I have a sore throat. And I think I have Babygirl’s tummy bug. And I don’t even believe in karma.

Secretly feel annoyed that your husband, the pastor, is going to visit a church member (who happens to be a close friend) in the hospital tomorrow. So what if it’s Saturday and he’s supposedly taking the week off and you’ve been with kids non-step for days, weeks, months, years? So what if the man is recovering from surgery so he can then undergo intensive chemotherapy? So what? What about you?

See how easy it is to feel like a jerk? Pout invisibly (of course) a little about being unimportant to your husband and remind yourself that you will never again leave the house in the daylight without kids. Think about not going on vacation in approximately 15 years. Ponder the injustice of your life.

Then remind yourself that the Hospital Guy is in worse shape than you are and kick yourself in the pants. You big jerk.

Here are a few reasons why I like being 39:

1) I don’t think everyone in a room is talking about me when I walk in.

2) When my husband is upset, I figure that’s his problem, not mine.

3) I have a lot of experience. I’ve planned a wedding and funeral and everything in between. I’ve admitted someone to the hospital, given birth to two babies at home and slept in a hospital overnight after my 3 year old had surgery. I’ve hosted baby showers and sung at weddings.

4) I realize my worth as a person doesn’t depend on how good my hair looks. What’s inside my head matters more and I know that now.

5) My life is turning out all right. All that worry in my teens was for nothing.

6) Not much surprises me. I am no longer devastated by people’s betrayals or shocked by their downfalls. I’ve seen a lot.

7) I’ve been thin and I’ve been fat and though thin is better, I’m the same person inside. I am not my body. I’m just inside here.

8) I have learned from experience. I know how to make mashed potatoes and how to iron a shirt and how to get a company to send me free diapers.

9) I don’t care what people think. I trust my own judgment.

10) Being 39 is better than the alternative. My dad died when he was 47. Time is short. I am grateful just to be alive.

The twins turn 11 years old today. What’s funny is that they’ve been arguing about when they are “officially” and “technically” turning 11. TwinBoyB says not until 11:30 p.m. when he was actually born. TwinBoyA doesn’t care about the details. He says he turned 11 as of 12:01 a.m. this morning. The more things change, the more they stay the same. I think these children will argue until they live separately. Or even longer. Who knows? I can hardly believe I have two boys on the cusp of adolescence–even though they are starting to smell and have greasy hair and grow hair in strange places. ::shudder::

I have baked a chocolate cake and am looking forward to making homemade frosting, mostly so I can lick giant globs of it off my fingers. Because everyone knows that frosting doesn’t have any calories if you lick it off your fingers.

Changing gears entirely . . .

I am always very hopeful in spring. Each spring I think this is the year I’m going to get the whole flowerbed weeded. I have flowerbeds that some lunatic must have planned. They are a good eight to ten feet wide as they approach the corner of the yard. I’ve never managed to get all the weedy grass dug out of them before I give up (in June, usually). But this year, I’m making remarkable progress. And last night, to celebrate, I bought twenty dollars worth of perennials to plant. I can’t wait. Spring hopes eternal.

We’re on our third day of cloudy skies and occasional rain. The babies do not quite understand why we can’t go outside. Yesterday, I took Babygirl for a stroll around our circle, but it started to rain and by the time we got home, I was wet. My naturally curly hair was out of control.

We sent off the taxes today. We paid $54. I hate paying taxes. Our estimated quarterly payment was due today, too. That’s the one that really hurts. If more people had to write a check to the government every three months, more people would vote Republican.

The most embarrassing thing happened today. My husband (continuing his “week off”) had a friend come to “help him” with a few household repairs. They replaced the shower nozzle in our bathroom and the toilet seat, too. Both of these things I could easily do myself and I hated that someone else did them. I was embarrassed that this man thinks I’m not able to do such simple stuff. Of course, I’m also completely irrational and hated the fact that he saw my bedroom, which probably has laundry on the floor and an unmade bed–because my husband doesn’t get up at the crack of dawn like I do and it’s kind of hard to make a bed when someone’s still in it. I’ve tried, believe me. I also sleep nice and tidily and when I emerge from a bed, it’s a simple matter of pulling the covers up and fluffing the pillows. I am a neat sleeper, unlike some people I know who shall remain nameless.

