Thanks for your concern. See ya when the leaves turn.

Sis

Crap on a stick! I just realize at 38 I’m grown up. I’ve gone from being carefree and silly all the time to mostly serious, thoughtful and (dare I say it?) almost responsible. Ugh. My evil twin, SINthia, calls it straight-up boring. Carefree rip anyway… She gets everything she wants. Which is where my current, recurrent issues are coming from. Just once I would like to throw a fit and get my way. Dave Ramsey says there is a grocery store kid inside everyone of us.

If I could feed that child within I would say this: I want new furniture. Waaahhh. Not the kind on sale, the expensive kind, with faux leather that’s soft and downy and recliners on each end and a whole room to match. *SINthia on the floor–thrashing about shrieking* I don’t want another piece-a hand-me-down, craigslist crap. Early garage sale is NOT a decorating style. They call it vintage cause it’s old…not she-she. Shabby sheek is just another way of saying ‘my husband won’t give me the freakin’ credit card or the keys to the damn-it emergency fund“.

(As my boys watch in wide-eyed wonder I would continue banging my head against the floor screaming…)

There’s a TV. I wanna TV. I ate all my peas, now give me my TV. I’m tired of that ten-year-old albatross in our living room. I’m sick to death of stomping across the living room to tell the kids for the fourth time to clean their rooms, messing up the TV because of a loose internal connection, then jumping up and down in front of it until the ding dong dang damn it thing stops buzzing and hissing like a giant cockroach…If I had a high def skinny TV I could do my workout DVDs better. Waaaah.

Sniff. Okay. Sniff. I’m done.

Please tell me this sounds familiar. You know what’s even worse? I’ve brainwashed Ben into buying all this Dave Ramsey stuff is a good idea. He now thinks saving money is sexy. He just asked the other day if had enough money to write a check for a new (angels singing) TV and furniture?

Yes.

Where is it?

In the emergency fund.

Oh, so we can’t touch it?

Not unless it’s a true emergency. (Car explodes, natural disaster strikes, someone dies, etc..) Or if we both agree…(Eve dangling the apple…)

Get behind me, Satan, is what he was thinking. Sounds like we need to make an envelope for TV and furniture, is what he said.

*Gah*

I wanted to holler, “Run! Run! As fast as you can, before you get sucked into being a responsible grown-up. Turning 21 was fun, the rest is overrated. Please, run. I’ll martyr myself. Take SINthia with you. Don’t look back, damn it run.”

But alas, the fox had already eaten the gingerbread man and in this story Adam didn’t eat the apple. I was left with the faint smell of bedtime, a hand-me-down fairy tale and a grown up for a soul mate. Shite!

With the child within– without, I went over to our money envelopes and with a sigh, wrote TV/Furniture on one and said to anyone who would listen, “Some days it sucks being a grown up.”

What does your child within want need. A new truck? iPad? A new gun? Banjo? A vacation? What’s your poison? Here’s your chance to whine, you best take it. Thanks for listening.

Simply,

Sis

Mom, what’s for supper? is about the nastiest thing this mom can hear. It’s right up there with are you going to exercise today and it’s time for your root canal. Fightin’ words is what they are. But I’m learning with a little planning and a running list, I shall over come.

Since food is a necessity but eating out isn’t, it is in the top four things you should spend your money on first. Our family of four spends between $400-450 per month on food, eating out and household items (toiletries, cleaners etc.). Keep in mind we feed a lot of strays around here and  spoil our neighbors by taking them homemade goodies for all the great things they do for us.

I don’t like to shop for food so I only shop every two weeks. If you don’t have a lot of storage space or a freezer this might not work for you, so keep in mind your food availability and storage issues. Ready? Here we go.

It all starts with a list. This is the hard part. So grab a glass a whine wine and sit down with a cookbook, the weekly grocery store advertisement and clipped coupons (if you use them–I don’t) and start making a list of your family favorites. Keep in mind the food you already have and use it up first to keep things fresh.

After your list is complete grab the calendar and start making your menu. If you are busy on Monday evening with sports practice and meetings that would be a bad day to have something that takes forever to fix… like homemade chicken and noodles…right? But, it would be a great night to have pigs in a blanket, green beans, and a salad; something fast and easy.

Make a grocery list off your menu. For the pigs in a blanket example I would need hot dogs, croissants, a can of green beans and some lettuce with dressing. Boom. Done. Next.

Stretching your food budget. I try to get the most out of my money and time by making enough to have left overs or use the excess in other meals. Example. We like to have sloppy joes with rotel cheese dip and chips, a fast crowd-pleasing meal. I take a half of block of velveeta and mix with a generic can of rotel and microwave. With the left over cheese dip I can make enchiladas, Mexican pizza, burritos, potato soup, cheesy potatoes, spicy mac and cheese AND get another couple meals out of the rest of the block of cheese.

