Prairie Eydie Loses Mother of the Year Title (once again)

Mother's Day has come and gone.  Sadly, yet again, I did not receive the coveted "Mother of the Year" award.  I try so hard every year, but am bumped out of the running by mothers who lovingly bake zucchini kale muffins for breakfast and iron 100% cotton button down shirts.  For a "Mother of the Year" victory next year, I need improvement in the following areas:  laundry, haircuts, and school artwork archival.  If I can do this, the trophy will be mine.

I am a single mom with three kids.  I work full time and try to keep sane by going to boot camp (which kinda makes me insane - with all the tire flipping and med ball slamming), creating art, and blogging.  It is hard to fit laundry into my life, but I must if I want to take home the trophy.  Here is what my laundry room currently looks like -

A moldering mess.  

Clean clothes in the basket AND in the drier!  The clothes must wait patiently for folding.  I like to wait until things are good and wrinkled before giving them the shake down.    

Yesterday it was 90 degrees out.  (I was wearing a breezey, clean sundress.)  I was outside surveying my garden, and saw my oldest son, Leonard, walking down the street wearing a long sleeved hoodie and jeans.  I immediately accosted him for wearing such a stupid outfit on a hot day. He politely waited for me to finish before saying, "Mom, I have no clean shorts.  Yeah.  And I have no clean t-shirts.  Plus, you forgot to buy me sandals.  (Hmmm. I will also have to improve on kids' clothes shopping.  I seem to do quite well when it involves shopping for me.)

Later, when my middle child, Gus, was getting ready for bed.  He said, "You DO know that we have been wearing dirty socks all week. We get them out of the hamper every morning."  No.  I did not know that.   I did what I assume most moms do - I immediately drove to Target and bought a couple new packs of socks for the boys.

I know of moms who spend the school year curating museum quality scrap books and galleries of their children's artwork.  I, on the other hand, have started throwing my kids art projects in the garbage when they are sleeping.  Just look at what Leonard brought home the other day -

Something not even a mother could love.  It is also jagged and sharp, practically a weapon.

 

What is it?  A failed attempt at pottery, I guess.  But I am determined to be "Mother of the Year 2016," so I will either find a cute way to display this lump or save it forever in a Rubbermaid tote.  Yes.  Award winning mothers have lots and lots of totes.

Awww.  I think I LOVE this low maintenance hairstyle.

Finally, I have to get the kids on a haircut schedule.  I need to stop hoping that the "Keith Partridge Look" will be back in style at any moment.  It is not going to make a comeback and I am going to have to pay the money for regular trims.  Often I have to pay for haircuts twice.  Once at Cost Cutters and then again at a decent salon to fix what happened at Cost Cutters. 

Okay Prairie Friends - I am off to throw in a couple loads of laundry.

Prairie Eydie

   

    

The Art Of Healing--Prairie Sherry's Way

It has been a week since my surgery to set and plate my broken arm, and while the plaster splint, cotton batting, and two ace bandages are hot, sweaty, and cumbersome, I am in little pain and healing quite nicely.  I am not, however, probably behaving according to doctor's orders because I didn't receive any.

The do rag is just covering a gaping head wound.

I found that when you break a bone around Memorial Day, unless it is sticking through your skin, you will probably be triaged as low priority. Higher priority are the holiday Harley riders who have smashed their helmet-less skulls on the pavement during their first ride of the season or the barbeque "masters" who have first degree burns following the fireball that commenced the grilling season. I waited five days for surgery after my dazzling fall on a rocky ledge. 

Looking down into the abyss that
proved to be my undoing.

Post op, too, seemed a bit hurried and sketchy.  I never met the actual surgeon while conscious, the occupational therapist didn't showed up, and I only had to suggest that perhaps I didn't need to stay overnight before I was dumped out of the wheelchair right by valet parking. The nurse didn't seem terribly concerned that my daughter would have to drag her drugged-up mother to the third floor of the parking ramp and load her into the car.