My husband and I were talking today about how long we’ve been married. Almost 17 years. That breaks my family record–my parents were married 13 years. Then my dad’s second marriage lasted 7 years. My mom’s second marriage lasted 5 years, her third marriage lasted 1.5 years, her fourth marriage lasted three or four years. Then she gave up marriage and just lived with a man for about 7 years.

My husband isn’t sure how long his parents were married, but as near as we could figure, their marriage lasted about 15 years. His mother’s longest lasting marriage is going strong at 25 years at least, and his dad’s marriage has lasted probably 35.

Anyway, he was saying, “I am doing my best to get away from dysfunctional people.”

And then he paused. “But my siblings keep calling!”

You know what they say. You can pick your friends. You can pick your nose. But you can’t pick your friend’s nose.

And you can’t pick your family, either.

I hate mornings.

This morning, the ringing of the alarm at 6:30 a.m. was extremely loud. I think someone moved the setting to “LOUD.” I hate being the first person to wake up in the house. I know. I’m a terrible housewife and mother. My children never wake to the sound of me singing while I fry bacon in the kitchen.

I open my bedroom door and notice Babygirl has turned on her light already. She’s awake early, too. Then I smell it. She has had an explosion in her diaper. I have changed thousands of diapers in my lifetime and this was the worst. I will spare you the details–like how the diarrhea covered her stomach–and just tell you that I had to carefully strip her and put her straight into the bathtub.

I hollered to my husband (who was still in bed because he’s taking the week off) so he could help me. I was expecting DaycareKid to arrive any second and realized I couldn’t get the door if I were bathing Babygirl. So, my husband ran the bathwater–he added bubbles, though, which was a big mistake. Babygirl hates bubbles. She screamed during the whole bath (which lasted about three minutes).

She’s been clinging all morning and fell asleep on the floor just now while watching Sesame Street. I suppose she has a little tummy bug. She’s been eating and drinking all morning, though.

My husband took the boys out to lunch. Yesterday, he took them to spend their birthday money, so everyone has new video games and they are mostly not arguing.

A new friend of mine shared with me her secret for dealing with birthdays for kids older than 10. She offers them $100 in cash–in lieu of a party and birthday gift. I offered my kids this deal, and even though it cost me $200, it saved me stress, hassle and money! And I don’t have to sit at Odyssey I while a bunch of pre-teen boys holler around me and play laser tag. What a brilliant idea! Their actual birthday is tomorrow, so we’ll have cake and sing Happy Birthday and take pictures.

Half-way through Spring Break. Someday, I will have Spring Break, too, and I will read a lot of novels and lay in the sun and shop for an entire week straight.

Here are the things I used to do:

1) Ride my bicycle long distances and then camp by the side of the road. When I was 14, I rode with my stepmom, brother and sister to San Francisco–from Seattle. We boarded a bus in San Francisco and headed south past Los Angeles, all the way to San Diego. On that trip, we went to Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm, Universal Studios, and the San Diego Zoo. I haven’t been back to California–other than the airport, since.

2) Ride on airplanes. When I was 16, I flew to Tahiti with a group of teenage girls for a 10 day stay. We were purportedly helping missionaries, but I think we were more trouble than help. But oh, what a blast! I received letters from a Tahitian boy named Jean-Claude for a long time after my return home. In French. Which I used to be able to read fluently.

When I was 17, I flew to Jamaica on another missions trip. Unfortunately, by then, my authority-questioning had begun and I was again, more trouble than help. I climbed a waterfall and rode in a Jeep to the heart of the island. When I left, I spent a frightening night alone in the Miami airport when my flight was rescheduled.

