eBay junkie

I've been a little behind in my blogging this week but I have an excuse! I have finally figured out how to sell on eBay and I am officially an addict.

It started when I was in the basement and looking at some crap that I've been looking at ever since we moved here, almost 10 months ago and thought, how hard can it really be? If half the country sells on eBay, I can figure it out, too.

So I did and now I can't stop. Those eBay people are genius. They make you feel like such a winner whether you're buying or selling. "You Won!" is the message you get when you have the top bid on some worthless item you didn't need but got because you were a little overzealous in your bidding. "Congratulations! You've successfully left feedback!" they tell you. Obviously, you must be something special to leave feedback. Not just anyone could do that, could they?

So I have about 10 auctions going right now. And at the beginning of the week I had grand aspirations for making a huge living from this. I planned to go to garage sales, estate sales, auctions...and sell it all on eBay for a HUGE profit!!! Then we can add those wood floors, that arbor over the deck, or take a vacation. I felt somehow more valuable to my family if I could bring in some income. My awesome husband made me feel better by saying that raising well-rounded children to ensure the survival of the species was enough. But still...

But as the week has dragged on, and I mean dragged on, I'm starting to see why not everyone does it. It's a lot of work people! Taking pictures, writing detailed descriptions, deciding what to charge for shipping, answering inane questions from potential buyers ("is it 5" or 5.25 "?), going to the post office with three little boys in tow. And after eBay and Paypal get their share, it doesn't leave a whole lot left over unless the item was really worth something.

So we'll have to see. If I end up making a killing from my sales and not have to deal with any psycho or flaky buyers, maybe I'll keep the dream alive...

mama says om theme: wild

I still remember distinctly the first moment I met her. I had just climbed nine flights of stairs to the top floor of the dorm where I would be living for the next year. The elevators were jammed with freshmen and all their belongings. I stood in line to find out which room was mine and who my roommate would be. I did not know anyone there so I had just gone "potluck" and let the school decide who I would be living with. I told them my name and they said that "T" (names have been changed to protect the not so innocent) was my roommate. From directly behind me I heard a voice, "That's me!" and up stepped a five foot-tall, sweaty girl. But even with her small stature, her strong presence made her seem much taller. She had apparently climbed the nine flights of stairs, also. My first impression was that she was very tan and very freckly. We were both brunettes with brown eyes and big Texas hair. I was intimidated immediately.

We got set up in our room which was a 4X4 cube, or so it seemed. I found out she was a "pledge" for a sorority. I came from a family of Aggies who frowned on the whole Greek thing but I said nothing. For the first month or so, she dutifully went to all the sorority events and kissed up to all the people she was supposed to kiss up to, but one night she came home and I got my first glimpse of the real "T".

After having sat through another boring meeting trying to prove she was good enough to become a "Chi Omega" or something, she reached her limit. She stormed into our tiny room, headed straight for the 1X2 window, opened it and started to climb out. She said something along the lines of, "I can't take it anymore. Please let me jump." She was kidding of course, but I played along and stopped her from plummeting the nine stories down (although I did for a moment consider the rumor that if your roommate died during a semester you'd get an automatic 4.0). She quit her sorority aspirations the next day. I was so proud.

I'd never felt so plain until I met her. She was a wild child. She'd done it all in high school, unlike me. When I told her I was a virgin who'd never had a drink she almost fainted.
"Here, have some of this," she said.
"What is it?"
"Everclear."
"Okay."
I trusted her completely.
She was sometimes right, sometimes not.

She had crazy ideas like: let's get pets. Who cares that we live in a dorm. We need a cat. We need a hamster. Make that two hamsters. I followed her lead and before I knew it, we were the proud owners of a virtual dorm menagerie. When there were fire drills in the middle of the night, we'd put the cat in the closet, walk down all nine flights and stare up at our room, hoping it was just a drill. Pets were not allowed. When I came home from class one day to find her sitting on the floor, eating Wendy's with her lifeless hamster on the floor in front of her (he died of natural causes), I could not have known what type of funeral she would end up giving him. "It's breathing again!" she shrieked. It was true. Although cold and lifeless, it did seem to be inhaling. Out the window it went.

Men loved her. She was a free-spirit. She could not be tamed or controlled. It only made them want to subdue her more. But she always fought back. Except for one time. She had a fight with her boyfriend during a double date we were on. He stormed out of the room they were fighting in and told me I might check on her because it appeared she'd passed out. I went in and started to get her shoes off to make her comfortable when suddenly one of her eyes popped open and she asked, "Is he gone?" She was playing possum to get rid of him. We were both trying so hard not to laugh when he came back in the room I'm sure I had tears running down my face. She immediately went limp.

