I’m suspicious about: Heinz Tomato Ketchup, my personal favorite.  I have always wondered what it is about organic ketchup that just doesn’t quite taste right.  Some how, it lacks zing.  Could it be possible that the industry’s favorite flavoring is missing, and my addicted taste buds miss it?  Let’s look at the label: Tomato concentrate made from red ripe tomatoes (a little propaganda slipped in there), distilled vinegar, high fructose corn syrup, corn syrup, salt, spice, onion powder, natural flavoring.  Once again, they’re willing to list the onion powder.  What’s the mystery spice?  Are they just protecting their recipe, or are they trying to slip something under our radar?  And after the mystery “spice,” once again we have “Natural flavoring.”  Kind of makes you go “Hmmm…” doesn’t it?

The truth in labels people have an interesting discussion on their website about MSG and the places it hides in our foods.  The heartbreaking one for me was the page where they printed charts after charts showing which INFANT FORMULAS contain hidden MSG products and calculating how much MSG different age babies would consume in a day if they drank that formula.

MSG causes random neuron firing in the brain.  Is there a POSSIBLE tie to the growth of hyperactivity and attention dysfunction in our boys because of this?  Perhaps I’m not qualified to comment because I’m only a stupid mommy who believed that “No MSG” on a label meant “No MSG” in the product, not a scientist who can argue the differences between injected MSG, MSG sprayed on lettuce or grapes as a crop enhancer, or MSG produced as a byproduct of food processing.

All I know is I fed my kids this stuff.  I ate it while I was pregnant.  I gave it to my babies.  And now it’s all sitting on my kitchen floor getting bagged for the food bank or the trash.  I am mad as heck, and I’m not going to take it any more!

Lies

I flipped to Zephaniah when I sat down to brush my hair and read my bible this morning.  I found a couple of good verses.  “But the Lord is still there in the city, and he does no wrong.  Day by day his justice is more evident, but no one takes notice…” (3:5)  I like that.

What I wanted o post about is 3:13, “The people of Israel who survive will do no wrong to each other, never telling lies or deceiving one another.  They will live peaceful lives, lying down to sleep in safety; there will be no one to make them afraid.”

You know, I think the lie is the basic building block of evil.  Sort of like an amino acid of wrong-doing.  If you’re lying it’s because you are doing, have done, or want to do something that will hurt the other person, and you don’t want them to know about it so they can prevent you or hold you accountable.  No wonder the Adversary is called the Father of Lies!

Can you imagine living a peaceful life, lying down in sleep in safety because there was no one around to make you afraid?  That sounds wonderful to me.  Over the years, as Neal has traveled and I have been left at home with small children I have been afraid of a lot of things.  Burglars.  Falling down the stairs and breaking a leg and not being able to reach the phone for help.  Being murdered in my bed like a news headline.  Fire.  Being trapped in a fire because I couldn’t get the children out of the house.  I have, for years, wanted a dog to keep me company while he was gone, but for one reason or another, have never been able to have one.

If all that fear of evil men were gone, I would definitely obey Zephanaiah and “Sing, O daughter of Zion, shout aloud, O Israel!  For the Lord will remove his hand of judgement and will disperse the armies of your enemy.  And the Lord himself, the King of Israel, will live among you!”  That sounds wonderful.  All the hints of God I have ever had have been so gentle, so patient, so loving… Having him live with me would have to be delightful.  “At last your troubles will be over, and you will fear disaster no more.”

May it be as you say, Father!

How are the kids?

When people call up and ask, “And how are the children?” I never know what to say.  I am too close to them, I think.  Watching them nearly every moment of nearly every day, I lose my perspective.  Behavior problems swell until they seem like Rocky-Mountain-sized obstacles.  Or I develop sudden onset parental amnesia.  When this condition strikes, I cannot remember anything we have done in the past month, although I know we must have been doing something.  I feel tired, at least!  You’d think that would indicate something.

The truth is I don’t know how the children are doing.  It’s like trying a recipe out of a new cook book and having someone walk in while you’re still adding ingredients and ask, “So, how is it?”  Well, I don’t know.  It’s nowhere near finished yet.  Ask me in eight years.

