How to Plan a (Destination) Wedding (on a Dime) in Ten Days

Preface

There are a number of titles I could have chosen for this post.  "How to Plan a Wedding in Ten Days While Staying (Mostly) Sane," for instance.  Or perhaps, "How to Plan a Wedding in Ten Days Without (Completely) Ignoring Your Husband and Children."  Another one might be, "How to Plan Your Sister's Wedding in Ten Days Without Crying (Every Day) for Your Mommy."  Then there could easily be a follow-up post titled something like "Re-Learning How to Cook and Clean House After Planning a Wedding in Ten Days," although that doesn't sound particularly interesting to me.

But before I go into how this wedding was planned in such a short space of time, I should probably answer the question of why.  In a nutshell: My younger sister Essie and her fiance were done with not being married.

Back Story

After dating for just over a year, during which time they fell head over heels in love, Essie and Benjamin looked at their lives and realized that they wanted to be together...forever.  And not the kind of "together" where they meet up after work each day for long talks, a kiss goodbye, and then texts back and forth from their respective apartments, but the kind of together where they make all their decisions around each other, wake up next to each other, come home to each other at night, and cast their lots together for better or for worse, for richer or poorer.  So this spring, when it looked like Benjamin might be getting a job that would keep them apart for three months unless they were married, they chose a tentative wedding date: July 26, 2014.

"We're so in love! Is it July yet?"

Chapter 1: Plan to Plan

"We might be getting married on July 26th!" Essie bubbled over the phone to me one day in mid-April.  "We're just waiting to set the date until we hear for sure whether Benjamin gets that job or not.  We should know in the next couple weeks."  Okay, about three months to plan a wedding...still shockingly fast for some people, but doable.  Definitely doable.

Fast-forward to the first week of July.  Essie talks with me on the phone again.  "Well, we should hear about that job any day now...so we're going to go ahead and start the wedding planning.  Benjamin and I are going to have it all planned out by the end of this week.  If we don't know about the job by July 15th," her voice drooped sadly, "we'll postpone the wedding."

During that week, here's what Essie, Benjamin, and I--their unofficial wedding coordinator--planned together:

• the general region of the state the wedding would be held in (dependent on venue location);
• the kind of venue the wedding would be in (dependent on availability after the 15th, since it was too late for refundable reservations);
• a general number of invitees (give-or-take 50, dependent on venue availability);
• the kind of food we would serve (dependent on number of invitees and venue);
• the amount we would spend on the wedding (goal: $3,500.00, including dress, venue, and food; see "Money Matters" for how we did it);
• the time of day the ceremony would be held (2 p.m.).

At least there was one thing that could be nailed down with certainty!

Chapter 2: Don't Freak Out

On July 15th, I checked my phone about every two minutes.  Finally, I got the call.  It was from Benjamin.  "We didn't get that job," he started slowly.  "But it looks like we have another one," excitement growing in his voice, "and we're going to do more research about it and talk with a few people.  We'll call you back a little later."

I turned my ringer up full-volume.

When it rang again several hours later, it was Essie.  "We're getting married on the 26th!!!!" she gushed.  "I'm so excited!!!!!"  Aaaaaaaand GO.

My planning and organizing brain cells instantly began firing on all cylinders and the first thought in my mind was GET VENUE.  The love birds wanted a cabin-type home in the mountains...just outside a national park (but within an hour driving distance from the cities my grandparents live in)...that could house 12 out-of-town guests before and after the wedding...with yard space to hold the ceremony...and indoor space to hold the reception.  There are probably a ton of homes with those parameters available in July 2015.  I went back to the research we'd done at the beginning of the month and started making phone calls, hoping that rental offices would still be open late in the day.

The office I tried first was open.  She had one house available in the area that could accommodate 12 people overnight.  She emailed me paperwork.  I glanced over the amenities, photos, and rental agreement; signed and scanned paperwork; and emailed her back.  I gave her my credit card number.  We had a wedding venue!

Pretty, right?

Now we could start planning decor and food, just as soon as we figured out how many guests the house would hold.  I squinted at the photos online, trying to gauge how much floor/yard space there was, and wished I lived in the area so I could check it out personally.  Essie and I agreed to talk in the morning about guests.  I went to bed and slept...a little.

Chapter 3: Freak Out

When people and events are moving quickly, sometimes miscommunication happens.  Sometimes, when a wedding coordinator says, "How many people are on your guest list?" she thinks she's asking, "How many people are you wanting to invite?" but what the bride and groom actually hear is, "How many people are coming?"  Sometimes the wedding coordinator has settled her mind on a max number of guests that will fit into the venue, but doesn't manage to clearly communicate this to the bride and groom.

This became alarmingly clear as I was walking through a shopping center on the morning of July 16th, holding a protein-boosted fruit smoothie in one hand and gripping my phone in the other.  "All right," breathed Essie, "it looks like we have about 70 people coming!"

"Oh," I gulped, feeling sudden panic rush its way up my throat.  "I was thinking we'd need to max out at 40."

During the long pause that followed, my mind raced out of control.  I can't plan a wedding for 70 people in ten days!  But I have to!  I can't fit that many people into a house!  But I have to!  We have to change venues!  But we can't!  We have to up the food budget!  We have to rent chairs!  We have to...we have to...AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!

The silence on the phone was broken by Essie and I exchanging one or two very articulate sentences of, "Oh!  Ummm, okay.  Uhhhh..." and then my phone battery died.  It was a timely death because for the first time in this planning process, I had hit a problem I had no idea what to do with.  I was stumped.  I was scared.  I felt guilty for my end of the miscommunication.  I drove home in a highly-charged state of freak-out, whimpering out desperate prayers for guidance.  Once home, I plugged in my phone and flopped face-down on my bed, wailing into the mattress, my problem-solving mind completely overwhelmed by my panicked emotions.