She never failed to come up with new ideas. Once, she decided that being a stripper would be a good way to make some extra college cash. She and my other roommate actually went and applied together. If I wasn't an 'A' cup, I might have gone myself. She had a way of making things sound like such a good idea. At the last minute, they both chickened out. I was surprised.

It's funny, she has said before that she never would have finished college if I hadn't been her roommate, and I think I might have finished if she hadn't been mine. But I don't begrudge her for it (there were lots of other reasons it didn't happen). Knowing her enriched my life. Before, I was much more shy and uptight. I met my husband through her and she met hers through me. I have memories of that time that I would not have without her. They were some of the best years of my life. If I'd had some bookworm roomie I might be sitting here with a degree right now, but I also would probably be sitting here alone and bored.

I don't think she knows how much she means to me. I've never known anyone else quite like her. She is strong, smart and funny as hell. She is passionate, impatient and creative. I love her dearly and miss her terribly. We still keep in touch but it's not the same as being able to hop in the car with her and head to Wendy's blasting "Hotel California" all the way as we procrastinate studying for our finals.

I hope we'll always be friends. I can't imagine life without her, then, or now.

mama says om

on the fence

When do you know you're done having babies? It seems most people I meet are very sure. They're like, "no way am I having another." They are sure. No doubts. Then there are those who have five and six kids. They seem confident in their decision to have a large family. People may not understand how they do it or why they want to do it, but it makes sense to them.

I am torn. My youngest will be two next month and usually by this time, I'm about to domino again. It's the first time I'll have a two year-old and be able to pick him up and carry him without the encumbrance of a huge belly or the added weight of a newborn attached to me. I'm sleeping though the night most nights. I can wear my skinny jeans.

I hear my friends with older children talk about the cost of braces and college looming in their near future and I think, wow, we already have three. A fourth would just add to all that. And then I hear people say things like, "You always have enough money to provide for the children you have," and I know from first hand experience that that is very true.

This week, I've been cleaning out my closets and getting organized. I ran out of plastic boxes to store winter clothes in and went to see what boxes I might empty and re-use. My eyes fell on the boxes at the bottom of the stack with the labels: newborn-12 months. And 12 months-18 months. I opened them up and started sorting them for donations or for giving to my neighbor with her new baby. I'm a practical person and was focused on the task, but before I knew it, tears sprang to my eyes and I couldn't stop sobbing. I held the tiny onesies in my hands and remembered putting them on my baby boys' little bodies. Their soft, newborn legs still curled in. Their no-scratch mitts they wore when their nails were too small to trim and they would wave their hands around, swiping their own cheeks by accident. The rattle socks they would wear and kick their little feet in. My favorite Old Navy onesie my sister gave my firstborn with colorful fish on the front named "Jack, Sue, Wes, Lou, Mel and Ang." I could recall the butterfly-in-the stomach feeling of unpacking the baby clothes and putting them in drawers again in preparations for a new baby. Wondering what they would look like, how they would act. What new little spirit would be gracing us with their presence. How they would fit into the family dynamic.

I kept my favorites and stuffed the rest in a giant plastic bag. I thought, if we do have another, we can always buy more clothes, right? But then again, it is nice to sleep again. And last week when my kids and husband were sick and I was up all night, it really wore me out. I'm not as young as I used to be. Could I go through another pregnancy with the dreaded morning sickness (happens to me every time), the exhaustion, the stretch marks? And still take care of the three I have now? Is it a good idea?

The competitive spirit in me says, "Yes! Do it! You can find the energy to get through it and you would never regret it!" And the practical side of me says, "You have three gorgeous, healthy boys. Don't be greedy." Just think, in the fall I'll have one in school all day, five days a week, and one in pre-school three afternoons a week. I can almost taste the freedom! I might be able to have quiet time when Cooper is napping. I might be able to start my own home-based business. The possibilities are endless...

So I sit here on the fence, but it's really irrelevant because there's another person who fits into this equation and he's not on the fence at all. But I can't bring myself to beg yet since I'm not completely sold on the idea myself. I hope I can find peace in whatever decision we ultimately make and have no regrets.

i'm a weirdo, too

So I've been tagged by Crazy MomCat and I get to list six weird things about me (oh how can I narrow it down?) Here goes:

1. I am currently the mom to a colony of pet Sea Monkies. They were originally for my 3 year-old but what does he know? I allow him to feed them once a week but otherwise they're all mine. I watch them swim and mate (very interesting) and they are actually quite monkey-like even though I know in my heart they are just brine shrimp. They've been thriving for 4 months now (stocking stuffer). It makes me happy to see their new eggs and hatchlings floating in the water.

