One way I save a few pennies for our large family is by making my own laundry soap. A friend gave me the recipe and showed me how. It's kind of hard to figure out just how much it costs, but I believe it's less than $2 for about 2 gallons of laundry soap. Some ingredients take some looking for, and the price can vary drastically from store to store.
There are three basic ingredients in my recipe: Arm & Hammer Washing Soda, Borax, and Fels Naptha. It's important to use washing soda, not baking soda. (You can chemically change baking soda to washing soda by baking it!!) I've had better luck finding this near Amish communities. I've paid as much as $5 a box, and as little as $2.77 a box. It comes in 55 oz. boxes, and you only use 1 C. per recipe. Borax is easy to find in just about any grocery store or Walmart. Fels Naptha is trickier. I've searched and searched in stores I knew carried it. Sometimes it's with laundry products, but sometimes it's with bar soaps (it's in a bar). I've seen it for as much as $1.69 a bar, and just recently I found it at our Walmart for only 97¢ a bar.
Here is the recipe I use. If you Google Homemade Laundry Soap, you can find many, many recipes. Most are variations of this.
1/2 bar Fels Naptha, grated
1 C. Borax
1 C. Washing Soda
Optional water-soluble fragrance
2 gallon covered bucket
Put grated Fels Naptha in a stock pan with 6 C. water. Cook until soap melts; stir occasionally, about 8 minutes. Add Borax and Washing Soda; stir until dissolved. Remove from heat. Pour 4 C. hot tap water into the bucket. Add soap mixture and stir. Add an additional one gallon plus 6 C. water and stir. At this time you can add fragrance, if you prefer.
The recipe says to let sit 24 hours, stir and use (about 1/2 cup per load). I don't always let it sit that long, and there's no problem. Sometimes it has a thick gel consistency. Sometimes it's gel on the top, but watery on the bottom (I stir it up before each use to get some of each). I don't know why it varies.
I think it cleans as well as anything. You can use the Fels Naptha bar as a pre-treater, too. I miss the strong fragrance of store-bought laundry soap. I haven't found a fragrance to add that matches it. If you don't mind the lack of fragrance, it's no problem. The soap smells very strong when you make it, but it doesn't stick to your clothes. (Make a batch of soap and your whole house smells fresh and clean!)
Monday, April 18, 2011
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Dreams Really Do Come True
We came home from Kalahari late Wednesday night, not knowing our house would soon be a water adventure!
Bill woke me up before 8 a.m. Saturday. "I don't have time for this. The sump pump pipe came apart, filled the chicks, and half of them are dead." What a way to start your day!! William and I spent the next hours tending to both the living and the dead. I gave the 9 survivors a blow-dry on my lap. Amazingly, they don't struggle much; a little at first, then they close their eyes and accept their fate. They remained in a stunned state all day, huddled under the heat light.
We quickly realized the sump pump pipe was in crisis. It continued to pop off and shoot water-like-you-wouldn't-believe out. This is not sewage water, just water it had pumped off the floor. It was a cycle--pump it up, shoot it out, pump it up, shoot it out. Oh, and then the kitchen sink got in the act...and the toilet, too. The water wouldn't go down, William would plunge it, it would go down, but shoot out of the sump pump pipe onto the basement floor. Ugh. (Yes, we finally had sense enough to unplug the sump pump.) Not knowing if the problem was with the septic tank or the pipes, I told Bill we'd better get a septic tank guy out here, STAT. No problem, how about TUESDAY morning? Fine, we'll just be in waterworld for four days!!
So, we've been very gentle with our water usage. Dirty dishes fill the dishwater, and my laundry pile isn't going anywhere. I flush the toilet and stand back. We showered at our friends' house. Bill ran a hose from the sump pump out to the backyard, so our basement wouldn't fill up any more. This morning Bill tells me he dreamed last night that water was pouring through the ceilings. Oh, thank the Lord that was just a dream!! (Hint: foreshadowing)
Well, the other day I was listening to a call-in home repair show on the radio. Someone had gurgling toilets/sinks whenever the washer ran. Our sinks have done that since we moved in, and the sump pump would occasionally back up in the bathroom sink. The solution offered--check the venting; just run a snake down the vent pipe on the roof and look for clogs.
