Public notice: Common sense has gone missing

Common sense went missing today. He is well known for his long and harrowing battle against ignorance, which seems to be everywhere now.
Parliament was, and still is, unaware of his departure. Many of it members have yet to meet anything resmbling common sense. The universities, and feminist circles it once helped create, say they have not spoken to common sense in years.
As we seek out our  lost comrade we dwell upon it illustrious and thriving career, the fight for equality, and democracy, and also remember his valiant, though unsuccessful effort to infiltrate the NDP.
Yes common sense is gone, though its absense has been grossly un-noticed by the media, as Lindsy Lohan is posing nude for playboy, and the new Twilight is soon to be released. He will be sought after by his siblings common courtesy, and common decency (who are currently fighting thier own battle against the nursing home crisis) , also his long time friends and colleagues  charity, and compassion. Common senses dearest friend Justice (who is blind) is hoping to help in the seach efforts though he is busy putting out the ever increasing fires of his evil twin Injustice, who is wreaking havoc through-out the world.
Some claim to have seen common sense, though the claimes are being largly ingnored.
Many still cling to the hope that common sense will once again return to Canada though currently no one is holding their breath.

It's not the hardest job in the world

As I sit at my computer, writing on my blog, my kids play together in the living room. I will admit that they will probably make a mess that I will have to help them clean up later, but all and all it is pretty common throughout the day for me to have time to myself. Skip over to my husband, he is a welder who is on his feet all day and more often then not well into the evening, breathing in toxic fumes that will probably, give him cancer later in life. He sets his nose to the grindstone does his job with few complaints, because that is what he is expected to do, to provide for his wife and children. I get "I love you mommy", sweet faces that feel remorse when they have done wrong, and tiny balls of love to cuddle, to my hearts content. While my man trudges through a sea of foul language, blame games, and unreliable coworkers. Now I am not saying that Motherhood is not difficult, when done well it will be painful, as is anything worth the effort. I am not saying that if you at at a really stressful point in your parenting journey, you should just fake your way through it till your only hurting yourself and those around you, But this idea and trend in the world were we as women complain, and whine, like the annoying drip, drip of a leaky faucet is maddening. Sure its tough but come on, when that terrible two year old starts turning over a new leaf, and finally behaving like a normal human being, is there anything more rewarding. how about when they start saying please and thank you without prompting, or when your daughter looks at you and says "Mommy when I grow up I want to be like you", and your four year old son wants to marry you (anything after ten on this one though, you have some issues to need to address). I mean all my husband gets from his job is money. I get so much more. Yes some days are crazy and filled with one thing after another, but I would venture to say that most of the time for most mothers, there are tiny priceless gifts, given from precious little hands, mouths and minds, that are scattered throughout the day. So next time you think of demanding more and more and appreciation as a mother and tread down that wide and seemingly wonderful path of self pity, remember that, that mess you are cleaning up for the tenth time today was made by a child healthy enough to have the energy to to do so, that the kid who sits at the table and picks slowly and grudgingly at his food,is also a child you do not have to watch go without when all you can offer them is empty hands filled with love, as so many mothers around the world are forced to do.Finally the next time you start telling you spouse how difficult and miserable your life is, think twice and maybe thank him for how hard he works to provide for you so you can do, what is without a doubt, the most rewarding job in the world.

Once upon a time....

I remember a time in the first blush of youthful love, when the world was seen by me though rose coloured glasses of infatuation. How easily my mind looks upon my girlish self, describing to my friends how, my beloved and I conjoin so perfectly, how our natures are but one in the same, and how grateful I am that we complete each other so beautifully. I talk of how we share a fidelity in all things how our thoughts so complimentary, our common ground being of course endless.Sitting here pondering the words and beliefs of my youth, I can not help from thinking that I was above all things a idiot....
I can truthfully say I have a very healthy happy marriage to a man that I appreciate much more now then I could have ever appreciated through those so called rose coloured glasses, (also sometimes referred to as blinders) seeing as the boy I saw was merely my own work of hopeful fiction. Somehow I made myself believe, despite all my protestations to the contrary, that all the little annoyances of our dating relationship, would be smoothed away like wrinkles upon a bed spread, by time and my own gentle loving hand.
The problem here was that first and foremost my hand was neither gentle or loving, but more clumsy, and irritating, and before I knew it the bedspread was a crumpled stained smelly mess, filled with dirty dishes, never put away, wet towels upon the floor, and one sided conversations as I peppered him with questions when he got home from work only to be responded to with grunts and occasional one word answers, and I only seemed to be tearing away at in anger. I recall devising all sorts of  plans and schemes to change my spouse, and if I felt I was at the end of my creative resources, there was always a friend or two to place another plot within my mind. 
He would, or wouldn't do something that would cause me to be upset. I would in turn make a cutting remark, or try one of my many ploys, often to his amazement that there was anything wrong in the first place. He would then leave, and somehow in doing so only proved me in my own mind right. Eventually our marriage became more about revenge then actual love.
How did this all change you may ask? well...I had already cut off my nose to spite my face and was working on gouging out my eyes, when I read a book that basically told me to cut out my tounge instead (metaphorically of course), work on myself and actually try to understand my husband and stop trying to make him a woman, but instead appreciate him as a man. I read this advice and did something I rarely do I followed it and actually tried to change me instead of him. By taking my focuse off my his flaws I began to have eyes to see my poor bewildered husband, I started to relise why he pulled away, from what must have seemed to him a wife with a constant axe to grind and the sharp words to prove it. I was able to see that for years I tore away at this dear mans masculinity, ever willing to show him his faults, while being perfectly unaware of my own. 
Beyond becomeing aware of my own personal planks in the eye, I was rewarded for my efforts. When I stopped talking he finally was able to speak.I no longer asked him a thousand questions when he walked in the door, and lo and behold when coversation was not forced upon him he started to want to tell me about his day, and more then that I became to him what I once had been a safe comfortable supportive wife. And our home became happy.
Is my husband perfect well... no of couse not no one is, and do I get frustrated sometimes and forget my own higher ideals, well of course. But all and all I would say our marraige is on steady upward climb higher towards the pefect unity, which will only come on that day when the trump sounds and we are made perfect, by he who always was.