After some deep breathing, more prayer, and a few tense and awkward phone calls, the list of attending guests was finalized at 41, with two casual get-togethers scheduled for those who wouldn't be able to join the wedding.  (Shout-out to my youngest sister Em, who planned and hosted a wedding shower by herself with one-week's notice.)

Chapter 4: Delegate (So You Don't Freak Out)

By the morning of the 17th, everyone was (mostly) calm again, and I moved to the next stage: Food, favors, and decor.

Because Benjamin's new job would be taking them across the country, he and Essie were neck-deep in preparing to move, giving notice at their respective places of employment, putting items in storage, and planning a honeymoon-cross-country-road-trip, so they handed off many of the wedding details to me.

I, in turn, handed off figuring out wedding favors to Em.  Claire (second-oldest sister) trundled her 2-year old and 5-week old along to grocery stores, scouting out prices on sandwiches, desserts, and snacks.  Elle (Dad's wife, who only lives an hour from the wedding site) went to check out the lay of the land.  Jay took over figuring out meals for G, Z, and me in the meantime, and dealt with the everyday of dishes and laundry.

Strawberries: Yummy, easy, and reasonably-priced.

Once Em and Claire got back to me with their ideas and findings, I started synthesizing and bringing things together.  The two of them drove to my town on Friday the 18th so we could make the favors and brainstorm decor (fortunately, the three of of us live within two hours of each other).

S'mores kits. Adorable for a mountain wedding, right?

It was really nice for the three of us to be together, but we were completely exhausted by the end of the day (shout-out to Claire, who brought 6-week old Baby M along, nursing him between errands!).

Chapter 5: Let Someone Else Do the Freaking Out

After doing sister stuff all day Friday and being gone all that evening, I saw this text from Elle: "lvng wedding location. can we talk?"

Relief flooded through me.  She's loving the wedding location!  Yay!!!  The one available cabin turned out to be perfect!  We're going to be okay!

I sent a happy text reply back...and then noticed there were several other earlier texts from her.  It quickly became clear that she had not meant "loving" the location, but "leaving" the location.  I read the message string holding my breath.

"just parked at cabin. ground really uneven. very dry and weedy. patio is small."
"narrow streets. bad parking."
"not much shade."
"no level place to set up chairs."

I started some deep breathing.  Having already had my own freak-out session, I could sense Elle's growing panic between the lines.  I read the next text.

"talked with nice neighbor across street. he has flat space. maybe ceremony there?"

It was almost 9:30 p.m. and I was exhausted from the busy day, but these messages merited an immediate phone call.  Elle gave me the whole story.

Apparently, after watching her wander around outside the cabin for 45 minutes wearing a grim face, an elderly neighbor approached and asked what was wrong.  When he heard the situation, Mr. Dan--weathered, bald, and cheerful--immediately pointed out his level, weed-free, partially-shaded, large side-yard, and asked if it would work for a wedding ceremony.  The wrinkly angel offered use of his bathroom.  He offered to talk with the neighbors and give them a heads-up about the event.  He showed a wide swath of road and his large driveway where people would be free to park their cars.

He basically saved the day.

"So what do you think?" Elle asked me when she finished relaying the story.  "Should we take him up on his offer?"

I didn't hesitate.  "YES. I'm not even going to talk with Essie about it.  Let's do it.  We'll stretch the wedding budget to give him a thank-you gift."

Relief flooded Elle's voice on the other end of the phone.  She could stop freaking out now.

Chapter 6: Take a Break

Monday was Z's 6th birthday so I took the entire day off from wedding planning.  It was great!  And while I had very little creative energy available for his birthday dessert, he was happy with the chaotic festive result.

What is it about boys and skeleton pirates?  Or maybe it's just Z.

Chapter 7: Keep Moving

Tuesday through Thursday were All Wedding All Day.  I don't even really know what Jay and the kids did during those four days, but I didn't starve to death, so I'm guessing Jay was involved in feeding me somehow.

• Put together a detailed budget: Check. This being the fourth wedding I've done, I had a leg-up on getting this done over the bride and groom.
• Choose music to sing with Em and Claire during the reception: Check.
• Distribute driving directions to the guests: Check.  It only took one road trip, three adults, and two map browsers to figure it out.
• Scan Pinterest for directional road sign ideas: Check.
• Go to craft store for road sign supplies and spend extra time being distracted by fabrics I'd love to make curtains out of for my home: Check.
• Make direction signs for key road corners: Check.

We wired bright yellow silk 'mums to them. Looked pretty!

• Decide on reception menu: Check.  (Pre-made sandwiches, fruit, hummus and veggies, cookies and brownies.)
• Figure out meals for the overnight guests before and after the wedding: Yikes.
• Make shopping lists for aforementioned food: Double yikes.

Most wedding planners help the happy couple plan food for the reception.  Unlike most wedding planners, I also planned meals and snacks for the people staying overnight at the cabin.  Taking into account the 41 reception guests, I needed to plan six meals (plus snacks) for an average of 18 people per meal; and since I don't live in the wedding area, I couldn't do the shopping myself, which meant coordinating with multiple people for purchasing and transporting; and since we were planning on fresh sandwiches and produce for the reception, someone would have to hit the store again the day of.

With all these moving parts, the shopping list stage took me 4 hours.  Just to write the lists.