Today as an attempt to do ANYTHING to help the situation, Bill climbs on the roof with his snake and puts it down the two vent pipes. One is clear, but the kitchen one is totally blocked and the snake won't go through. At this time, I am taking a Pentecostal nap in my bed. I hear some water hitting the floor, and think, "Great, the toilet is overflowing again." But it is strange how loud it is. Then William is yelling at Sarah over the roar of the wet/dry vac. I go down to investigate and find water pouring through the kitchen ceiling around the light fixture. We scramble for buckets to put under four streams. Oh, thank you internet for all your useful information, but curse you for telling my beloved husband to run a hose down the vent pipe to wash the blockage out!!! The blockage remains, and 15 minutes of hose running went all over my kitchen floor!
Dreams really do come true!! Even nightmares! WAH!
Bill woke me up before 8 a.m. Saturday. "I don't have time for this. The sump pump pipe came apart, filled the chicks, and half of them are dead." What a way to start your day!! William and I spent the next hours tending to both the living and the dead. I gave the 9 survivors a blow-dry on my lap. Amazingly, they don't struggle much; a little at first, then they close their eyes and accept their fate. They remained in a stunned state all day, huddled under the heat light.
We quickly realized the sump pump pipe was in crisis. It continued to pop off and shoot water-like-you-wouldn't-believe out. This is not sewage water, just water it had pumped off the floor. It was a cycle--pump it up, shoot it out, pump it up, shoot it out. Oh, and then the kitchen sink got in the act...and the toilet, too. The water wouldn't go down, William would plunge it, it would go down, but shoot out of the sump pump pipe onto the basement floor. Ugh. (Yes, we finally had sense enough to unplug the sump pump.) Not knowing if the problem was with the septic tank or the pipes, I told Bill we'd better get a septic tank guy out here, STAT. No problem, how about TUESDAY morning? Fine, we'll just be in waterworld for four days!!
So, we've been very gentle with our water usage. Dirty dishes fill the dishwater, and my laundry pile isn't going anywhere. I flush the toilet and stand back. We showered at our friends' house. Bill ran a hose from the sump pump out to the backyard, so our basement wouldn't fill up any more. This morning Bill tells me he dreamed last night that water was pouring through the ceilings. Oh, thank the Lord that was just a dream!! (Hint: foreshadowing)
Well, the other day I was listening to a call-in home repair show on the radio. Someone had gurgling toilets/sinks whenever the washer ran. Our sinks have done that since we moved in, and the sump pump would occasionally back up in the bathroom sink. The solution offered--check the venting; just run a snake down the vent pipe on the roof and look for clogs.
Today as an attempt to do ANYTHING to help the situation, Bill climbs on the roof with his snake and puts it down the two vent pipes. One is clear, but the kitchen one is totally blocked and the snake won't go through. At this time, I am taking a Pentecostal nap in my bed. I hear some water hitting the floor, and think, "Great, the toilet is overflowing again." But it is strange how loud it is. Then William is yelling at Sarah over the roar of the wet/dry vac. I go down to investigate and find water pouring through the kitchen ceiling around the light fixture. We scramble for buckets to put under four streams. Oh, thank you internet for all your useful information, but curse you for telling my beloved husband to run a hose down the vent pipe to wash the blockage out!!! The blockage remains, and 15 minutes of hose running went all over my kitchen floor!
Dreams really do come true!! Even nightmares! WAH!