The best I can do is tell anecdotes.  Today I dressed Patrick in his red striped long-sleeved rugby shirt.  The back of his hair stood up in little curls around his ears, and I found him irresistible.  He climbed up on the bed with me after his nap and flopped on  top of me.  One of his tricks is to lift his chin near my face, which means he wants his creamy, soft little baby neck kissed.  He likes me to rain soft kisses on his dimples sometimes, too.  This time he laid his head on my chest.  I breathed in a deep breath of his fresh hair and sighed.  The sigh must have rumbled under his ear, because he copied it.  He hummed a sigh.  So I sighed again, and he giggled and sighed.  I have no idea how long we kept this up.  It was utter bliss.

Two nights ago, we were at the new house painting.  Neal finished the second roller coat on Brenna’s room and began painting Mike & Pat’s room.  I really like the blue I picked for their room- it’s quite blue, rather intense, without being a glare-your-eyes-out blue.   Michael wanted to help me paint the trim, and to put him off, I promised he could help Neal with the roller.  It has been my experience that although small children are fascinated with the roller, they give it up quickly when it tires their arms.  Michael loved rollering.  He kept up a constant flow of chat while he painted.  “I am doing a good job,” he announced, “I have very strong arms.  I’m a good painter.”   When he handed the brush to his dad for the high parts, he looked at his feet very seriously and said, “No, no, no!  Don’t step in the paint!”  He stuck in there and nearly finished the whole room.

Neal was working on the computer one evening while I was fixing supper.  The children were out in the yard.  I took advantage of their temporary absence to flirt with my husband a little bit.  He wheeled the desk chair over and I sat in his lap and kissed him.  I suppose it was a little more than a “welcome home honey” kiss, because when I looked up my daughter’s head was tipped over to one side, her eyes were goggling out of her head, and her mouth was open with an expression of total disbelief.  Bren is quite dramatic.  I hopped out of Neal’s lap and tried to look nonchalant.   “WHAT were you doing?” she asked.
“Kissing your dad.”
“Yeah, but you were all like,” and she pantomimed me draping my body all over him and smooching like a soap opera star.
“Well,” I said, trying to be matter-of-fact about it, “Your daddy’s the only person big enough that I can sit in his lap now.”
Fortunately she seemed to accept this explanation.  I can remember feeling weird and tingly when I caught my parents kissing.  I could feel the electricity between them, and it was disturbing to me as a child.  Then, when I got older, I remember feeling outraged that they would joke about it.  I had a definite feeling that intimacy should not be a laughing matter!  I mean, do you ever see the hero and heroine in a romantic movie GIGGLING when they kiss?  Not hardly!  I think I eventually decided they were just old and sort of beyond all that now.
Now I guess I’m old and beyond it, because Neal and I laugh, too.  We laughed at the look on Brenna’s face.  She might as well have held up a sign that said, “Gross!  Old people kissing!”

An anecdote about Donal will have to wait, because I have to go change a diaper and finish dinner.  Scouts tonight.

A vision of the REAL last supper

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about a vision (I suppose you would call it a vision- I wasn’t asleep, so it certainly wasn’t a dream!) I had a few years ago.  Well- a few?  Mike and Pat hadn’t been born yet.

This vision was shown to me the last day I was really tempted to commit suicide (a story in itself).  But after I had been released from the spirits of suicide that were tempting me (I really think there were more than one because I actually heard them talking to each other at one point!) I saw a picture of something that is mentioned in the bible as the marriage supper of the lamb.

Apparently after Judgement Day is over, there’s going to be a feast.  Rather like a reception in heaven, I guess.  A terrifically gifted teacher at The Rock, Eric Flore, said this gathering was going to be a time when a lot of the first were going to be last, the last first, and a number of people surprised to find out where they fall in the ranking!