So I came home with no instructions.  Of course, having been through all of this before, I know what I should and should not be doing, but just the fact that I wasn't looked at sternly, lectured, and then given a printed page of things to avoid has given me permission to do things my way.

Day One of Recovery:

I go back to work as a cashier.  I work an eight-hour shift checking out grocery orders.  I also bag those orders one-handed.
  

10 pound bag of potatoes?  No problem!

Day Two of Recovery:

I am back to work again, but this time I bag adding the splinted arm.  I go home and wash the dog--wrestling all 18 pounds him in and out of the laundry tub with one arm. I decide to wash the other three dogs as well.  At 9, 11, and 14 pounds, they are a cinch. 

Next time I hope she breaks both arms.

Day Three of Recovery:

I work another eight hour shift.  With my free evening, I decide to make 10 pounds of pulled pork for my daughter's graduation party. I successfully manage the butcher knife without severing arteries.

Getting it out of the pot was the tricky part.

Day Four of Recovery:

I have a day off, so I tackle the lawn.  I figure out how to maneuver the Torro with one hand.  Did I mention that we have a hilly, oversized corner lot?

I fought the mower, and I won.

Day Five of Recovery:

Another day off, so I clean the house top to bottom.  My only concession to the broken arm is that I don't scrub the kitchen and dining room tile on my hand(s) and knees, but enlist the aid of my steam cleaner.  

I wonder if Ma Ingalls used one of
these in that Plum Creek dugout?

When I have finally settled down to a class of ice tea and a book, a gust of wind takes the patio umbrella off of our second floor deck, and sends toppling to the deck below.  I manage to close it and drag it up a flight of stairs to its rightful home.

Oops!

Day Six of Recovery:

I break the only rule I was given at the hospital ("Don't remove the ace bandages!"), and I redress my split with one hand.  The bandages are covered in grass stains, pork fat, and cleaning residue. I really have no other choice. I sweep out the garage and wash three loads of laundry.

Impressive one-handed wrapping.

Day Seven of Recovery:

I have taken it easy today.  I met Prairie Eydie for breakfast, and then I came home to do some light gardening. The bandage really needs changing again.

On June 10th I have an appointment with my surgeon.  I suspect that he with then give me permission to go back to work on a limited basis and begin some light physical therapy. I will smile at him sweetly, nod intently, and agree to all of his suggestions demands. He is, of course, the expert.

Prairie Sherry  

PS

A little disclaimer here.  In case you are concerned, I did none of the above while under the influence of the narcotics the surgeon prescribed. I ditched those right after surgery. Didn't follow the directions for those either.   

Top 6 Reasons Why Prairie Eydie is Posting Late

Can I come out now, Prairie Sherry?  I posted.

I am in the outhouse with Prairie Sherry.  Monday came and went and I didn't post.  Part of me was hoping that Prairie Pa would come through with his much anticipated, "How to Eat for Free as a Senior Citizen," post.  But he didn't.  He is too busy gardening and avoiding Home Depot.  Sigh. 

As a teacher, I hear lots of excuses.  So here are my top 6 excuses for my late blog.

6.  I have 8 days of school left and my students have lost their minds.  My energy is being slurped up listening to comments like, "Why do we have to always read in here?" or "Can't we do something fun today?" or "You should buy us cupcakes."

5.  I am spending a lot of time flossing my teeth and massaging my gums.  Plus I am chewing gum with xylitol five times a day.  This takes time people!  I got yet another bad checkup with my mouthy dental hygienist.  If she doesn't say something positive to me at my next appointment, I am bailing.

4.  I am reading an awesome book!  And I am recommending it to you, Prairie Friends.

  3.  Did I mention that I only have 8 days of school left?

We all look at the same sunset, Ponyboy.  But I don't know why we have to look at the same post, day after day.

2.  The 7th graders are reading The Outsiders.  Wednesday is dress like a Soc or a Greaser day.  I have been spending a lot of time combing the Madison-area, St. Vinny's for a red wig so I can go as Cherry Valance. 

I want to be just like Prairie Sherry when I grow up.  

