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    theresa


    Theresa Lode or, simply “T”, had her world turned upside down and inside out when her son was diagnosed with ADHD and a few other goodies. Her choice- follow the doctor's orders....or trust her heart and delve into the world of Free Range Education. She chose the latter...

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How to have a nervous breakdown homeschooling

Need a little drama in your life? Is it about flippin’ time you got some care and attention?

Never fear!  I’ve compiled a short list of how you, yes…you, can finally get some peace and quiet, by having a nervous breakdown!  This list is especially for homeschool mamas but I’m sure there’s broader application.

Prozac and shock therapy here we come!  (Results may vary.  Please consult your mental health care provider before beginning any new nervous breakdown plan.)

1.    Be rigid!  Get some discipline in your life and make sure you strictly adhere to a schedule.  For maximum speed toward your nervous breakdown, I suggest insisting the children are sitting in their desks (they do have desks, right?) promptly at 8:00.

2.    While we’re talking rigidity, I suggest using a day-by-day curriculum plan.  Hey, the public schools are moving towards this…why not you?  How on earth can you keep up with what they’re doing?

3.    Frequently mutter the words, “We’re so behind.”  Chances are you will be anyway following #2.  Be sure to let the kids know.  They’ll know anyway but one can never be too sure.

4.    Compare yourself with other mamas and their progeny.  Their kid’s playing a concerto and your kid’s taking Concerta.  Spend time meditating on this. Are you twitching yet?

5.    Don’t…oh PUH-PLEEZE, DON’T exercise or have any time to yourself.  This is a short season in your life and the opportunity to pour yourself out to your kids is fleeting.  Shelve your interests and hobbies too.

6.    Neglect your marriage.  Don’t you feel better being released from that?  You and I both know it’s impossible to keep that weekly date night with your busy schedule anyway.

7.    Ensure that everything you cook is made from scratch.  Shun Doritos and run from the appearance of white flour.  Because you’re running a tight ship now, you’ll have the extra five hours a day to meet this standard.

And there’s more too!  (I’m sure you can think of a few.)  But you’ve been on the computer waaaaay too long already so I’ll end here.

Now- Go crack that whip!

Please drop me a note and let me know how you’re progressing.  The Homeschool Mama’s Ward is waiting!

These shoes were made for shoppin’

If you see a pair of these coming at you, you are well advised to get out of the way. Just sayin'.

“I’ll just be over here making sure my fillings are intact,” I said to Molly as she disappeared into the sea of chrome racks and fluorescent lights.  Then I yelled out my second most frequently used “mom” admonitions, (first place goes to “Brush your teeth!”) “And for crying-out-loud…Look at the clearance racks FIRST!”

I saw Molly twitch, toss her glorious red mane and disappear behind a display of sequined fuchsia shirts that looked like they’d been run through a paper shredder. (CLEARANCE $29.99 and up)

But back to my fillings.  I was assured that the blaring techno music hadn’t dislodged any dental work so I drew a deep breath and accepted my lot in life for the next bit of time: Clothes shopping for school.

Not being one to ignore my own advice, I found another clearance rack that looked a little more promising. ($2.99 and up) I sighed as I picked through the butt crack pants and horizontally stripped sweaters (PEOPLE!  Please…we want VERTICAL stripes!)

And then she appeared out of nowhere.  She was short, fat and wearing those Easy Tone shoes that promise to “Blast Cellulite! Tone Your Butt! Regulate Your Bowels!”  Pure fluff, I thought.

What made me shudder though was the determined look in her eye.  I was on one end of the clothes rack and she was on the other.  And she was closing in quickly.  With each beat of the maniacal music she slid a hanger down the rack for her inspection.  The scrape of the hanger on the rack made a chilling sound.

Estimated time ‘til impact: 13 seconds.

I dashed away just in time for Easy Tone to finish her assault.

Molly appeared with some non shredded articles of clothing to try on so we headed back to the fitting rooms.

Uh-oh.  Easy Tone was marching off to war, a huge pile of clothes hanging over her arm.  And she was heading for the fitting room.  I mentally dared the petite clerk to challenge her on a clothes limit. The song, “These Boots Were Made for Walking”  began playing in my mind.

There was a stoop shouldered man holding a purse lingering in her trail.  “Stay right there,” she barked.  He complied.