I flew to Florida with my husband before we had children. We stayed with our rich friends in their rich parents’ luxurious home. We rode on their yacht and swam in their pool. We fished in the deep blue sea and grilled the fish for dinner.

3) Move. I used to move a lot. I left the Pacific Northwest for college in Springfield, Missouri when I was 18. My dad put me on a Greyound bus–yes, that would be 4 days, 3 nights–when I left for school. During college, I had various summer jobs–one summer, I was a nanny in Branson, Missouri. The next two summers, I worked in Charlotte, North Carolina. During my breaks, I visited New York City, Boston, Rochester (New York), Philadelphia, Birmingham, Alabama, Kansas City, Wichita, and Tulsa.

After I was married, we lived in New Haven, Connecticut and Troutdale, Oregon, and Atlanta, Michigan.

4) Highlight my hair. I fought for many years to remain blond. I put my trust in colorists from Portland to Kansas City to Gaylord, Michigan, to Seattle. I found one I truly loved, one who made housecalls and made me look “natural.”

5) Sleep in.

6) Buy shoes. I shopped for shoes whenever I had the chance. I matched clothes to shoes, instead of the other way around. I used to wear a pair of pink Chuck Taylor Converse shoes. I had a pair of hot pink and deep periwinkle ballet flats. I wore heels. My feet used to hurt from my shoes.

Now, I have children. I no longer travel, fly in airplanes, sleep in hotels, move, visit other cities, color my hair or wear shoes that hurt. By the time my baby girl reaches kindergarten in 2008, I will have been living with babies and/or preschoolers for 15 years. My husband jokes that we missed the Family Planning Class.

Some day, I’ll have something interesting to discuss with other adults. When I leave the house, I won’t have to change my shirt because I have a booger smeared on it. I just might–maybe–fly on an airplane again and even have a layover long enough to read a whole “People” magazine. I might even relearn how to walk in high heels.

In the meantime, I’ll live vicariously through other journals and novels. In my spare time.

My husband’s taking the week off. Unfortunately, I’m not. It’s Spring Break. I also have DaycareKid Monday through Thursday as usual. And the laundry doesn’t take a day off and for some reason, my family wants to eat every single day. Which reminds me that I still haven’t put the stew into the crockpot, so what will we have for dinner tonight?

Funnily enough, my husband has gone to his office twice so far this morning, taken three phone calls from church people and has left the house to run errands.

He plans to take the kids bowling after lunch. Then, hopefully, the babies will sleep and the house will be quiet.

The kids never did notice that we didn’t dye Easter eggs. I can’t believe I made it through a holiday with no preparations whatsoever. And those Easter bunnies I bought on Saturday night have been completely forgotten. I should have just used the chocolate bunnies from 2003 that are still in my laundry room cupboard. No, I am not kidding.

The most glorious thing happened this morning. My baby did not wake up until after 8:30 a.m., so I slept in! I woke up, realized it was morning, rolled over and slept more. Then repeated that again and again. Oh, the beauty, the joy, the uncommon luxury of sleeping in!

Then, things got crazy. Well, not crazy-insane-admit-me-to-the-loony-bin, but crazy-hurry-we’ve-got-to-get-ready-to-go.

I showered, attempted to dry my hair straight and was confronted with the fact that it’s too long and too unruly to be straightened anymore. I think it is curlier now than ever before. Anyway, finished getting ready, fed the baby and told her we were going to go somewhere. She took me quite literally and walked to the front door. I handed her a waffle and took her for a fifteen minute ride while my husband showered and hollered at the kids to comb their hair and get ready. I assume he hollered, anyway. Who knows? Happily, I was meandering through the neighborhoods in my town, checking out houses and yards and lilac bushes and the controversial building site on the water where a man is attempting to circumvent my town’s stringent building codes.

My lilac bush has not yet bloomed because it’s mostly in the shade. But next week, for sure, it will bloom.