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Makeover
Well, I'm tired. I'm tired from our two-day trip to Kalahari. Lots of standing in lines, standing in ankle-deep water, standing around the game room...and carrying Luke who was nursing an inflamed miniscus. (That's the Swedish word for "sore knee from running and falling on the floor.") So, instead of coming home and starting my pile of laundry, I decided to repaint the dining room!
The plan was to sleep in this morning, then get up, buy some paint and get to work. What really happened was Luke woke up at 8 a.m.; that is not "sleeping in." Then a friend texted me to remind me of our scheduled playdate at 11 a.m. As I was hustling three kids into coats, she texted me that 11:30 would be better. Since we were coated-up already, we might as well run to Walmart! Then to friend's house, then to Lowe's to get paint, then back to friend's house to get the girls. I grabbed some lunch, and started washing walls while the older kids started moving "stuff" out of my way.
I suggested, in a motherly tone of voice, that the kids pack the "stuff" into boxes. The kids, with kid-ly ignoring of Mom, piled as much as possible on the dining room table. Then the computer desk, three bookcases, a baker's rack (and a partridge in a pear tree) were all pulled away from the walls. I tried to move the computer desk before William finished clearing some things off of it. I discovered the tabletop of the desk is not attached to the base. I didn't realize this until I lifted the tabletop, dropped it, discovered a chunk of my finger was in the now-nonexistent space between the two, then yanked without re-lifting the tabletop. Fortunately, the pain quickly turns to numbness. Unfortunately, it doesn't stay numb nearly long enough.
Since I brought the can of paint home, with it's little splotch on the lid to show the color, Sarah had pronounced the new color as being ugly. Nice. We love ugly walls in the dining room. It may be ugly to her, but it will match the wallpaper we bought for the room four or five years ago. As I started painting over the Antique White (boy, have we bought a lot of Antique White in our married life) I kept thinking, "apricot." Sarah said, "ugly." When I started rolling it on, I got the strange feeling I was rolling liquid foundation on someone's huge, flat face. Hmm, Honey Beige foundation. The actual name of it is "Coral Gable Bittmore Mediterranean Caramel." Check it out at Lowe's. If I can't find the right shade of Avon foundation for you, this might just work!
The plan was to sleep in this morning, then get up, buy some paint and get to work. What really happened was Luke woke up at 8 a.m.; that is not "sleeping in." Then a friend texted me to remind me of our scheduled playdate at 11 a.m. As I was hustling three kids into coats, she texted me that 11:30 would be better. Since we were coated-up already, we might as well run to Walmart! Then to friend's house, then to Lowe's to get paint, then back to friend's house to get the girls. I grabbed some lunch, and started washing walls while the older kids started moving "stuff" out of my way.
I suggested, in a motherly tone of voice, that the kids pack the "stuff" into boxes. The kids, with kid-ly ignoring of Mom, piled as much as possible on the dining room table. Then the computer desk, three bookcases, a baker's rack (and a partridge in a pear tree) were all pulled away from the walls. I tried to move the computer desk before William finished clearing some things off of it. I discovered the tabletop of the desk is not attached to the base. I didn't realize this until I lifted the tabletop, dropped it, discovered a chunk of my finger was in the now-nonexistent space between the two, then yanked without re-lifting the tabletop. Fortunately, the pain quickly turns to numbness. Unfortunately, it doesn't stay numb nearly long enough.
Since I brought the can of paint home, with it's little splotch on the lid to show the color, Sarah had pronounced the new color as being ugly. Nice. We love ugly walls in the dining room. It may be ugly to her, but it will match the wallpaper we bought for the room four or five years ago. As I started painting over the Antique White (boy, have we bought a lot of Antique White in our married life) I kept thinking, "apricot." Sarah said, "ugly." When I started rolling it on, I got the strange feeling I was rolling liquid foundation on someone's huge, flat face. Hmm, Honey Beige foundation. The actual name of it is "Coral Gable Bittmore Mediterranean Caramel." Check it out at Lowe's. If I can't find the right shade of Avon foundation for you, this might just work!