Sweet Repose

Late at night while the darkness falls upon our sleeping home like a newly overturned blanket cool and calming upon my skin. The heat of the day is gently pushed away, as  I walk about my house enjoying the quiet. Only the softest whisper of peaceful slumber, sways though the empty hallways, as though the walls have forgotten the shrikes of laughter, cries of childish anger, and sobbes of injustice, of the faces pressed against its corners.The floors remember not the sound of little feet shuffeling, pattering, and stomping, atop its flat hard surface. I as well set aside the sounds of the day, the stress and frustration  slipping off my shoulders, falling down among the unremembered reasons of my childrens arguments. How could I remain untouched by the angelic forms now silent in sweet repose? I can not, I place my hand upon thier warm heads,even now feeling thier innocet trust coursing through the tips of my fingers, strait into my heart. I speak a murmered prayer of thanks giving, and ask God in his wisdom to somehow make Craig and I worthy to giude thier tender minds ever towards him. 

Please and Thank-you?

We have all heard it "What did you get me?", "I want that", "Wheres our treat?". It should grate upon our nerves but more often then not we simply give into these demands and reward the attitude of entitlement that seems to prevail among our children.
 So I now pose this question. Do we give into the demands of our children to justify our own failure to be grateful? Let me clarify right now I am not hear to preach, I am here to confess.
For the last several months I have been taking care of a sweet, kind, lovely, little girl, three days a week. When she first came to us, she was very well mannered, and polite, but recently it has come to my notice that she has started to be more demanding, and unappreciative, at first I was surprised, knowing that the family she comes from would not allow that in their own home, and therefore was firm in demanding please and thank-yous. In doing this I began to relies that my own children were extremely lacking in minding their P's and Q's and it came to my mind that the reason this well mannered child I watch was becoming ungrateful, was perhaps due to my lack of consistency towards my offspring. Baring this in mind, I started watching myself and began understanding the ways in which I perpetuate ill manners in my kids. I began to listen for these words of gratitude, and was surprised at the many times I had to push them to remember to be polite. But beyond this I have discovered that an attitude of thankfulness is also wanting in myself.
Where does this all lead? Well to be quite frank, I don't really know yet. Right now I am in hopes that just being aware of the situation will help me to parent more responsibly but, how do I teach my little blessings that things, and stuff will not make them happy when, I myself am constantly wanting more? How do I give them gifts and have them conclued it is out of my love for them, not because they are necessarily entitled to said gift when I stuggle with giving thanks to God for all the much greater gifts he has bestowed on me? What will my children think of my loftly beliefs, when placed along side the hypocrisy of my heart, and inconsistency of my witness? I gather these are fairly deep thoughts for a wednesday afternoon, but I suppose that for right now the answer lay  in seeking after the the solution, and the resolution to do better is enough if followed by action.   

Dancers on the Beach

Painting done by Kerry Pearl

Fallow her on Finding Time to Paint

                                                                                        kerryannpearle.blogspot.com
This is a short story I wrote based on a painting done by a friend of mine. Enjoy:)