• Continually check the weather forecast: Check.  One dismal prediction suggested a temp of 104 degrees F for the 26th.
• Look into canopy and chair rentals, but give up after seeing the prices: Check.
• Touch bases with the florist who also happily happens to be our cousin: Check.
• Search Pinterest for outdoor decorating ideas involving a tree: Check.

So beautiful, right? I hoped Mr. Dan's tree would work for this.

• Hit a thrift store for fabric to copy Pinterest idea and find an incredible deal: Check.
• Go shopping for a new dress and find another incredible deal: Check.

Navy blue and white: two of my favorite colors!

• Pack, pack, pack, and pack some more: Check.
• Reclaim some inner peace with the bracing odor of acrylics and acetone: Check.

Now we get to Friday morning the 25th, the day before the wedding.  Jay, the kids, and I are slated to leave for the cabin at 1:00 p.m., and the checklist continues.

• Drive 20 minutes and back to a feed store to buy new pellets for my rabbit who had refused to eat the regular brand for an entire week: Check.
• Visit the public library for children's books on CD to entertain the boys during our 2.5 hour drive to the cabin: Check.  I went with How to Train Your Dragon read by David Tennant; we'd seen the movie so I figured it would be a fun book!
• Fill the car with gasoline: Check.
• Feed the dumb, picky rabbit the new pellets and notice that my neglected tomato plants were literally falling over: Check.
• Pick 7 pounds of ripe tomatoes, puree them, and throw them in the freezer: Check.

• Quickly re-check the cabin rental website to see if it comes with an iron and board (yes): Check.
• Skip a heart beat when I realize the amenities page doesn't list air conditioning, but look again at the description and see "includes central heating and air conditioning," and so avoid major freak-out: Check.
• See that the website doesn't list "wireless internet" but it does list "internet," and congratulate myself for landing a cabin with the crucial things we need: Check.
• Remember--just in time--that I'd promised to loan my wedding veil to Essie: Check.
• Pull out the veil, notice that one of the crystals has fallen off the headband, fight a moment of panic, find the crystal in the bottom of the storage bag, and superglue the crystal back on: Check.

Not in bad shape for hanging in my closet for almost 12 years!

• Pile up bags and boxes by the front door so Jay can expertly load the trunk of our sedan: Check.
• Leave the house at 1:30 p.m., just 30 minutes later than planned: Check.

Chapter 8: Freak Out Again

Having listened to exactly half of How to Train Your Dragon (which predictably was absolutely nothing like the movie, except that it involved Vikings and dragons and was an exciting tale), we arrived without incident at the cabin at 4:00 Friday afternoon.  The spicy scent of pine needles baking in the heat hovered in the still mountain air.  It was peaceful, but it was hot.

So the first thing I did while Jay carted armfuls of gear up the stairs was to turn on the A/C.  The kids helped me find the thermostat and I cheerfully mashed the temp control buttons.

Nothing happened.

My heart rate increased.

I mashed the buttons a little more.  Stay calm, stay calm.  There was definitely an intake vent.  There were definitely floor vents.  There was definitely a fan somewhere under the house moving the air slightly.  But there was no hum of a compressor, no relieving rush of cold air.

I started to sweat.

Jay popped his head into the hallway where I was standing.  "I haven't found an internet password anywhere," he announced.  Leaving the thermostat for a few minutes, I searched the rooms for some sort of internet hookup.  Nada.

At least I had cell phone signal.

"Hi," I started when the property manager answered my phone call, "um, I can't seem to get the air conditioning started."

"Oh," she returned, "that cabin doesn't have air conditioning."

A desperate scream rose in my throat.  We're having a party of 41 people here tomorrow!  We have children sleeping here overnight!  It's going to be 100 degrees during the ceremony!  I get heat stroke!  We have elderly people coming!  How could I have rented a house without air conditioning?????!!!!

The phone shaking slightly in my trembling hand, I tried to keep my voice calm and explained that the website had boasted central air.  When she asked me to describe where on the website it said that, I responded, "Well I can't tell you exactly, because we don't have internet here either."

"I could give you a discount, but maybe I'd better move you to a different house," she offered.  "I have one 20 minutes away, but it only sleeps eight people."  Quickly calculating in my mind how many of us would have to sleep on the floor, I told her I'd call her back in a few minutes.

But there were way too many moving parts to change locations.  We were going to have to sweat it out.  Essie and Benjamin would be happy about the reduction in rent, at least!

Chapter 9: Fight the Guilt

That night, lying in bed--or should I say on bed, since the mattress had all the give of a trampoline--with windows wide open and fans blowing (the prop. mgr. brought over a box fan and and iron/board since those hadn't materialized either), I felt miserable.

"Jay," I whispered over the whir of the fan above our heads, "I feel like everything that goes wrong with this weekend is going to be my fault.  I'm the one that rented the house.  I'm the one that decided on the shopping lists.  So many of the details are ones I worked out.  What if I've ruined my sister's wedding?"

Jay held my hand while I squeezed my eyes tightly shut against the lies of guilt.  Then--thank the Lord for Al-Anon!--I made myself review some important principles I've learned:

1. I'm powerless over fillintheblank.
2. God can give me peace.
3. I can be willing to Let Go and Let God.
4. Just as I can't take credit for everything wonderful that happens in life, I can't take blame for all the difficulties.

With these reminders filtering through my mind, I slept for a few hours.

At 3 a.m., I awoke to hear that the large outdoor fountain's rush of water had slowed to a trickle.  Premonitions of having to replace an electric pump flooded my mind, so I got out of bed to refill it; and while outside in the cool (finally), quiet air, I looked up.