Friday, December 3, 2010
Jesse
Conceived at Halloween
Announced at Thanksgiving
Lost at Christmas
Buried at New Year:s
Conceived in Love
Announced with Joy
Lost with Sadness
Buried with Hope
This entire season hurts. Four years ago we were expecting our sixth child. It was a happy surprise...we thought my womb was closed for good. In fact, when I showed Bill the positive pregnancy test, he said, "I didn't think you had it in you!" lol
My first symptom was nausea. In fact, I wasn't late yet, and tested because I was so nauseous. I figured I was wasting a pregnancy test, but it was one from the dollar store. What a surprise when the line showed up!
We were going to see Bill's and my parents over Thanksgiving, so I had the kids make a mural of hand-outline turkeys. When they weren't around, I added an egg at the end with "due to hatch in July" at the end. Each set of grandparents received a mural on Thanksgiving, surprising them and the kids!
I took my first "belly picture" on Christmas Eve. At 10 weeks, and having recently lost 23 pounds, it was just barely popping out.
On Christmas Day, I woke up early and got up to walk the dog. I was a little crampy, but was shocked to see some blood when I went to the bathroom. Instead of walking the dog, I took a shower and told Bill I was spotting. I took it easy all day, and the cramps and spotting eased up. The next day, however, the cramping would get worse when I got up, and last a half hour after being on my feet. Then I realized they were getting closer and harder--labor. I kind of arched my back with one and my water broke. I had no idea that would happen. About ten minutes later, lost my baby. It was perfect-looking, just like pictures I'd seen at that gestation.
We decided to name the baby, to choose a name that would fit either a boy or a girl. Jacob suggested Jesse, which we all agreed on. I think it came to his mind from the movie Toy Story, but it is also a Bible name, and the name of one of my aunts. Our kids have Biblical first names and family middle names (except William).
We buried the baby on New Year's Day. It was a cold, blustery day. The sky was dark gray, snowing lightly off and on. William and Bill struggled to break the cold ground under a tree in our yard. There are lots of roots that close to the surface! I kept thinking how wrong it was for one child to dig a grave for its sibling. We released pink and blue balloons with "Jesse, born too soon December 26, 2006" My dad gave a little eulogy and prayed.
Four years have passed, and I've had another miracle baby, Luke. But the emptiness left from losing Jesse is still there. Oh, it's not as big and it doesn't hurt as badly as at first. Other losses, and other people's losses, as well as this time of year, will cause an ache like picking an unhealed scab.
I am so thankful that God carried me through these four years. He helped me through depression, attacks of the devil, uncertainty, fear...When I thought He had left me to battle alone, I can look back and see how He carried me, just like the Footsteps poem. Although I couldn't feel Him at the time, and often only clung to the faith of others around me, He kept me.
Announced at Thanksgiving
Lost at Christmas
Buried at New Year:s
Conceived in Love
Announced with Joy
Lost with Sadness
Buried with Hope
This entire season hurts. Four years ago we were expecting our sixth child. It was a happy surprise...we thought my womb was closed for good. In fact, when I showed Bill the positive pregnancy test, he said, "I didn't think you had it in you!" lol
My first symptom was nausea. In fact, I wasn't late yet, and tested because I was so nauseous. I figured I was wasting a pregnancy test, but it was one from the dollar store. What a surprise when the line showed up!
We were going to see Bill's and my parents over Thanksgiving, so I had the kids make a mural of hand-outline turkeys. When they weren't around, I added an egg at the end with "due to hatch in July" at the end. Each set of grandparents received a mural on Thanksgiving, surprising them and the kids!
I took my first "belly picture" on Christmas Eve. At 10 weeks, and having recently lost 23 pounds, it was just barely popping out.