So in this vision, I was standing near a huge table.  It stretched on nearly as far as I could see to my left and as far as I could see to my right.  There was something of an argument going on way up at the head of the table on the left.  A number of people were arguing about where they were going to sit.  Popes and such, I think.  Important people.  And they all wanted to sit near enough to the head of the table that they could talk to Jesus.  I was rather disappointed at this, because I could see that all the people in the seats to my left were really people who had given greatly for God’s kingdom.  There were martyrs there, and saints.  I expect Mother Teresa was around somewhere, but I didn’t see her.  I knew I hadn’t a chance of getting close enough to the head of the table to see Himself.

Down the table to my right, the seats had less and less honor, until you got to the foot of the table.  The people down there were fairly happy.  Each one of them could have qualified for a T-shirt that said, “Lord, I’m just glad I GOT here!”  They were not going to kick up a fuss about where they had been seated!  And there were some seats saved among them for some of the people in the argument at the head of the table.

I was standing there wondering where on the scale of honor to dishonor I was going to have to sit, when the maitre’d came up to me.  He was a very ordinary sort of bloke- not angelic at all.  I was kind of disappointed, because I wanted to see an angel.  He had a sheaf of papers under one arm that was apparently some sort of seating chart, though he didn’t have to refer to them to seat me.  He recognized me, and led me to a seat near the middle of the table.  The woman to my left had apparently been martyred, because she was still bearing her scars.  I didn’t recognize any of them, and I was really shy about sitting down with them.  I was afraid to be left with these strangers, and the argument was getting kind of loud at the top of the table.

I turned to tell the man that I was really disappointed that I wasn’t going to get to see Jesus, and he grinned at me.  When he grinned, it was like my eyes were opened and I saw who he really was.  It knocked me out, because I had expected him to be taller and better looking, with a beard and stuff.  But he had short dark hair and was clean-shaven and very ordinary looking.  He looked sort of like an Italian waiter to me.  And I laughed out loud, because the people at the top of the table were still arguing over who was going to get to see him, and he was going around seating everyone!

I still didn’t want to sit down with all those strangers, and having found him, all I wanted to do was be with him, so I asked him “Can’t I come around and help you?”  (This vision has really helped me see why, if we want to be close to Christ, we have to serve others- because that is what he’s doing all the time!)  In retrospect, it was a stupid question because obviously he had to seat everyone himself.  I expect the sheaf of papers under his arm was the Lamb’s Book of Life, though it looked more like an unstapled term paper.  And he said No, I want you to sit here.  And he showed my my chair, and he was so excited about it.  It was like he was bursting with some secret about this place he had chosen for me.  He was so worked up about it, I couldn’t say no.  I had to sit down in the place he had prepared for me so carefully.  Even in the middle of the vision, I knew that my chair was a metaphor for my purpose in life.  It wasn’t particularly debased or exalted, but it was very specially chosen and prepared for me.  What could I do but accept it?  I wouldn’t have hurt him for the world.  I mean, I know in life I must grieve him a lot, but face to face with him, I just liked him so much, I wouldn’t have hurt him for anything.
So that was my vision, and it has stuck with me for several years.  So get what you can out of that- it meant a lot to me.

May be temporarily off the air

I know I haven’t been posting as often since we moved.  This small house takes a LOT more work to maintain than my old house did.  I have never done so much housework in my life.

Now things are only going to get worse for a while.  We’re trying to paint & wall-paper the new house every spare evening.  In the mornings I have finally bitten the bullet and added pre-school to my school routine.  And in order to try to keep order during this chaotic time of transition, I have started doing Flylady again.  I hate routines, but at this point, only routine is going to save us.

I love you all, and after we are moved and established, I hope I will have time to get back to writing again.  (I mean like real writing!)  In the meantime I will try to post when I get five minutes to myself.  But right now my baby’s diaper is dragging and I’m 30 minutes late starting school and we have Spanish right after lunch and Brenna’s sewing show tonight and….  Well, you get the picture.  Oh, Shoot!  I haven’t done my homework for the class this weekend!  Oh, well.

Pre-teen boys

What is more unpromising-looking than an eleven-year-old boy? I suppose that seems a cruel statement, but I was pondering this last night while I was folding laundry. The Phillip’s came with their ministry “Miracle Parenting” to our church a few years ago, and they commented on twelve-year-old boys. “These movies where a twelve-year-old boy saves the world really get to me,” he said. “We HAVE a twelve-year-old boy, and I want to tell you, he can hardly use silverware! He can’t put on matching socks! Save the world. Yeah, right.”