And I once again contemplated how anyone writer can ever suffer from “writer’s block” when there is such a circus taking place all around us.

As we were leaving the store, empty handed, I stopped at an advertisement poster for Easy Tone shoes, reread their ad copy.  As a general rule of thumb, I avoid things that offer “Dynamic Rocker Bottom Technology!”

Then I counted my fillings again.   And we left.

The Mother Lode’s Power Bag Workout

I was whining about my shin splint rehab to my friend Sheryl the other day when she mentioned a new fitness tool: Kettlebells.

“Kettle Bags?” I responded.  “You mean those things the Salvation Army uses…”

“No, KettleBELLS,” she replied patiently, she knows I’m a little slow sometimes.  Sheryl would make a good therapist.

I watched a short video of men squatting and grunting while swinging, their, um, Kettlebells, between their legs. Eeeeeeyooooouuuuuu.  There will no Kettlebells ringing in my future.

I poured myself some Diet Coke and and kept looking until I stumbled across something that really grabbed my attention:

Bulgarian Power Bag

Unleash the mental/physical potential within you!

This Bad Boy will set you back $215 + S&h

I’m all about unleashing potential. I scrutinized the buff young man wearing a very tight tee-shirt emblazoned with a fluorescent hammer and sickle.  Some Russian militant music was playing and I set down my Diet Coke.  This fitness stuff is serious business!

The web copy read:

The Bulgarian Training Bag is the ultimate extreme fitness tool for both serious Olympic caliber athletes and the average fitness enthusiast. If your (sic) looking for a method of training that maximizes your strength, muscular endurance, cardiovascular fitness, mobility, and overall explosiveness then continue to read.

Explosiveness, overall or even isolated events of such, is something I generally try to avoid but I kept reading…

The shape of the bag is designed to allow for both upper and lower body training while emphasizing grip strength at all times. The three different types of handles allow the athletes to execute exercises by using different grips. Every size bag and weight can be identified by the different colors of the strap handle.

I considered the assortment of eco-friendly bags from Aldi, Wal-Mart, among others, in the back of my Odyssey.  I continued…

The Bag strengthens and increases your muscular endurance of your grip, wrists, arms, shoulders, back, legs, rotational muscles, core musculature, coordination, proprioception and overall shoulder and joint mobility.

Wow!  I was getting jazzed imagining my new chiseled body. Now if could replace my Leno Chin Toning Workout, I’d be a happy camper.

Yeah, baby!

But then I read what was in that bag:

Sandbags, rice, bales, sacks loaded with hemp, heavy stones and war clubs were all used for the development of strength….

Why…why….That sounds like a trip to Wally World!  (Note to self: bring your war club next time.) And it was then my new idea began to coalesce:

Introducing the Wal-Mart Power Bag workout!

Do you feel the burn?

(Added bonus- car keys in mouth adds helps with chin toning.)  I can hardly wait to tell Sheryl about my new discovery.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a some videos to upload on Youtube.

The art of Flung Shui

I’m concerned about my washer.  It’s one of those fancy front loaders.  (“This bad boy has the rpm of a transatlantic jet turbine!” the young clerk gushed.  With assurances of  reduced power bills and jeans, that when washed in this puppy, would make my butt look smaller, we bought the set.)

The first hint of its terrible power came the day of delivery.  “You don’t want to put this on a second floor,” the delivery guy said darkly.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” I asked,  thinking of my new magical jeans.

His partner nudged him, muttered something in his ear and they scurried off, the tow dolly clunking merrily down the walk.

Life was fine while my new washer sat on a slab foundation house.  A little loud but tolerable.  But I gotta tell you, that small butt promise was pure hype.

“I need risers,” I told Jay one day.  I saw some in an Whirlpool ad.  The woman barely had to bend over to unload the washer.  And her butt definitely looked smallish.

“How much?” he replied.

I told him.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving one side a little prickly.  Time for a haircut, I mused.

He muttered something about the budget and knew I’d better leave that topic alone.

Time passed and we do what most normal people don’t do: we moved into another house.  But Providence had not forgotten me and Jay announced triumphantly one day that he had snagged a set of risers for a song at Lowes.

“I hope you don’t mind that the colors don’t match,” Jay said.  Are you kidding?  Mismatched colors…herniated discs….mismatched colors….chiropractor bills….I am SO over matching colors.