Stars.

Thousands of bright, twinkling stars with an arm of the Milky Way sweeping across the perfectly clear, deep ebony sky.  I whispered Thank You with every exhalation of breath, my bare feet planted on the dusty patio, my face fixed upward.

The view of those stars was totally worth being unable to fall back asleep for the next two hours.  Who really needs more than four hours of sleep the night before a wedding anyway?

Chapter 10: Have the Wedding

While the bride, the groom, the matron of honor (Em), and the photographer spent a three-hour session higher in the mountains doing pictures, I hit the morning's daunting to-do list, interrupted only by a glimpse of Essie in her/my veil (I cried) and brief hugs with early-arriving guests:

• rearrange cabin furniture
• decorate the ceremony site in Mr. Dan's yard
• set up chairs and borrowed canopy at ceremony site (Jay and the Best Man helped)
• prepare table for food and beverages
• arrange extra cut flowers from florist (Elle and the groom's SIL helped)
• send a BIL to put up direction signs and get ice
• make beverages (my auntie helped)
• send ice chest full of water bottles across the street (my dad and brother carried it)
• oh yeah: shower, dress, and do make-up in time for family photos at 1:00

During the showering and dressing process, I realized that I had somehow neglected to pack--ahem--underwear.  Well this is a first, I mused, trying to see the funny side of the situation.  Do I go commando or what?

The cabin was already swirling with early guests, but fortunately I had my cell phone in the room with me.  None other than the bride herself came to my rescue, lending the required garment from her own packed suitcase.

By 1:00, everything was done.  All the family had arrived (without anyone getting lost), everything was in place, my kids were in their wedding clothes and relatively clean, and all that was left to do was smile for pictures, joke about sweaty underarms, rearrange all the ceremony chairs into the illusive shade, sit down, and try to turn off my mental lists until the reception started.

Essie was glowing.

She was positively radiant.

Benjamin's smiles spread over his whole face.

The thrift store fabric I'd bought draped gracefully over Mr. Dan's tree, joining Essie's bridal veil in a creamy dreamy white flutter with each breath of warm breeze.

The pastor's reverent words and the couple's heartfelt vows were spoken and sealed with rings and an ardent kiss; we applauded and sniffed back tears.

My sister was married.

Epilogue

Today is Wednesday, July 30th.  It is exactly two weeks since Essie's excited phone call that the wedding would be happening.  As of this morning, Jay and I are completely caught up on laundry, there are very few dishes in the sink, I think all the wedding stuff is put away, and I might be ready to cook again in the next couple days.  (We can't live off frozen lasagna and burritos forever, I guess.)  My fingernail polish is starting to chip off, but I don't care because the only places I've gone this week are to the pool with the kids and an Al-Anon meeting.

I'll close this saga with a brief conversation I had with G on Sunday morning, as Jay and I were packing up the cabin.  G flopped down on a bed and remarked with a loud sigh, "Mommy, now I know why weddings are so much work.  There's so much to do!  And the first thing you have to do is make sure the two people getting married are marrying the right people."

"That's right G," I affirmed, his profound statement resonating through my exhaustion.  "That is the very most important thing, much more important than all the stuff we do to plan a wedding.  Aren't you glad Auntie Essie and Uncle Benjamin married the right people?"

"Yes I am!" he giggled shyly.

So am I.

"Mom, Homeschooling Is Hard," 15 August 2013

Hello, my name is Rachel and I've been homeschooling two kids for three days.

It's kicking my assiduity.

Last night I got the kids to bed and sank down onto the couch in a sort of comatose state.  I told Jay the only thing I could move was my eyeballs.  (He kindly took the remote control and turned on the TV for us.)  That exhaustion took into account a two-hour afternoon nap, people.

What gives?  My mom homeschooled six children from the time her oldest started Kindergarten until her youngest's graduation from high school.  She did this every day for 21 years.  With six kids.  And no internet or video games for most of it.  Jay's mom homeschooled four kids--two of whom had severe ADHD--for 10 years.  I have friends who do this with multiple kids.

I only have two and I only have to do this full-time for nine days and I don't even have to make lesson plans.  And I'm beat.

Speaking of multiple kids and lesson plans, let me just send a BIG shout-out to you classroom teachers who do this day-in-day-out with 20-something students at a time (or in Jay's current case, 50 students at a time; his school's master schedule is getting off to a gnarly start).  What you do would frankly be horrifying for me.  I salute you!

But back to my life.

In defense of my kids, I should say that they are not "being bad."  They're being pretty cooperative and have even had downright enthusiastic moments!  I think what really exhausts me is Brain Strain. It's quite the juggling act to sit with one kid, overseeing him trace the letter B, while the other kid is wrestling with fractions and calling me over with questions.  Then one of them finishes his worksheet, and while I'm shuffling through the assignments to get him started on the next one, the other kid needs my help; so I put down the pile of worksheets to talk with him and the first kid asks, "Am I done yet?"

Meanwhile, I'm trying to keep track of how many minutes each one of them has read/been read to, check off their assignments as they're finished, make sure we all eat at a reasonable time, fit in showers and baths (mine included), and all the other normal everyday stuff.  Today I had to choose between a shower and a nap.  For meals, I've been throwing things together from the freezer since we haven't made it to the grocery store for a week.  Most of Tuesday's laundry has been put away, but not all of it.  The kitchen was clean for a bit yesterday afternoon.  Our rabbit got today's breakfast at 2 p.m.  I've gotten almost no exercise and am feeling fat and flabby.

Pause for a second.