Same with a whole chicken. If I bake the chicken I can take the drippings and bones and boil them for some tasty homemade chicken and noodles, another twofer. A large roast can be up to three meals: roast, taters and carrots, hot beef sandwiches, and sandwiches (bbq, beef salad, or roast beef sub). I have a friend who dumps all of her leftover veggies (corn, green beans, carrots) into a container in the freezer and makes a hearty soup or stew with she gets enough veggies together.

Still too hard? Don’t go out to eat yet. You can pay a small price to have someone do this for you. Check out emealz.com. They will do all the planning for you. All you have to do is buy it and cook it. It’s a great resource for moms and dads on the go.

Even this frugal mom gets overwhelmed once in a while and allows herself one night a month I don’t have to cook. On those nights we go to a place where kids eat free or we have found a great coupon to use.

One last thing. Take cash. Cash envelopes aren’t just for kids, they help adults stay on budget too. Good luck.

Simply,

Sis

In fact, I was hiding in the shoe aisle when he went to get it. Muttering something about I don’t think the slipper is gonna fit Cinderella and crouching to keep my head down so the shoe salesman wouldn’t see me trying to stuff my size nine into what felt like a five. (You know what Dolly Pardon says right? I wear a seven, but an eight feels so good– I buy a nine. Or something like that.) Anyway.

With help from that embarssing shoe horn I was able to get the glass slipper on. It felt good after I did. Ben insisted on getting the shoe horn  for me. Gee thanks, Honey. A mother’s day I won’t soon forget.

Then he presented me with these.

Now back me up on this… those boots are made for spoilin’. I’m frugal, I wouldn’t buy those for myself –ever. But he would. I think they are cool in a dude sort of way. The kind of boot you have to be tough enough to wear. Cause you’re gonna take some lip for them–like you best get up to yer fighting weight–type of thing.

“I think they’re sexy,” he said. ”You can wear them to bed. Besides, you need something to use that shoe horn on.”

He’s so romantic. I think he wants to try to make me a mother again…some more.

Did you getting showered with unique mother’s day gifts this year? I hope so.

Simply,

Sis

He, our youngest son Barney, was laying on the kitchen floor, in the way, with a plastic chicken (of the barnyard type) singing.

Boc-boc-booooc-boc-boc-boc-boc-boc…boc-boc-boooooc-boc-boc-boc-boc.

(I know…this is the sorriest game of name that tune you’ve ever played. Please, bear with me.)

The tune sounded familiar to me, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. So I kept listening…

…boc…boc…boc…

I giggled when I recognized it.

“Do you know that song, Grams?” I asked my mom. She’s not so good at this game.

“No,” she stated flatly, smiling.

“Hey Barney, what’s that yer singing?” I asked.

“It’s the song that a chicken sings,” he answered, continuing to scratch and peck around with his barnyard buddies.

“It’s Where He Leads Me I Will Follow, that old hymn,” I said, breaking into song.

I can hear my Savior calling. I can hear my Savior calling. I can hear my Savior calling. Take your cross and follow me.

Grams giggled and said, “He’s probably right, more that we know.”

I kept singing.

Where he leads me I will follow. Where he leads me I will follow. Where he leads me I will follow. I’ll go with Him, with Him, all the way.

Have you ever had a crisis of belief? Where you’ve been asked to do something that just might be your undoing, but just might be what God is nudging you to do? I have.

I got a phone call a few months back asking if I might speak at a women’s salad supper. Their topic this spring was “Keep It Simple, Sister” and since I have a blog named Reclaim Simplicity, I must know something about keeping life simple. Ha.What she didn’t know at the time was that blog name has little to do with what I know and everything to do with my prayers. I pray to reclaim simplicity in my life daily. Anyway. I had a passing moment of confidence and said yes.

By now, I’ve said all I had to say, the chickens are roosting, I’m almost fully recovered from hellish stage fright and am left to ponder. Why is it affirmation comes after a promise fulfilled and not before? If the phone ever rings again with someone calling for another speaker (using the definition lightly), will I sing the song that chickens sing or just chicken-out?

Simply,

Sis

(Thanks to BlogHer PicApp for this picture of how my son might look at the end of the week.)

Back me up on this…there’s a few hills you don’t want to die on. Right? As parents of these two yeah-whos we find ourselves a few days before a battle and are trying to plan our stratagy accordingly.

The foe? Hair dye. Not just any hair dye, crimson and black. And not just any kid…W. Remember out of the two he is the responsible–good American. He may never have a wild and crazy day in his life if it wasn’t for his brother, Deputy Barney. W wants to play rock and roll instead of bluegrass, which is fine. Really! I wrote more about the rebellion here. Where I promised he could get his first tattoo at 18 and after his first paid gig. He was excited.