I love my pre-teen boy. I see a lot of potential in him, and I see a lot of growth from last year. But I’d have to agree with the Philip’s. The only reason he can put on matching socks is because I bought him a bunch of new ones and threw out all the old unmatched ones. He was quite often seen with one long and one short sock. He walks in the door and throws everything down on the floor. He will walk right over breaking toys and tearing books in his giant, size eleven hiking boots. He can’t keep his pants up or his shirt down. He doesn’t brush his teeth. He eats too much candy and gets too little exercise. He has NO idea where his homework is, where his scout shirt is, where his shoes are, or what I asked him to do five minutes ago. He doesn’t know WHY he sprayed his father’s shaving gel all down in the toilet, he just did.

At the moment, when I look at him, I wonder if he will ever be able to care for himself enough to leave home. Will he be able to do laundry, or will he just pull clothes out of the heap on the floor? What on earth will he eat? Will he ever brush his teeth or flush the toilet without being reminded? Will he ever stop scratching mosquito bites until they bleed on all the furniture? What will he do if he goes away to college and can’t find his shoes, because right now he is practically incapable of finding anything.

Yesterday the teen dance & drama team performed at our church. There are nearly as many boys as girls, ranging in age from fifteen to nearly twenty. I was watching those boys. They show such power, such grace, such passion… my heart was broken and I found myself praying that my daughter would be blessed with a man like that. Then I looked at my eleven-year-old son and I asked myself, in five years, will Donal be like that? Will there be some transformation that will give him confidence, cause him to stand up straight and start washing his face?

I have seen the boys in Donal’s scout troop and they are all more or less like him. So there must be something that happens that turns them from scatter-brained boys to the men that I see around me building, protecting, judging, establishing, creating and ruling. The seeds of greatness lie within them. They lie within Donal. I can see them when he talks about things he’s passionate about. He’s preparing a speech on bioluminesence. He follows me around telling me that they now use the glowing chemicals from fire fleas to help diagnose heart defects and all sorts of marvelous things I never knew. Sometimes it touches my heart to hear him pray. He’s reading Romans for the first time right now, and each new thing he learns is a great AHA! discovery to him. The world is opening up before him, and he is so excited about everything he learns.

In there, somewhere, is a great man trying to get out. If I can just be patient. If I can be diligent, awaiting the day. If I can avoid clobbering him and crushing his spirit over all the silly things he forgets to do, someday Donal is going to be amazing.

We bought a house today!

We closed on the house today.  Between Neal and our very competent realtors, this purchase was practically painless for me.  Brenna fed the little ones candy and Kix cereal at one end of the big, shiny, glossy lawyerly table while Neal and I signed stacks and stacks of papers that we only cursorily glanced over.  I suppose this is typical for a closing, but please, Lord, let this sale turn out better than the last one!

Our cats caught a rat in the back yard and have been toying with it through the long afternoon.  Though I know my loyalties should rest with the home team, the rat is small, brown, furry and cute, and I’m afraid I’m rooting for it to escape.  I mentioned my subversive sympathies to my husband, and he offered to go out and call off the cats.   But they are, after all, just doing their job.  Isn’t that why we have cats?  We lived by a swamp for nearly five years, and I only saw two snakes in the entire time we were there, and one of them had already had it’s head ripped off.  Meg and Tutter make an efficient team.

My daughter is reading this post over my shoulder and added a comment about the cats.  They’re efficient “except when they growl at each other,” she says.  I suppose all teams have occasional infighting.  Hopefully most teams manage to avoid ripping large chunks out of other team-members’ backs, though.  Meg did that to Tutter the last time we left them for the weekend.  I think this did show a lack of esprit d’corps on her part.  Perhaps this is the reason why Tutter seems to be hogging the rat.

My thanks to my mother, who has offered to have her very good mechanic-of-several-years, Paul, look for a van for us, and even more thanks to Richard, who has undertaken the search in Camden.  Bless you, my loved ones.

Must go purchase paint and wall paper for darling new house!