If my mom were here, I'd call her right now and she'd listen with her kind "Hmm"; chuckle a bit; and gently give me some perspective.  Maybe this is what she'd say.

"Well first of all, Rachel, you're not fat.  But we can come back to that.  Remember that you've just had a whole summer of Jay helping with the kids, so now that he's back to school and you're on your own during the day, of course you're more tired.  It was always hard for me when Dad went back to work after a vacation.

"I'm not Supermom.  [Yeah right.]  When you kids were little, I was always exhausted.  I wasn't creative with meals. I didn't grow a garden.  We didn't have pets.

"And too, it sounds like you are doing a lot with the boys!  Yesterday you led them through worksheets and did three science projects and went to the library and did an art project?  That's a lot for one day!

"Also, remember that the teachers giving the work don't know your kids.  They don't know how long something might take or how difficult it might be.  Do they expect you to finish everything exactly like they assigned?"

Well no, I'd answer.  They told us these first couple weeks are to get a feel for where the kids are at and then they'd adjust the homework accordingly.  But the boys are actually doing fine with it; it's having them both at once that's so tricky for me!

"Well then it seems to me like you need to have some helpful systems in place to help you organize your time.  Have you thought much about how you might do that?"

Not really, I'd admit.  It seems like a lot of work to set that up when we're only doing this for nine days.

"Only nine days?  Hmmm. Well, then you don't need to come up with a long-term routine, but it could be helpful to plan ahead a bit for each day.  Even a little structure can cut down on all those little 'bumps' in your day, and bumps like that can add up. You and your kids--and Jay--are all adjusting to this new schedule, and you need to be very gentle with yourself.

"And as to feeling fat, Rachel, you aren't.  Even if you did put on a few pounds during the summer, these next two weeks are not the time to set up a new exercise routine or completely change the way you eat.  For the next two weeks, just do the major things your family needs--even if that means eating cereal for supper--until the four of you get into the swing of things.

"You're a great mom and a great wife, and your kids are sweet boys, and Jay sounds like he's working hard and helping a lot, and the Lord will give you the strength you need.  Ask Him for wisdom and He'll give it to you.  I'll be praying for you, too."

Thanks Mom.  I love you.

"I sure love you too, Rachel."

I sure miss you, Mom.  Thanks for being super and raising me, and helping me learn how to raise my kids, too...inside school hours and out.

Many Hats, Few Hours, One Head, 24 July 2013

Hello Blog!  I've missed you.  Whatever may be said about lazy summers, this certainly hasn't been one.  I suppose if I were a professional making money with my writing, I wouldn't relegate composing posts to irregular lazy moments, but that "really makes no matter," as Lady Bracknell says in The Importance of Being Earnest.

Obscure literary quotes (or movie quotes) aside, it is good to sit down and write!  It's nice to be a whole paragraph into this post without having said anything of real substance yet, which is perfectly fitting for a lazy moment.  I did, however, open this page with the intent of writing about something, and must just call it to mind.  One moment...

Ah yes.  Stay at Home Moms.

Actually, not all stay at home moms-- just me.  When a neighbor recently dropped his young grandson off with me because he was late to work and the babysitter "was only about 30 minutes away," and I supervised/entertained/mediated between three little boys for the following three hours--and it wasn't the first time this had happened, or even the second or third--I realized that (1) I should stop agreeing to watch neighbors' grandsons for indeterminate amounts of time and (2) some people must see me as having a lot of extra time on my hands.

Obviously, my readers all know I don't have a lot of extra time on my hands, because if I did, there would be a lot more blog entries.  But not everyone I come across is familiar with my 2-3/month posting trend, so I would like to elaborate for those people.  (Nevermind that "those people" don't read my blog and won't see this post; we'll just call this scribal processing.)

In a few weeks, Z will be starting Kindergarten (!!) while G continues on into 2nd grade.  When I mentioned this fact to an acquaintance earlier this summer, she said, "So what are you going to do with all your free time?  Get a job?"

The irksome idea that what I do now isn't a job aside, I have to admit, I had a moment of panic.  "Oh no!  Is that what I'm supposed to do??  Am I suddenly going to have all this empty time on my hands that will be squandered if I 'just stay at home'?!  Do I need to squeeze myself into some mind-numbing clerical position so that I can earn money instead of having 'free' time?"

In spite of Jay's insistence that I need those eight hours, I still felt guilt about not wanting to get back into the "work" force.  I calmed myself a bit by remembering that once the school year starts, I'm actually only going to have 8 hours per week without kids (we do a hybrid homeschool program, and Kindergartners are only in class 9 hours/week).  But thinking about the new phase I'm entering caused me to look again at the jobs (yes, plural, thank you very much) I already have. 

I've written before about the many "hats" I may wear in a given day; looking back at just the last seven days, I think I can group my activities into a few broad categories.  In no particular order:

• wife
• mother
• multi-organization volunteer
• relative (sister, in-law, auntie, etc)
• friend
• informal grief consultant (which often overlaps with "relative" and "friend")
• home and garden caretaker
• motherless daughter

During the past week, I have spent every minute being/doing at least one of these categories.  Now, I know that I'm a mother every minute, but--moms of infants and toddlers have hope--there are times of the day I'm not actively doing something with my kids.  Believe it or not, the two boys do have moments of entertaining each other without eyes-on supervision from me, at least for part of each day, which is wonderful.  Jay also does a fantastic job of doing things with the kids sans Mommy.  Naturally, during those times I put my feet up, put in earplugs, turn off my phone, and eat chocolate.

NOT.