The kids have not adjusted to spring at all. Especially spring days like today where the temperature is 75 degrees. They were all wearing sweat pants and long-sleeved shirts when I returned home. I tried to convince them to wear t-shirts and the oldest two did change. YoungestBoy insisted on wearing long sleeves and heavy sweatpants. Okey-dokey, then.

We left the house at 10:35 a.m. for the Easter egg hunt at the pool. We belong to a private pool club, which is the best money we spend every year. The first event every year is the egg hunt. I wasn’t sure if Babygirl would “get it,” but I did bring her a white basket.

There were maybe 5 kids ages 3 and under and they had 150 eggs to gather! Babygirl immediately understood what she was to do. She called the eggs “balls.” After she placed the first one in her basket, she said, “more.” She filled her basket completely and even cooperated while I took her picture. She had a great time. Even though she is abnormally anti-social, she was running along, throwing a plastic egg and then snatching it up and throwing it again. The only times she paused and veered close to me were when someone said, “Hello!” to her. She likes to be ignored.

The big boys had a good time, too, and gathered lots of eggs. Now they have lots of candy.

Here’s the Bad Mother moment of the day, though. I totally, completely forgot about coloring Easter eggs. We’ve colored eggs for the past 8 or 9 years and yet, this year, I forgot. It never occurred to me to decorate for Easter (I have a bunch of decorations) or anything. The funny thing is that the kids haven’t said a word. I think they forgot, too!

If they ask about coloring eggs, I’m going to tell them that I planned to color eggs next week, during Spring Break, so we’ll have something to do. Ha.

When we got home from the festivities, my husband went to work to write his sermon for tomorrow. He’s had a very busy week–busier than usual, even–because a good friend of his (and a church member) has been in the hospital. He had surgery earlier this week, then suffered a complication and had to go back into surgery. When my husband did arrive home after finishing his sermon, he immediately left again to visit Jeff. He came home to stay at about 7 p.m. Yes, that would be another day “off” . . . where he worked for 7 hours.

During his absence today, we were mostly in the backyard. The kids played and I pulled weeds for awhile. The kids couldn’t seem to play nicely, however, so I changed gears and got out a bucket, filled it with suds and assigned them the task of cleaning the lawn chairs. As TwinBoyA said to YoungestBoy, “I never knew cleaning could be so much fun!” They cleaned chairs, toys, the house and the patio door with great glee and enthusiasm. While they cleaned, I used the hose and sprayed off the patio, which took a considerable amount of time. I carried Babygirl with me some of the time, but she’d wriggle to get down and stomp in the puddling water. She took off her overalls, too, and soon her socks and shoes and bottom were wet and muddy.

The patio looks great. I also sprayed out the sandboxes, so they are ready for new sand. I’ve been itching to get the back yard cleaned up.

My husband promised to let me get out of house, but by the time I ironed everyone’s Easter clothes, it was already 8:30 p.m., so I just went out for an hour. I bought chocolate bunnies for the boys and rented two videos and two DVDs, but of course, I couldn’t get the sort of new DVD player set up. It does not seem compatible with my television set, at least the one down here in the family room. So much for that.

I can’t believe tomorrow is Easter. We’re having dinner at my mom’s house, which means I don’t have to cook for once. For that, I am abundantly thankful!

I’ve seen previews for the new movie, “Ella Enchanted.” And while this movie looks precious and cute (especially if you are twelve years old), I will not be seeing it for one main reason.

As the website says, “Little Ella’s birthright is the gift–and curse–of obedience. As a result of this unfortunate circumstance, Ella cannot refuse any command . . . ”

Well, color me confused, but it seems to me that Ella is not exactly the most obedient girl as much as is the most literal girl in the kingdom.

Plus, why do we need a movie showing how bad obedience is?

Obedience = good.
Taking everything literally = bad.

Imagine what good I could do for mankind if only I applied my mental meanderings to serious issues, she says with a straight face and a laugh.