“Matching colors are overrated” I said. Jay installed the risers.

And then the fun began the next day on the maiden voyage of my new back friendly washer.

I was sipping a cup of Don Pablo in the living room when I thought I heard a Castanet marching band coming down the road.  I set down the java and look around.  Good grief, no more sausage for you, honey!

Nope that wasn’t it. I peered out the window but the coast was clear.

The tempo picked up and then I saw it: Jay’s oil painting, “Elvis the Cow” was clicking against the wall furiously in tempo to the spin of the washer.  And it looked like the massive ore boat painting was about to set sail.

I bolted to the washer closet; it was convulsing madly as though in the midst of a demonic exorcism.  I thought about shouting, “In the name of GeeeeeeeSUS!” but as soon as I drew in a big breath, I realized I was just in time to catch the box of my Costco detergent before it danced off the washer.  The pile of Nasties That Must Be Presoaked that I kept in their own special little tub were already cast about the room.

And then, as suddenly as the madness began….it halted and silence filled my ears.     I regarded my kitchen.  A crusty sock hung from my apron hook and another landed in the butter dish on the island.  (If I just scrape off the top layer, no one will ever know….)

In the living room, The EB Greene was listing to starboard and Elvis the cow was in a different pasture.

Cute young mommies– the kind who can proudly wear yoga pants practice and use trendy jogging strollers with cup holders for their skinny caramel macchiatos- extra foam and chocolate sprinkles…yeah,  those are the ones….practice Feng Shui.

I, on the other hand…flung shui.

Oh, who cares?  Even little butts look gross in yoga pants.

I’m still not sure what to do about that washer.  But I’m thinking that if I can get some hip marketing firm to help spread the word about the mystical power of Flung Shui, I could become a very, very wealthy woman.  Why, my crackerjack graphic artist, Dave Aldrich,  has already proposed a look for the book cover:


I think it’s destined to be a bestseller.  Especially if they tell woman it’ll make their butt look smaller.

What took you so long?

It is 9:00am on a typical weekend day in the Lode home.  We need to leave by 9:45am.

I make The Announcement. “It is 9:00.  The bus is leaving in 45 minutes promptly!”

Molly gives me a disinterested glance from behind her book.  She cozily snuggled under a pile of blankets on the couch.

Caleb, flashes me the frosty eye from his Xbox.

Daniel?  “MOM!  Listen to this new dial tone I created by soldering this circuit to this circuit.”  He’s popped in briefly from his lair to share his latest idea.

Jay needs just “another minute” on the computer.

Let’s see.  We’ll need a snack for later.  A book to read; we’ve got a bit of a drive.  Speaking of books, maybe we should swing through the library and drop off the books that are due in a few days.  And while we’re in the neighborhood, I should….

9:30am…

“We’re leaving in 15 minutes everyone! Jay? JAY?”

“Uh, yeah…just a minute…”

“Would you please check and see if Caleb still has a pulse?  And while you’re at it, unplug the Xbox.”

Molly is still reading.  I realize that I’m feeling VERY crabby because the telephone has been incessantly ringing from Daniel’s room.  He’s experimenting with ring tones.

9:40am…

I do the key jingling thing that my mom always used to do.  “I’ll be in the van!  Don’t hurry.”

“But, BUT…my shoes are wet!” “Mom have you washed any of my socks?”

“Lemme just finish this…”

9:47…

I have screeched, prodded, threatened and beaten everyone out to the van.  Wet shoes and all.

I gather up my purse and my book.

Oh wait.  Daniel left his light on. And then I spy the unlocked back door.  Is the coffee pot off? And oh shoot, Caleb didn’t start the dishwasher like he was supposed to and we won’t have any clean bowls for soup later this afternoon…. And doggone it…where is that other book???

The phone rings.  I glance at the Caller ID.  Call back, honey! It’s one of the kid’s friends.

9:55…

Good thing I know to pad my time estimates.  Closing the door behind me takes a feat of balance and dexterity worthy of an Olympic Gold, considering the load I’m carrying.

I stumble out to the van, two go mugs, a book bag over one shoulder, my gaping purse threatening spilling its guts when I lean over to pick up a tissue someone dropped on the sidewalk.