Although I think my life would be better if I did that combination of things a little more.  Huh.  Let's put a pin in that.

No, the moments that active mom duty is on hold--and even quite a bit of the time it's not on hold--are moments filled with one or more of the other categories.  I'd like to go over some of the things I did this past week, and "those people" who think I have lots of extra time might understand my reality a bit better.

Since all of my readers are above-average intelligent (they have to be, to read this; after all, I quote Oscar Wilde), I'll dispense with delineating every category each activity belongs to.  They often overlap, anyway.

Last Wednesday, Jay gave me the day off from active mommy-ing.  I filled the day with birthday shopping for Z, and lunch and dinner out, catching up with two different friends.  Arriving home refreshed at 8 p.m., ready to have a quiet evening with Jay in front of the TV, we unexpectedly got an urgent request from a friend whose grandmother was in the hospital.  The next 4-5 hours were spent in caffeinated "friend" and "informal grief counselor" modes as I transported our friend from another city to our house for the night.

Thursday was mostly spent in that same mode, driving our friend to transport her out-of-town relatives to the ICU, where I stayed with them until the grandmother passed away Thursday evening.  (Thankfully, Jay thought to remind me to get a sub for my volunteer duties at my Thursday Al-Anon meeting, so I was able to coordinate that in time.)  As much as I tried not to slip into the "motherless daughter" category, the traumatic memories from my time in the ICU with my mom took their toll.

I spent Friday working off physical and emotional exhaustion.  In the morning, I got a message from another friend whose dad was in surgery after a heart attack, but prayer doesn't take too much physical energy, so I was happy to support her in that way. I also prayed over my daily email update from a friend whose 1 yr-old has stage 4 neuroblastoma.  Those updates aren't fun to read.  :-(

Perhaps surprisingly, by Friday evening I had recovered a bit, so I cleaned a bathroom and the living room floor, picked some tomatoes, and had a wonderful visit with a local friend who came over after the kids were in bed.  We chit-chatted over a wide variety of subjects while experimenting with a new French macaron recipe in my kitchen.

At about midnight, seconds away from being fully asleep, I suddenly realized I'd forgotten to wrap Z's birthday breakfast gift.  Enter mother mode again.  I get up.

Saturday morning officially began awfully early, because Z was so excited to start his 5th birthday!  Who wouldn't be?  The morning continued with making a grocery list for a 12-person dinner, packing the boys off to the store with a long shopping list.

The afternoon was filled with birthday/dinner prep (along with stolen bits of auntie time with visiting Baby K), and I spent the evening hostessing.  Incidentally, that may be the last 12-person birthday dinner I make.  There was too much work and not enough fun.  Putting a pin in that, too.

The guests were gone and excited boys in bed by 8 p.m., and my aching, grumpy body had just sunk into the couch when Jay said, "So I guess we should start planning tomorrow's Sunday School lesson."  Scream!  He reminded me that this Sunday was our turn to lead the 3s-5s class.

Finding me taciturn (that's a nice word for "surly," right?), Jay did as much planning on his own as he could, leaving a few bits for me to look over before church in the morning.

Sunday morning started well, perhaps in part because I donned an adorable outfit, and even though we scrapped our Sunday School lesson because only two kids showed up to class (one of whom was Z), I was content with being in volunteer mode.

But in the parking lot, headed toward lunch, "motherless daughter" showed up out of nowhere and smacked me across the face.  A friend at church asked me if I knew how to can peaches.  I'll leave the peach-canning back-story for another time; suffice it to say that it triggered a lot of happy memories of growing up with my mom, and a lot of weepy feelings that I can't call her and talk about it.

Those feelings stayed through Monday morning, thankfully relieved a bit by two tearfully-cathartic phone conversations with sisters.  Monday was also Jay's first day back at work, so all three of us were missing him after a summer-full of Daddy time.  "Mother" mode was definitely back in full swing, but we made the best of it and had a nice day.

Tuesday started with a playdate with another young mom who is motherless, and while our kids poured sand over each other, the two of us shared struggles and encouragement with each other.  In the afternoon, I found some new fresh tomato recipes and put a lovely dinner on the table (while texting back and forth with my sis-in-law), which felt great!  After putting the kids to bed, I had a conversation with yet another sister, focusing mainly on her boyfriend, whom I haven't yet been able to meet.  It was delightful to hear her gush on about this budding relationship...although I have to admit I felt a bit old and matronly.

Today we got out of town for a zoo visit with another family, and I--mostly--enjoyed cooking another tomato-centered dinner this evening.  The four of us definitely enjoyed eating it, at any rate!

Looking over this rather lengthy narrative, there are two main things that stand out to me:

1. I have a lot of friends and sisters.
2. I have a jam-packed life.

Eight non-mom-mode hours per week might just allow my life to be a little more paced out.  Or maybe other unexpected events will challenge my time in new ways.  Or maybe I'll get to have fewer multi- and more single-tasked times.

Or maybe, just maybe, I'll start the school year by putting my feet up, turning off my phone, and eating chocolate...at least for the first few hours.

Poo for You? 23 February 2013

Today I learned some interesting things about rabbit manure, all from the comfort of my bedroom.

And lest that sound like a disturbing statement, I should first clarify that today's learning is a result of Google searching, not hands-on experience.  (I got too much hands-on experience this week already, dealing with a very dirty rabbit's fuzzy backside.)  Although, I suppose the fact that I googled "rabbit manure" at all is pretty weird.

Oh well.