Now, since he can play Smoke On The Water and Barracuda he asked (very respectfully I might add) to color his brown hair red and black hair because he band’s name is Ghost Killers. Black for the ghost part and red for the killer-blood part. I say go for it W, with high hopes all of his friends will disown him and/or call him weird until it grows out, then quickly rush back to his side.

Ben is gong along with this (against his better judgement probably) adding…”but I want to go to school with you the first day after you do it, to hear what your friends say.”

So we’ve warned and explained the possible consequences and are now down to the chips falling where they may. He is convinced it’s going to look cool. I’m convinced I’m going to look cool when he gets humiliated and refuses to do anything strange in High School. (Yeah, right. I know, but dang-it, this is my pipe dream…let me tell it.)

So friends, Romans, countrymen…what would you do if your 10 year old wanted red-red and black-black permanent hair dye?  Would you put  your foot down, say no and dye die on that hill? Or say yes, let me help you with that and live to fight another day?

Comment below and tell me what you would do.

Simply,

Sis

HELLo dear ones. Notice where the emphasis is on that first word would ya? That is from whence I’m writing, garden hell. An alternate title for this post could be… Bipolar gardening (but then my ding-dang-dong-damn-it evil twin, SINthia, would have to write it–God forbid). She hasn’t been around since she tried shooting that Badger and ended up with a skunk–God bless her. She didn’t even report for our anniversary. Which in all honesty, Ben would have liked. He still laughs about the homemade G string.

Anyway. Where was I? Gardening. Bipolar gardening. When I started this blog I really wanted to share what little knowledge I had about simple living and gardens and such. Now, over a year later I’m thinking the more I garden the less I know. Take for example the garden plan I wrote about here. Great idea, really! I arrived at a plan this year by taking last year’s plan minus those painful broccoli and cauliflower plants plus a few more carrots, peppers and tomatoes. But, like that G string…It looked good on paper, but in reality it was a little crowded. I guess sometimes you gotta get yer hands dirty to figure things out. As I stood back a surveyed my problem, I asked myself what was I thinking?

To which SINthia answered, “Weeds don’t grow well in the shade. Just plant the darn things so we can sun tan.”

That’s a valid answer in my worlds. So I planted every last thing I had to plant from tatters to maters, just as stinking close together as I dared. When I got into my jams I noticed it was supposed to get down to 37 degrees that night. Crap on a stick are you kidding me?

SINthia just laughed her evil snicker and said, “Better shut off the water…Sure would hate to see icicles hanging off your tomato cages.”

After trekking outside in my undies, and tracking mud back into the house and into bed, I thought to myself, “I thought gardening was supposed to be fun.”

“Isn’t it you that says gardening is cheaper than therapy? Now you need therapy. So much for that theory. ”

“Shut-up, SINthia.”

“Hey I’ve got a theory for ya… what if we took out an ad in the paper for communal naked organic gardening. It would be fun and educational. That would give you something interesting to write about for a change, instead of how to make dirt or how to grow great tomatoes.”

Folks, if this bipolar-diatribe continues throughout the growing season, it will be one of the longest growing seasons in Kansas history. I may have to have one of those mercy killings and bury her remains in the garden, only the black birds and the crows will know about it. Besides, she’s so full it, she’ll make great fertilizer. Now that sounds like a plan.

Simply,

Sis

SINthia

PS ~ Don’t tell Sis, but I planted my name in lettuce where the flowers are supposed to be. I’ll be long gone by the time she figures this out. Snicker Snicker. I’m telling you forget all gardening rules and just have fun. Later.

Ben and I are celebrating our 15 year anniversary today. Kind of. In reality? I need to finish planting our garden, put clean clothes away and whoop a clean on this dirty farm house. After school the kids will have homework and maybe ball practice. Ben has to work late, then has a bluegrass gig. Our plans for a romantic steak dinner for two with our traditional white cake and fresh strawberries (just like our wedding cake) will have to wait. A gal could just get mad, but I’m choosing to look at it differently. We’ve come a long way, the two of us.

Shortly after we met we decided we just couldn’t live without each other and had to get married, but waited for three months to tell our parents. MiMi, Ben’s mom, said “Oh-my-God, Ben, you can’t get married!…Oh congratulations! *hugs*…I need a cigarette!” (This outburst is still simply hilarious to me.) Fifteen minutes after my dad met Ben he said, “Hell, his ears ain’t but that big *holding up his encircled fingers*…no bigger than a quarter.” But agreed later to let Ben marry me anyway after he asked, regardless of his ear size. Truth was, Dad probably needed a cigarette too.