She looked in the mirror pulling her stomach in and shoulders back, and standing as tall as she could, then twisting her body in the most unnatural poses as she continued to study her figure. He walked in she stood smiling, waiting for him to comment on how she looked.
“ Where are the keys?” he asked with a somewhat irritated tone.
“ Oh, I left them in my purse” she replied brightly.
He stood there and waited as she rummaged through her small clutch, the one she had bought to match the dramatic red of her dress.
“You look hansom tonight” she said hoping he would reciprocate, though the cut of the muddy, brown suit he wore was not particularly flattering on his thin, wiry frame.
He glanced at her briefly, and smiled.
“Are you going to be long? The ceremony starts in ten minutes”
“I'm ready. Did you put the sitters number in your phone?” she queried, slightly less brightly then before.
“ Yup, but don’t call her every ten minutes to check on the kids” he spoke, as she glanced in the mirror again, noticing how the light fabric was unforgivably exposing her continuously expanding rear end. ‘Maybe I should change quickly’ she thought’ pulling her hair up to see the effect.
“ Should I have my hair up or down?” she asked as he was about to leave the room.
“Leave it down.” he replied without turning his head.
She took one last glance in the mirror before she fallowed him out the door.
They sat quietly through the wedding, she admiring the statuesque bride in all her glory, surrounded by her young and lovely brides maids, her eyes misting at the tender words of love her future husband spoke so much more with his eyes then with his mouth. She dabbed a tear from her own eyes and slipped her hand into the hand of her husband, who shifted uncomfortably in his suit.
He wondered when the service would end, if he could take off his jacket, what kind of food they would have at the reception, and if they would have to stand in that line at the end to shake hands with the newly weds, or could they just slip out a side door. He pulled his hand out of his wife’s and started to tug at the sleeves of his suit jacket. Then stopped remembering that he probably had sweat stains.
She talked freely later at the out door reception , bonding with women she had never met before over the common ground of children, and general admiration of the bride and the ceremony. He watched her silently as the ocean breeze ran its invisible fingers through her hair, which she had wore down the way he liked. He smile with the rest of the table as she lead conversation and shared stories in her animated comic style, charmed as they all were at her openness, and amiability.
She loved being able to socialize without the kids, some how she felt like herself again, not distracted by little ones, taking pleasure in and the freedom she felt. She would often turn to him wondering at his silence hoping he was enjoying himself, as he and the most of the husbands sat quietly, throwing in a small statement or story here and there, but generally focused on eating then drinking as the evening progressed.
The music was in full swing she had gone out a few times and danced with the women she had just met, making friends on the dance floor, he watched her from the side. At the slow songs she would return to her seat beside him, watching as other couples embraced and swayed to the music. They would talk about the kids, how young the bride looked, and how nice it was to get away.
Later they sat quietly together, she rocking absentmindedly to the music, hoping he would ask her to dance, as he awkwardly picked at the label from his beer bottle. Suddenly he stood grabbing her hand “lets take a walk”. She stood and walked along with him towards the beach, their hands entwined in a easy manner, the silence now comfortable.
“You, look beautiful tonight, as always” he stated as they stood upon the beach her head resting on his shoulder.
“As always?” she questioned.
He smiled down at her, He knew what he meant, he meant that the same woman he saw right after she gave birth, when she was sick, or had just lost her temper on one of the kids in her housecoat with bed head, held the same beauty as the relaxed well dressed lovely wife he was holding right now.
The music filtered down softly to them he pulled her closer to himself swaying with the motion of the waves. They danced.
As the music changed he became more daring spinning her and dipping her as it struck him, bringing her lips to his own as they came together then separating again, as the glow of confident love danced within their eyes, a air of contentment hovered around them, and their laughter echoed bliss as they and enjoyed their stolen moments of happiness.
The bride stood with her new husband, watching the couple on the beach the woman graceful, the light material of her dress, caressing her body in the most complimenting way, the husband lean body seemingly strong the browns of his suit deepening in the fading light. She leaned her head upon the shoulder which now belonged to her and offered up a silent prayer that they could have that kind of enduring love.
kerryannpearle.blogspot.com

That one

So here is I believe a seldom spoken of dirty little secret that all mothers of two or more children share, and this is it.There is always that one. The one child that you love just as much as your other children but sometimes only because you have to. I generally find it is the third child, and there is probably some deep psychological reason for this but that is for another blogger to deal with.
For us it is our dear boy Tommy. Now I will readily admit that at on time or another all of my children went through what we as parents, so fondly refer to as the terrible twos, as if giving it a cute name makes it easier somehow, But Tommy upped the ante to a degree I was uprepared for. He is relentless, and always knows when I am bluffing. He is of course clever as we are told most difficult children, (though I have had suspicons on ocassion to believe that this is not always true but merely a bone we toss to give hope to desperate parents at thier wits end) but beyond that he is charming, oh so charming. There is something about his smile and the impish gleam in his eyes that gives him the ability to draw you in even as you uncovering his latest assult on your sanity.
I punish him as I would any of my kids and I am glad to say that he does improve, all be it with more resistance, and though there are days that we seem to be in constant battle, and the only time I can enjoy him is while he sleeps he, at least keeps things interesting, though intresting does not seem like the right word somehow.

Introduction

My name is Andrea, I am a stay at home mother of four, which I am sure is a absolute novilty as far as bloggers go. (Since you may not know me that well, that was a little bit of sarcasm from me to you, though everyone reading this is likely someone I know, and I am hovering over your shoulder or scutinizing your face even as you read. Look up!...........creepy)
 I will be honest I like talking about myself, though I know I shouldn't, hence the blog. I do care if people read this but, not enough to stop writing if they don't. What I have to say has all probably been said before, but it has not been said by me and, somehow that seems important.
Anyway more about me I have been married for seven years to a man that by the grace of God I still rather enjoy, and yes I said God so you would correctly assume by that I am a Christian, and some of my post will be specifically about that, the most important aspect of my life (run now if you must). On top of all this I have many likes and dislikes, which will be revealed as you read along if you so choose.
I hope the suspense is killing you, though not literally of course.:)