Turns out there is quite an enthusiastic culture of people who rave about the benefits of rabbit droppings.  This culture has affectionately nicknamed the droppings "bunny balls," "bunny berries," and "cocoa puffs."  (Uh, eew.)  On their blogs and gardening articles, they describe how to make a fertilizing "bunny brew," which is a "tea" made from steeping manure with water for a few days and then pouring around plants.  One article outlined using a burlap bag as an actual tea bag, filled with the droppings and dunked into a bucket.  Biscuits, anyone?

Furthermore, there are those who have felt compelled to photograph the stuff; naturally, I was unable to resist a Bing image search and now am compelled to show a photo to you.

This photograph is entirely for your benefit.  I see enough of the stuff every day.  You're welcome.

Some have written articles about how to raise red worms using the poo (a phenomenon I discovered by accident through making my compost pile).  And apparently the cannabis community is also all for using the "berries."

Aside from all of this very interesting information, I did discover two very important, practical facts.  Firstly, rabbit manure is high in nitrogen, which means that I can compost the stuff mixed with their straw litter, and not have to add extra nitrogen to break down the straw.

Secondly--and most importantly to me--these droppings are considered "cold" manure.  Rather like the classification of breakfast cereals, animal manure is classified as cold or hot.  "Hot" means that it has to age/rot/dry for a while or it will burn the plants it's meant to fertilize.  "Cold" manure on the other hand can go straight into the garden or around the plants.

Why is this such good news, you might ask?  Because it means I don't have to have piles of "cocoa puffs" littered around my yard, taking their sweet time to dry/age/rot.

This is also good news for my two bunnies.  They were *this* close to being put up for adoption, when I decided a month ago that I'm tired of feeding the little critters.  But now that I'm armed with this useful information, I think they might get to stay around a little longer.

Plus, now I have the satisfaction of making you think twice next time you walk down the breakfast foods aisle at the grocery store.  You're welcome!

My Son, the Pirate-Knight, 18 September 2012

The great thing about thrift stores ("charity stores," if you're not from around these here parts) is that they are thrifty.  This morning, Z and I dropped off G at school and started on a treasure hunt.  (Quick rabbit trail: We stopped at a seed store first, where I bought poppy and sweet pea seeds and diatomaceous-earth dust, which apparently "tears apart" the bugs who eat it, according to the shop keeper.  It's organic and it kills bugs--no oil involved--so I'm for it.  As far as the flower seeds go, I love the thought of them magically blooming in my front yard in the spring.  It might actually take magic for them to bloom, since I currently have no place prepared to plant them.  But I have a handle on the pest control, so I'm still ahead.)

A great thing about thrift stores at this time of year is that they have racks of costumes and shelves of accessories, ranging from padded Pooh Bear toddler outfits to adult-size Darth Vader suits, and everything in between.  While I searched for potential birthday gifts for G (hey, he won't know it's been used), Z discovered his own treasures.

When I turned around from pawing through a rack, there was a 3.5-foot tall pirate staring at me, complete with three-cornered black hat, plastic cutlass, and huge grin.

His weapon of choice basically looked like this

Throughout the rest of my browsing, Young Pirate followed me around in his garb; I think he didn't poke any of the other shoppers with the sword.  Before leaving, his eye caught two other treasures: One was a plastic knight's helmet and the other a heavy sword (still plastic, but much more substantial).

The sword he found was slightly shorter and slightly more plastic than this image, but not by much

Z immediately decided that G should receive the pirate hat and large sword, while he would keep the cutlass and switch to the helmet.  But Rachel draws a line on bringing home weapons that could break the other weapons already at home, so I said "no" to that but "yes" to the pirate hat, the cutlass, and the helmet, adding a total of $2.37 to the pile of practical things already in my cart.

"Oh, your total is just a few cents away from qualifying for the $10-off coupon!" the unwitting cashier pointed out.  "Do you want to grab something else?"

Sigh.  Did I buy the 10-cent plastic farm animal sitting on the counter?  As if drawn by an unstoppable force, I fetched the barely-plastic $1.99 sword and added it to the pile.  "Well Z," I conceded, "I guess G gets his sword after all!"

There is something truly delightful about a small child smooshed under a plastic helmet, calling out brashly, "Here's your sword Mommy!  Try and get me!  I'm wearing a helmet so you can't, haha!"  How could I resist?  I grabbed the black pirate hat and the Scary Sword and we began the battle.  Of course, it's impossible for Mommy to win, because if she thwacks a leg, it grows back; and if she gets too close, she's declared captured and hauled off to jail (AKA the bench in the entryway); and if she tries to escape, she's bound with invisible chains.

Z in his "knight cap," as he refers to it

Eventually, I switched sides and joined the Allies, just in time for G to arrive home from school and claim his rights to the new toys.  I sauntered out to the driveway to meet the carpool--oh wait!  Was I still brandishing a sword and sporting a pirate hat?  Giggles from the interior of the van and a smile from the driver revealed that I was.

To end this seedy tale I fast-forward to bedtime tonight.  I went to the living room to find Z, who stood slightly-hunched over with his hands inside his pajama pants.  Before I had time to even imagine what he could be doing in such a position, he straightened up and pulled his hand out from under the waistband...with a cutlass as long as his legs following!  Being a mother of boys, I'm sure I will be shocked many times over the years, but nothing had quite prepared me to see a 2.5-foot sword--hilt and all--rise out of the recesses of a small boy's pajama bottoms.

Methinks that any day which includes pirates, knights, and giggles is a good day.  And now a good-night to ye, mateys!

It's a Bug's Life, 07 August 2012

Today I reached a crisis point with my gardening, and I'm going to say something that will instantly alienate me from most of my peers:

I've just about had it with all this organic crap.