Four months later he gave his only daughter away in a tiny Marine Corps chapel in Arlington Cemetery,Virgina. The cherry blossoms were still in bloom and when the sun hit them that day it made the air smell great. I was in a homemade wedding dress and dad in a hand-me-down suit.  Mom read from our old family Bible, and the lady I nannied for stood up with me. The flowers I held were white lilies tied with a piece of fraying fabric from my dress and there was a sprig of baby’s breath in my hair. Ben was in his dress blues. *sigh* Just the thought of it still makes my heart leap. Pictures were snap shots taken by friends and Tim, our best man, another Marine, saluted me with his sword. I felt rich, like a queen, even though my chariot was an old 1987 blue and white Chevy pick-up (with dents in each door and really loud pipes) and our wedding jewels weren’t jewels at all, just plain white-gold bands–paid for from tips I stashed while working at a steakhouse. It was simple, just like our love.

A lot can happen in fifteen years. That song, Remember When by Alan Jackson pretty well sums it up.

I guess when you marry young you’re not quite set in your ways and instead of trying to fit two stoic pieces into the marriage puzzle, young folks can be a little more shape-able. We have became one. A one that is still constantly changing, hopefully for the better, but at least together. Add to that weird mix a couple of boys, a couple of cats, an old farmhouse with issues, some home cooked meals, one homemade G string, some bluegrass music and here we are.

I don’t have any words of wisdom for staying together except read this book. I’ve learned that real love is fragile but resilient. It’s get-your-hands-dirty, messy. It’s gray not black and white. It’s happy and heartbreaking–a true paradox and the closest thing I’ll find to heaven this side of eternity. When I think of Ben, I think of riches untold, from talent to character. I’m sure lots of which I have yet to see in him or discover. It’s been quite a journey, one that I wouldn’t want to be on with anyone else.

There is nothing left to say except…Happy Anniversary, Darlin’, now hand me that pile of laundry…

Simply,

Sis

I’ve sent my tea bags in quiet protest. I’ve cheered for the rallies that common, tax paying Americans have put together across this once great country. I’ve cried for the Seals and other military who protect us and get punished for it. When I see the elected officials going against what we the people want, then making us out to be liars and violent protesters that is the last straw. I’m done cryin’– I’m pissed. I’m calling in the BIG guns, which in my world is simple, like everything else… I’m going to love.

I love this country. I love my neighbors. I love the Constitution. I love our military. I love freedom. I love Israel.

The Bible says God is love, so I’m gonna tell God on them.  I’m gonna pray. So there. In Phillip Yancey’s book Soul Survivor he talks about the effectiveness of love and truth through the eyes of Gandhi, Dr. Martin Luther King  and others, a great, thought-provoking read.

Throughout history protests aren’t won through violence, they are won through love. Protests should be done decently, in order and with persistants. Revenge isn’t ours to repay, it’s God’s. It is mine to avenge says the Lord. I will repay.

Ben is always reminding me you can get more with honey than you can with vinegar. I hope you’ll join me on your knees for real sweet change.

Simply,

Sis

So last year I posted Gardening 101: Get a plan (click here to read). This year after coming back from spring break or AWOL as I call it, and looking at last year’s garden plan, I’ve decided this year I’m going rouge, cutting the apron strings, being a rebel and going against everything my mom and daddy taught me about gardening.

Dad (who was full of philosophy–gardening or otherwise) says: always plant your rows east to west, the same direction the sun travels, to assure the most sun. Sis says: what if  my garden gets a ton of sun the way it is and I want to plan two rows north and south and the rest east to west? That way some of the garden will have a little more shade in the morning. Will the earth stop? Nah, I don’t think so.

Dad says: plant your taters and onions on Good Friday. Well darned if I don’t  live in Kansas (zone five) now, instead of Nebraska (zone four), and everyone plants their taters and onions on Saint Paddy’s day here. What’s more? I missed it. I was in Arizona soaking up the sun and learning to golf. So what’s a girl to do? Split the difference!

Dad says plan your rows straight. Sis says: do I get a dad-gum prize if they are straight? Haven’t yet. I think I’ll go for cr0oked this year. You can get more in them that way.

Dad says planting flowers in the garden takes up valuable vegetable space. I say, my fat jeans are tight enough, maybe I’ll go for a few flowers. Besides they make me happy and feel good.

So if you are looking for real gardening tips, stand-by or read last years…they still apply. If you just want to try your hand at gardening without any worries or cares, just buy some seeds, read the directions on the back of the package and put them in the ground while enjoying the sunshine.

Isn’t that what we are really looking for…sunshine and lollipops?

The fresh veggies and canned salsa is just a big fat bonus to me.

What do you get out of gardening?

Simply,

Sis