2. I love amphibians and reptiles. I had a pet frog named Sherman as a child and I had box turtles in college (Tuttle and Rosebud). I allowed them to roam free in my dorm room and took them everywhere with me. They even mated a couple times, much to my dismay. They were so shocked by my intrusion that Rosebud locked Tuttle's feet in her shell and I had to pry them apart. Tuttle didn't even notice.

3. I love to clean. I know, I'm ill.

4. I can do a "spider dance" for my family whenever the urge strikes me. I hunch down and jut out my knees and walk around the room like a weirdo.

5. My husband makes fun of the way I pronounce "wolf" (woof), "button" (buddon), and "ice-cream bowl" (bo-wel). I've become so self-conscious about it that I avoid using those words in any context.

6. Before I had kids I had over 17 jobs in the span of 10 years. I did a little of everything: retail sales, day-care, receptionist, customer service, banking, antique malls, Aggie ring sales, editing standardized tests...I could go on. Yes sir, I'm the most employable person you'll ever meet but you'll be lucky if I stick around for 6 months!

So that's all for now..maybe I'll reveal more strange things in future posts...

If you would like to reveal any weirdness about yourself, consider yourself tagged!

theme of the week: favorite places

I was at the park with the boys the other day, sitting on a bench and watching them play in the sand. It was the end of the day and I closed my eyes for a few moments. The sun was warm on my arms and for a moment I had deja vu. Something about the smell of the air and the sounds of outdoor voices took me back to one of my favorite places from my college days. It was called 5 Mile Dam because it was five miles outside of my quaint college town (duh). The emerald green Blanco river wound its way through the Texas hillside and over the dam. On one bank it was rocky and flat and the other bank went straight up and was covered with trees and vines. During the weekends it was packed, but my favorite time to go was during the week as soon as my last class let out.

I would hike back from campus as fast as I could, change into my bikini and cut-off shorts and hop in my 1985 Mazda RX-7. I was too cool. As soon as I got there I would stake out my place on the hot white rocks, spread out my towel and slather myself in baby oil (yes, I know better now!) I would lay there soaking up the sun until I got too hot and then jump in the river and swim across and back. It was always so peaceful and refreshing.

My husband took me to 5 Mile on our first date. After we ate dinner, we drove out there and sat in the back of his pick-up truck and talked for hours. He had brought along some wine and wine glasses. We were doing great until the sheriff showed up to make the rounds at the park. I was only 19 so I shouldn't have been having wine with a 22 year-old. But in his first display of charm and exceptional people skills, D had a chat with the sheriff and he left us alone, requesting only that we didn't break our wine glasses out there. On the way back home, I fell in love with my husband-to-be as we drove with the windows down and CCR singing "Traveling Band" full blast on his stereo. He was a gentleman and took me back to my apartment, kissed me on my cheeks and forehead and said goodnight. The next day he sent me flowers at my workplace and a note that said, "I couldn't sleep at all last night and I smiled all day." With those words, he had me for sure.

When I was in labor with our sons, it was 5 Mile Dam I was trying to go to in my mind. According to the books, it would help to visualize a pleasant experience to manage the pain and contractions. I tried to see it, feel it. The warm sun, rushing water, weightless body swimming in the river. It didn't quite work.

It's funny how a smell or sound can bring me back to a place in time before marriage, before children, before bills and laundry, when there was nothing keeping me from jumping in a river and swimming the afternoon away and having nothing but a sunburn to show for it.


If you have a favorite place you'd like to share, tell me about it in the comments and I'll link you from my page!

25 cents of pure hell

Everywhere I go, and I mean everywhere, they're there. Usually, right as I enter a store after having spent time prepping the kids on their expected store behavior, we walk straight into a giant plastic machine or group of machines filled with every tiny thing their little hearts could ever desire. Rubber balls, gumballs, action heroes, cheap crappy toys. And all for just 25 cents! The boys collectively gasp and make a bee-line, oohing and aahhing over the miniscule (and did I mention crappy?) treasures. Any Mom who sees longing on her child's face and knows she can offer them a little piece of joy and delight for a mere quarter will cave. Having a happy child is priceless, right?

But it never goes that way. After rummaging frantically in my purse, I'm always grateful to actually find three quarters. Usually it's just two and until a few months ago, that didn't matter. Cooper was too young to really get it. But now, he's no fool. He doesn't fall for the, "Hey, did I just see a cat over there?" ploy as I hand his big brothers their quarters behind my back. So then I try to prepare them by explaining that what they get is what they get. There is no way to get the exact toy they see beckoning them through the glass. They can't pick the color. They can't pick anything. They agree that, yes, it's okay. They'll be happy with whatever comes out.