If you give me just one moment before you run away screaming "pariah!" I will explain my case.

The Great Gardening Experiment began last September, when I was feeling particularly ambitious and felt the ancient draw of raising fragile green things out of the crusty soil. (Poetry aside, my soil is actually rock-hard-clumpy when dry and unbelievably sticky when wet. Pretty sure they make modeling clay out of the stuff in my backyard.) "Let's do a garden, and let's do it organic!" I exclaimed to Jay, and I checked out an organic gardening book at the library. The two main things I gleaned from that book were 1) compost is key and 2) rabbit manure is a perfect addition to compost. So in another moment of insanity ambition, I brought home two rabbits.

Let me pause here and give you my experience with organic farming.

• Everyone says "green" is healthier, and it probably is.
• Higher-end stores sell organic foods for higher prices, which we don't buy. (What we spend on guilt is still less than what we save on the grocery bill.)
• I read that one library book about organic gardening.

So much for that. Now let me tell you my experience with chemical farming.

• First of all, I love poison. Growing up on five wild acres, poison was my family's friend. I'll never forget the horrible summer when we all had to hoe an acre of rock-solid ground in the scorching summer heat. The only thing that got me through that blisterful trauma was my dad's promise, "I'm going to put pre-emergent down, so we won't have to do this again next year." Lesson learned: Pre-emergent = less suffering.
• My dad couldn't spread pre-emergent over the whole five acres though, so he used another chemical to rescue us from the threat of total weed domination. "I'm going to spray Round-Up today," Dad would announce, and he'd mix up a tank, strap it to his back, and wave the magic spray-wand of death over the targeted areas. For larger-scale assaults, he'd hook a large tank to the tractor and recruit one of us to drive while he walked alongside with the magic wand.
• I have other fond memories of poison, as well. Apparently, five acres of luxurious outdoor living didn't satisfy the local crickets and cockroaches, so they moved into my childhood bedroom. I still shiver when I remember the little scratching noises of their feet on the wall next to my bed. After a huge wood spider crawled over my hand while I slept, my parents gave in to my pleas and sprinkled insecticide granules along the baseboards under my bed.

Imagine waking up to this running over the back of your hand

• Later as a newlywed , I happily controlled ant problems at our first house by spraying its indoor and outdoor perimeters with a long-lasting insect-killing solution. (It said that it was safe for children and pets after it dried, so I wasn't too worried about doing the kitchen counters and cabinets.) When rats moved into the crawl space under our bathroom and discovered the washing machine in the garage, Jay distributed rat poison cubes around the property, and I'm pretty sure he didn't check to see if they were USDA green-certified first (although the cubes were green in color).

As you can see, my experience with chemicals far outweighs the organic. But I'm down with having a healthy family and as I said, last summer I felt ambitious—and optimistic.

I have now been through 1.5 growing seasons in our 8x8-foot garden plot. Some things I planted were quite successful and other things were disappointing. But I have worked very hard to pull weeds (a la Battle of Bermuda) without touching the tempting spray bottle of Round-Up in my shed. I've ignored the handy box of slug & snail bait and covered/uncovered certain susceptible seedlings every day until they were large enough to withstand the munching. Instead of buying bags of Miracle-Gro, I've daily fed rabbits and “recycled” their waste into a stinky pile in the corner of my yard.

To be completely honest, I have had some doubts as to whether I can “count” my garden as being organic. For one thing, when we buy non-organic vegetables and then compost the peels and stems, does that make my compost un- “organic”? If I'm giving my rabbits non- “green” feed, does that make their poop un-organic? When I plant seeds that aren't labeled “organic,” does that mean the plants that grow out of them are un-organic, even if their leaves aren't sprayed with chemicals? These doubts have nagged me.

And then today as I gazed wistfully at the hand-tilled dirt rows that should have been full of seedlings, I felt defeated. DE-feated. Every day there are fewer seedlings than there were the day before. As of today, I had a total of three beet seedlings left. There were four bok choy plants left out of 24 seeds planted. Half of the bunching onions are gone. One quarter of the sugar snap peas are left.

Clearly, organic is working for the bugs in my life, but it isn't working for me.

After using up a wad of Kleenex and drying my eyes, I did a web search on organic pest control—which admittedly I probably should have done at the very beginning. But the first article I looked at this morning wasn't very helpful. It said that of the growers they interviewed, the highest pest-control success rate was from letting ducks and chickens roam their yards.

Perfect. Even if our home owners' association allowed raising poultry, I'm already pushing my personal limits by having two rabbits. We do live near a series of duck ponds, but the mallard couple who visits our neighborhood for one week a year during mating season prefers our front yard.

Couldn't you visit the backyard?  The alysum can take care of itself.

Another article advised planting a larger crop than you need to allow for insect consumption. That is what I did, but the bugs are taking more than their fair share...and I'm not going to dig up my entire backyard in the hopes that I'll get four beets next year instead of three.

The next article I looked at discussed making earwig traps using oil or something; I didn't finish reading it because a neighbor arrived at the door just at that moment. She noticed my red-rimmed eyes and asked how I was, so of course I had to tell her my woes. She looked thoughtful and then said, “Are you putting down oil traps for earwigs? My grandmother did that.”

Sigh. Maybe I shouldn't decry the entire organic movement as being a failure but should instead better equip myself to implement it more effectively. My, doesn't that sound mature of me?  The truth is, I'm ready to plow the whole autumn crop under (all 12 plants) and liberally dose the ground with some of the Good Stuff.

But I guess I could finish reading the oil trap article first. It does sound intriguing.