1.  My middle son, Gus, broke his arm.  Horseplay on the swing set with his older brother.  When you have three kids, this is bound to happen.  I could not even look at his arm until it was all wrapped up and in a sling.  (Yet another reason why I will not be "Mother of the Year."  When my kids are injured I throw gasoline on the fire by becoming hysterical.  My hysteria usually brings about vomiting on their part.)  He will need surgery, which is scheduled for Thursday - SIX DAYS after breaking his arm.  

Hmmmmm.  Maybe I can talk Gus into watching Downton Abbey, Season 3 with me.  

Prairie Eydie     

The Art of Accepting a Setback

I am coming off of a two-day binge of House of Cards. Paranoia is setting in.  I no longer trust my iPhone.  You'll never get me near railroad tracks.  I pray that my personal fashion icon, Michelle Obama, is nothing like Claire Underwood, although I do admire Claire's understated chic.

Why would I sit in front of a screen on a glorious spring day? Why would I be typing this with one hand, and not very successfully? Let me tell you. I broke my arm. Again!

Post accident and post surgery.

It started last Thursday when smarty-pants Prairie Sherry decided to leave the safety of the plains and hiked up a bluff at Devil's Lake State Park. This is a photo of me enjoying a zen moment at the top of the rock-strewn bluff I had just climbed.

Actually, I was just trying
to get my heart rate back to
normal.

Then I started the climb down.  I don't think my mind was at a higher plain of consciousness as my foot slipped on that rock and I hit the ground.  Nine hours and two ERs later, I returned home.

Honey, I'm home.

Yup, they let me keep the hospital gown because there was no way I was letting them put that long sleeved t-shirt back on. I'm sure Michelle or Claire would wear it much better.

The arm is now set, plated in titanium, and ensconced in plaster. I will have to put aside any near-future plans of world domination a la Claire Underwood.  I would never be able to get one of her signature slender sheaths over this bandaged appendage let alone zip up the zipper. 

Frank, would you put that call to Putin on hold and unzip
this damn zipper?

Looks like a summer of sloppy t-shirts and elastic-waisted shorts ahead for me. 

Prairie Sherry

PS

I would be remiss if I did not thank my dear friend, Cindy, for getting me off that bluff, driving to two ER's, and listening to my incoherent drug-induced ramblings for 8 hours.  She has earned the title of Prairie Cindy.

Bless you, Prairie Cindy!

Top 10 Reasons Why the School Year Should End NOW!

This is my 25th year of teaching.  For the most part, I enjoy being a teacher.  But frankly, I am sick of school extending into the first two weeks of June.  By the end of May everyone is freaking about about test scores, ridiculous student behavior, and moving classrooms.  To put it simply.  Teachers are done.  Students are done.  Today, I am starting a movement to end school by the end of May.  

Prairie Eydie's Top Ten Reasons Why the School Year Should End NOW!

10.  Yesterday two of my students (in different hours) used hand sanitizer to clean their shoes instead of completing their reading assignment.

I wish I could be this kinda girl.  

  

9.  I have run out of ideas and am now recycling lesson plans from September.

I double dirty dog dare Suze Orman to come and deny me my Starbucks on June 1st.  

8.  It now takes 2 venti, dark roast coffees from Starbucks to get me through the day.  Ugh.  This is playing havoc on both my gut and budget.  

7.  Heads-Up, Seven-Up & Silent Ball now seem like a challenging extension activities.

6.  The answer to any pressing issues like chronic tardies and alignment to the Common Core is:  "Oh right. I will deal with that next year." 

5.  "Good Enough" has indeed become "Good Enough."  Gone are the discussions of high expectations and pushing yourself to the breaking point.  I, for one, am already at my breaking point.

School Spirit requires way too much effort.  Especially if I am DENIED my morning coffee. 

4.  No one has the spirit to participate in Spirit Week.  

3.  A career move to barista seems strategic.  

2.  Suddenly those boxy, school t-shirts (issued at the beginning of the school year) are looking pretty good.

I will be smiling June 11th too, Dave!