So we proceed. Insert coin. Turn the dial (all the way for the love of God or you'll lose your money child!!). Open the door. Pop open the plastic egg...viola! And he's in tears on the floor. It's not the right one. So we try again, hoping maybe a trade can be made or a deal reached between loving brothers. But no, the second child gets exactly what he wanted. The first one remains crying in a heap. One more try. It jams. There are no more quarters. The third child drops to the floor. So much for shopping. I retreat with my 2/3 broken-hearted group, the other 1/3 gloating about his perfect toy. Then, he usually drops it somewhere in the car, losing it down some obscure crack never to be seen again and I get to drive home cursing under my breath as they howl in the back seat. Never. Again. I say. Never. Again.

This is my submission for the Mama Says Om theme of the week: delight, or in my case: delight? yeah right!

the irony

I had to chuckle when my sister told me about a conversation she'd recently had with a very good friend of hers and a blogger that I highly respect. It seems that her friend was having a very bad day with her two kiddos and asked my sister about me. "How does she do it with three?!" She seemed to have the misconception that I have my act together and am a model mother. This came as such a relief to me because I think the same of her! She seems so loving and calm (and I'm sure she is) but I didn't picture her having bad days like I do. I mean, I try every day to do better and sometimes I make progress and some days lose ground, but I would never consider myself a model mom. I beat myself up and usually give all the credit to my husband when I see how well they are turning out. It really made me realize that if my sister's friend can have a bad day and doubt her abilities as a mother, too, then it's all going to be okay. Because I know that her children are loved and treasured and so are mine. They are secure enough to stand the storm of a bad day. They are hardy and resilient because of the fact that they have two parents that would gladly die for them. They know in their hearts that a stressed-out mother at the end of her rope is only temporary. I have been vindicated...

weekend update

We had a fairly interesting weekend. Went to the "House of Bounce" for a birthday party where the boys got to jump around in giant inflated objects (hamburgers, dinosaurs, etc.) until they were tired and then eat a volcano cake. Cole seems to have picked up something extra from the HOB and missed school today. He hasn't thrown up yet but does his dolphin screech every time a wave of nausea comes over him. He's never taken nausea very well.

We then had our new Colorado friends over for dinner and that was fun as usual. We don't hang out with a lot of people and it's so nice to have a couple that we both click with. We ate too much and drank too much.

Then on Sunday, we woke up and decided that since we live in Colorado and have three sons, we really should live in the mountains, not just next to them. It's kind of scary that my husband and I are always on the same page with our big moving ideas. Not one of us is the practical, responsible one to say, "Maybe we should think about it for a little while first..." So after church we packed up the boys and headed to the mountains with our list of properties from realtor.com.



It took about 45 minutes to get to Evergreen (not too bad) and we drove around for a while. It was a gorgeous day and it seemed like everyone else had the same idea to be there. It was packed in their little downtown area. Mostly motorcycle gangs. Hmmmm. Anyway, we looked at a couple of houses, just driving past, not bothering anyone, but nothing made our hearts stop. Well, one area did but we just didn't see the kind of place we had in mind. So by the end of the day we drove back to our neighborhood patting ourselves on our collective back about how we had made the right decision to live in the burbs after all. We are such dorks.

In other news...I am so excited about my new plans to go to Washington D.C. for the 4th of July weekend. My Dad has a Vietnam Helicopter Pilot's Assoc. reunion in a different city each year and that's where it is this year. It's the first year I haven't been pregnant of nursing in 7 years so I can finally go! I've never been to D.C. and am really pumped.

Thursday 13

13 reasons I haven't run away (yet)

1. I have no job and have been out of the workforce for six years, so it might be hard to get one. Although my list of job skills now includes: juggling the physical, emotional, intellectual and spiritual needs of three human beings while constantly fighting feelings of guilt and inadequacy, I don't know how much I could get paid for that.
2. Who else would want to feed me and provide for me but my handsome, loving husband?
3. I don't know where I'd go. I kind of like it here.
4. My handsome, loving husband.
5. I kind of like these three little people who drive me crazy.
6. I'm too damn tired.
7. Wherever I go, there I am.
8. I am stable, responsible and predictable to a fault. I bore myself.
9. How could I blog on the run?
10. The price of gas.
11. My car has 120,000 miles on it.
12. I would miss waking up and snuggling with my baby in the mornings.
13. I would miss what it's all about.