I collapse in the van.  Jay is serenely filing a fingernail.  Molly and Caleb are chattering about something.  On the radio, Brad Paisley is singing “Waiting on a Woman.”  If I ever, ever meet that man…I’m going to smack him….

And Daniel, who is lacing up his size 11’s in the aisle, asks,

What took you so long, Mom?

Molly, the monkey smuggler

Don’t ask me where she got them from.  One day they just appeared in our home.  Molly named them all “Bob.”  (Do you suppose she got the idea from George Foreman?)  And there’s about five of them….monkeys.  Stuffed monkeys. And they’re all alike.

“I’m going to bring them to school,” she announced the other evening.  “You’re not supposed to bring stuff like this to school,” she added.

But my, she is a cheeky lass.  She takes after her mom.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

She shrugged.

All was quiet for several hours when I peeked in on her.  She was sitting on her bedroom floor amid a blizzard of material scraps, thread and lengths of ribbon.

She twisted her back to me so I couldn’t see her project and shooed me away.  (“DON’T LOOK!”)

I was pecking away at the computer when she appeared in the doorway.

“It’s a Bob Bag,” she announced.  She was holding her creation by two pink ribbons that served as handles.  It was a patchwork affair, possessing a certain charm in its shoddiness.

“What exactly is a Bob Bag?” I asked.  We moms can be such ignoramuses.

“Tomorrow I’m bringing all the Bobs to school in it.”

She tossed the pink ribbon straps over her shoulder; one of the Bobs was peeking out the top.

The next day she reported the monkey smuggling operation went well.  It may even start a new trend, she said.

Sounds like fun to me.  More fun than a barrel of…er, more fun than a bag of Bobs.

Shortly after this the phone rang.  It was Daniel’s 18-wheeler truck driver, telephone collector buddy who’s rigged a rotary dial phone into his Blue Tooth.  He’s going to be in Nashville; would we like to meet?  Welcome to my Seinfeld-ish world. You can’t make this stuff up.

So Jay and Daniel met him.  I thought about sending the Bob Bag and its occupants; the quirkiness just seemed to fit meeting a guy with a rotary dial phone in his cab.

For Molly, it could come in handy….knowing a long haul truck driver, that is.  Especially if her monkey smuggling business grows.

Speak with conviction!

My friend, Obi Mom Kenobi posted a different version of this piece and  I thought it would fun to see the poet in action.   If you enjoy this, be sure and check out his performance of “The the impotence of proofreading“.  And then head over to his website and enjoy some more of poetry.

I absolutely adore this man’s work!

Men in spandex

“I was just standing there when this man turned around with this..this… thing right there.”  Reported by a friend, who will remain nameless, recalling her moment of horror when a spandex-clad man turned to greet her in the weight room of the local YMCA.

What was most disturbing about this encounter, she said, was the fact that in church he seemed like such a nice normal man. “You had no idea what was underneath that blue leisure suit,” she added with a shudder.

And then this….from my Facebook friend, Skip.  Brace yourself….this ain’t pretty:

Thanks but no thanks, Spidey....I'd rather take my chances with the Green Goblin.

Lord, have mercy.

What are they thinking?

Interesting factoid:  The word spandex is an anagram of the word “expands.”

Like you needed me to tell you that.

Kool Aid- It’s not just for drinking anymore!

I wish I had a GPS for my kids sometimes.  Then I could see where they’re going when they say something as innocuous as “Do we have any Kool Aid?”

But I quickly figured out the direction this conversation was headed when Molly then asked, “What would you think if I colored my hair bright pink?”  Yes, it was Molly.  The one with the gorgeous, cascading mane of red hair.  Molly, the girl who’s heard most of her life, “do you know women pay a lot of money for your hair color.”   My daughter.

I was pretty certain Rainbow Brite wasn’t looking for a new spokesgirl so I asked her why.She shrugged and said those words echoing in the homes of adolescents worldwide, “I dunno.”

Images of my daughter with florescent cotton candy hair and fishing tackle hanging from her nose flashed through my mind.  I could hear the gasps as she walks up to the piano to perform a Bach concerto at her next recital.  Would she want to start wearing a tee-shirt that says “I’m a baaaaaad girl.”  Oh sweet mercy, Jesus help me.