  1.  Since David Letterman is done, I should be too.  

Prairie Eydie

The Art Of Being A Failure

I do not like to fail.  In fact, it still rankles my soul that I came in second in high jump at the all-city track and field day in 1967.  I like to get the gold star and not the silver.  

I have failed.

These are my failures.  Chloe is to the left and Darla is to the right These two are puppy mill mamas who have lived most of their five years in wire cages. I am fostering them for a local rescue so that they can be adopted by families.

If the head of the rescue were to call today and say that she had found loving families for these two, I would tell her that I had sent them to a luxury dog camp in the Swiss Alps, and that I didn't expect them back until the 31st of June (Thirty days has September, April...).  I would sneak them over the border into Canada, traveling north until cell reception was no longer possible. I would send them off to Maryland with my youngest, and let them take on new identities as mascots for McDaniel College.

This face has told me that she is staying right here. She likes the food and the company.
  

This one pretends to be sleeping each time I try to bring up the discussion of a possible move. 

Rory, one of our own, says they can stay as long as they keep their paws off the good chew toys.  

Winnie, also ours, says that if you keep your eyes closed, it's like they aren't even here.

  
How much bed space do I really need?

They have even offered to share theirs with me.

I guess everyone needs to accept a little failure into their lives.

Prairie Sherry

The Art of Book Purging

I was reading Elizabeth Gilbert's Facebook post the other day. (Remember, Prairie Friends, to "friend" Elizabeth on Facebook.  Her posts are both entertaining and inspiring.)  Elizabeth was posting about a major decluttering binge.  She got rid of 95% of her books. (GASP!!!  Had Elizabeth forgotten that she was an author and needed to keep up a scholarly image?)  She went on to say that she felt much lighter and more creative since getting rid of so many books and so much clutter.  Her post caused me to look at the books in my life.  

Here is one of my main bookshelves, which is representative of all of my bookshelves:  

This shelf says "Hot Mess" not "Oh my!  Eydie is SO smart."

As you can see, it is piled with books, disorganized, and not a lovely, calm focal point for my living room.  On top of the books I have stacked gift cards, book marks, and receipts that I don't want to enter into my budget notebook.  

I asked myself - Prairie Eydie why are you keeping all of these books? The answer?  Ego.  I like to be identified as scholarly, smart, and someone who is well read.  Hmmm.  Do I really need to store books, in a house that is already cluttered with three young children, to prove something to my ego?  

As I scanned through the titles, it was apparent that many of the books were books I intended to read at one time.  And many of them belonged to Prairie Sherry.   Few of the unread books looked like anything I would willingly trade sleep for to read.  On the other hand, many of the shelved books were books I adored.  But I had no intention to reread the adored books.  I just like to periodically read the titles and think, "That was SUCH a good book."   (There are so many awesome books out there that I rarely reread fiction. The list of books I do reread is super short:  To Kill a Mockingbird, Breakfast at Tiffany's, and The Long Winter.)  

I LOVE Warren Zevon and am ecstatic that one of his quotes actually fits into a blog.

So, I began a book purge.  This purge included all the vintage Hardy Boys books I was keeping for my sons to read.   The boys have shown absolutely no interest in reading these dusty "classics" because Young Adult fiction nowadays (Is nowadays really a word?) is so awesome.  

I also passed on the board books my five year old has out grown. This was hard to do, because I have so many memories of reading The Lady with the Alligator Purse and Mr. Brown Can Moo to my kids.  But.  I envisioned other parents reading these great books to their kids, and I passed them on.  (Confession.  I kept Goodnight Gorilla.  Somethings are just sacred.)

Once again, I was left with all the books I would reread if there weren't so many other books I want to read for the first time.  So.  I decided to choose 5 of these books and send them to people who I thought would enjoy reading them.  Former book club friends came to mind.  I was okay passing the books on, knowing they will continue to be read, and not just clutter up shelves in my house.

Always a good idea. 

I purged well over 70 books!  (10 of them Hardy Boy books - but still a valiant effort.)  I am exhausted, so now it is your turn.

Tah dah!!!  Here is my bookshelf "post purge."

Prairie Eydie