The Thursday 13 idea came from Movin' Mom's blog!

unusual finds

Living on base in Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas, in the late 70's was a great place to be a child. It was safe and full of hiding places. I could explore the neighborhood for hours with my friends, setting up new hide-outs in Juniper bushes and looking for toads trapped in window wells. One day I was walking with a friend along a rock wall that bordered the military cemetery just a couple blocks behind my house. Part of it was crumbling and so we jumped down and started picking through the rubble. I found a small, metal object. I had no idea what it was but I liked the feel of it so I put it in my pocket and we went on our way.

Later that evening as I was emptying my pockets of the day's finds, I put the thing on the kitchen counter. My Dad walked by and gasped, "Where did you find that?!" I told him and he continued to examine it. I didn't know if I was in trouble or what. He told me it looked like a bullet. A very old bullet. Cool. He put it in a cup of water to soak it and loosen the dirt from who knows how long ago. A few days later, being the meticulous person that he is, he went to the library and scoured military weapons books until he found it. An exact match. It was molded in 1874 at the historic Philadelphia Frankford Arsenal. He even researched the location where it was found and noted that it was about 2oo feet from the grave of the brother of Colonel George Custer. He included that "interesting but irrelevant" factoid on the back of the display case he had personally picked out and stained for my prized find.

Many years later, I was at my Dad's deer lease in south Texas, searching the caliche terrain for arrowheads. We'd found fragments before and there was plenty of flint scattered around, but we'd yet to find a perfect artifact. It was July and at least 100 degrees. It felt even hotter from the sun reflecting off of the white, clay-like earth. I wandered for hours, head down, eyes squinting. My skin was burned and dusty and I was getting dehydrated. I decided to call it a day. As I was heading back to the truck, I glanced down and my heart jumped. Out of the corner of my eye I had seen a small, perfect shape under some scrub brush. "It must be a leaf. It's too perfect..." I thought.

I stooped to pick it up, holding my breath unconsciously. I was almost afraid to look. In my hand it was hard and light. Not a leaf, but a perfect point. A treasure. The detail and symmetry created by each strike of it's creator's hands was breathtaking. The skill it had taken to turn a chunk of stone into such a delicate but effective weapon was beyond me. The fact that I was holding something made by another human being more than hundred years ago was awesome. I tried to imagine who had made it and how they used it. Were they proud of it or was it just something they made on their lunch break as they sat under a tree with their fellow warriors, exchanging hunting stories? Did they shoot it at a bird and miss, or did it fall out of their pocket as they were chasing a larger animal?

I still love the thrill of finding things and my middle son seems to have inherited it from me. He also walks with his head down, scanning the ground for any kind of treasure. I've started keeping a box of all his finds. It will take a long time to fill it up because most things he finds are miniscule. I've been known to throw pennies into the grass ahead of him when he's not looking so that he can have the fun of finding them, but someday I know he'll find something more unusual.


This is my submission for the Mama Says Om theme of the week: Unusual

chores

OK people, I need some advice. We were at one of my son's friend's houses the other day and I saw a list of chores she was responsible for posted on her door. They included: folding laundry, taking care of the dog, practicing piano...etc. etc. She is six, my oldest will be six in June.

I was shocked at all the things she was capable of because, from what I can tell with my boys, they can hardly grasp the concept of making up a bed. And to make the problem worse, I am a clean freak. I cannot stand a mess, it makes me very tense. And I cannot stand to nag, it also makes me tense. And so, I usually just do things myself. Sometimes it makes me feel resentful but sometimes I actually like it. And I recently read a book called Between Parent and Child that actually made me feel vindicated. Here is an excerpt from the chapter on responsibility:

"...In actuality, such chores, though important for home management, may have no positive effect on creating a sense of responsibility. On the contrary, in some homes, the daily tasks result in daily battles that bring anguish and anger to both children and parents. Forceful insistence on the performance of chores may result in obedience and in cleaner kitchens and yards, but may have an undesirable influence on the molding of character. The plain fact is that responsibility cannot be imposed. It can only grow from within, fed and directed by values absorbed at home and in the community."

This rings true to me because of the fact that my sister, brother and I were all forced to do chores, and yet once we grew up, I am the only one that still does them. I think it's just innate. You're born with a clean gene or you're not.

So should I insist on some help from my kids or should I do the work myself to preserve the peace? Do you think that doing chores as a child helped form your character? Do you require your kids do chores and if so, are you successful? Do you have any tips for success? I've tried sticker charts and that kind of thing but it usually only lasts a week or so before they lose interest...

Help!!!