“What exactly did you have in mind?” So far, so good.  No quiver in my voice.

“I read online that I can use Kool Aid as a temporary hair color,” Molly said.  Oh Yeah. I could hear those commercials from the 70′s now running through my head.  (I probably suffer from some undiagnosed mental condition like Overactive Imagination Disorder.)

Hmmm.  That seemed reasonable.  Though it did flash through my mind that with a single letter change, I could turn “Kool” into “Kook.”  Kool Aid as hair dye.  Yes-  Kook Aid would be about right.

“You need to research a little more to make certain you’re not going to destroy your hair,” I advised.

Soon she was headed into our bathroom with a package of grape Kool Aid, a bowl and a wide tooth comb.  And a big smile.

She emerged afterward looking very drippy and smelling grapey.  Jay raised an eyebrow at me.  I shrugged trying to convey How much harm could this do?

Then I went into the bathroom.  Oh. My. Gawd.  It looked like the scene of Kool Aid Massacre.

"And in the News tonight, the beloved Kool Aid man found massacred in a Nashville suburban neighborhood. The chilling details at ten."

“MOLLY!  GET IN HERE!”

She showed up, purple streaks racing down her face.  She grinned.  ‘Uh, yeah?”

Given the amount of purple Kool Aid splattered everywhere, she could have blended right in with the amount of Kool Aid she was wearing.

Purple streaks were on the sink.  On the floor.  The mirror. How the HECK did that get in the tub?

She pushed a purple lock out of her eye with an cyanotic looking hand and shrugged.  A little purple river trickled from her ear.

What kind of a mother am I?I let my daughter dye her hair purple but then I get more upset over mess in the bathroom.

But I couldn’t get over the crime scene-ish feel to it.  I kept hearing  a cheery “Hey Kool Aid!” running through my mind.  I pictured yellow crime tape outlining the shape of that darn pitcher.

After order was restored Molly unveiled her new look.  Well sorta.  I was planning on the color not taking too well and that’s precisely what happened.  (Or would be that what didn’t happen?)  Of course, I knew there was a possibility my daughter would resemble a Popsicle.

I see that hand in the back of the class.  What kind of mother am I to let my daughter do that?  Actually, it’s a question that echoes in my own head.  Well, since I’ve already established the basis for a mental disorder with myself, that’s not an unreasonable question.

Choices.  It’s that wonderful….and potentially dangerous thing that God has granted every human.

I thought of all the goofy things I did as a teen and as a young adult…or as a middle aged adult.  And I’ve also thought of the times where I’ve prayed for direction and have felt a whispered What would you like?

It’s exhilarating when we realize the power of choice and it’s something I want to indulge with my kids as much as possible while they’re under my roof. That way when some choices end badly, we can help them walk through the consequences.

Molly did ask me if it would make me mad if she decided to really dye her hair pink.  I told her I think it would make me more sad than mad.

I told her I thought having pink hair would give people the wrong impression about who she is on the inside.  Told her that I hope she doesn’t play into the lies fed to girls about their appearances.  And we talked about choices.

Yes….until someone DOES invent a GPS for kids; you never know where a discussion will head.  But that’s okay because the real adventure isn’t in the destination, it’s in enjoying the journey.  And my kids continue to teach me things everyday.  Like how Kool Aid isn’t just for drinking anymore.

Wanna get a free copy of my new eBook?

(She draws in a deep breath because….well, this is new territory and because I’m going to ask you for something.)

Ready?  Subscribe to my blog…by January 15.

That’s it.

Click on the button in the left sidebar, enter your email address to subscribe and that’s it.  I’ll send you an eBook.

This is a shameless attempt to increase my readership base so there you have it.

I won’t send you junk email…won’t send cutesy forwards to you…or “if you love me send this back” emails.

Feel free to forward the eBook to anyone you think may enjoy it.    And as always, I welcome your comments.  (Especially positive ones since we writers can be so darn needy.  ;) ))

Oh.  Another thing.  I am VERY low tech so this is NOT an automatic download.  I have to check the blog for email addresses and then email out the eBooks.  And finally….this will be good until January 15 after which time it will be $5.95.  :)

Oh, one more thing.  You have to subscribe to the blog, NOT just the comments.  It’s a WordPress thing.  Why, I don’t know.

Ready or not….here I go!

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