On Christmas Day, I woke up early and got up to walk the dog. I was a little crampy, but was shocked to see some blood when I went to the bathroom. Instead of walking the dog, I took a shower and told Bill I was spotting. I took it easy all day, and the cramps and spotting eased up. The next day, however, the cramping would get worse when I got up, and last a half hour after being on my feet. Then I realized they were getting closer and harder--labor. I kind of arched my back with one and my water broke. I had no idea that would happen. About ten minutes later, lost my baby. It was perfect-looking, just like pictures I'd seen at that gestation.
We decided to name the baby, to choose a name that would fit either a boy or a girl. Jacob suggested Jesse, which we all agreed on. I think it came to his mind from the movie Toy Story, but it is also a Bible name, and the name of one of my aunts. Our kids have Biblical first names and family middle names (except William).
We buried the baby on New Year's Day. It was a cold, blustery day. The sky was dark gray, snowing lightly off and on. William and Bill struggled to break the cold ground under a tree in our yard. There are lots of roots that close to the surface! I kept thinking how wrong it was for one child to dig a grave for its sibling. We released pink and blue balloons with "Jesse, born too soon December 26, 2006" My dad gave a little eulogy and prayed.
Four years have passed, and I've had another miracle baby, Luke. But the emptiness left from losing Jesse is still there. Oh, it's not as big and it doesn't hurt as badly as at first. Other losses, and other people's losses, as well as this time of year, will cause an ache like picking an unhealed scab.
I am so thankful that God carried me through these four years. He helped me through depression, attacks of the devil, uncertainty, fear...When I thought He had left me to battle alone, I can look back and see how He carried me, just like the Footsteps poem. Although I couldn't feel Him at the time, and often only clung to the faith of others around me, He kept me.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Chick Days
For years whenever the kids would say they wanted something, I'd reply, "Oh, yeah? Well, I want a house in the country with chickens and a goat. I don't get what I want; you don't get what you want." So, a little over six years ago we moved out of town. The following spring we got our first shipment of chicks to raise. A couple years later we added a milk goat.
I am not a country girl. I am not a farm girl. I never had any kind of livestock growing up. I never had any interaction with livestock growing up. We had a cat my entire youth, and various dogs. (When my mom got sick of the dog, she would give it away while we were in school, thinking we'd never miss the dog.) What made me want to raise my own food? I do not really know. My older sister had chickens, goats, and sheep. Did chasing her goats up a hill through a neighbor's property make me want them? I don't know. And I was pretty afraid of her free-range chickens.
The first time we got chicks, we ordered them from a catalog. They came in the mail, but we had to go to the Post Office to pick them up. While my oldest son and I were gone to collect them, a friend dropped by looking for me. Hannah told her I was getting our new chicks. My friend said, "Oh, did she go to a farm?" Hannah looked at her like she'd lost her mind. "NO, she went to the Post Office!" Who knew you can get chicks from the Post Office?
The last couple of years we've hung around Tractor Supply waiting for Chick Days. (They didn't get them during the big Avian Flu scare, so we had to mail order them.) They don't always know when the shipment will come in, because it depends on the weather. Our spring weather is unpredictable, and they won't ship when it's really cold. I do not prepare in advance for new chicks. The day we bring them home, I am scrambling to get their brooder ready. We keep the cute little balls of fluff in an old playpen in the basement. There is no way on earth I have that thing cleaned, sanitized, and laid out with fresh bedding before chick day. No, I'd much rather be scrubbing the playpen out with bleach, drying it, looking for a feeder, waterer, and heat lamp that works while the boxful of chicks sits on my dining room table, driving my cats crazy with their alluring smell and charming peeping. (Please tell me you hear the sarcasm.)
We take off school on chick day. I seem to do all the work...Teacher In-service Day maybe? The kids enjoy putting the peeps into the fresh, clean playpen, equipped with a removable chicken-wire screen top to keep the curious cats out and the able-to-jump/fly-way-sooner-than-you'd-think chicks in. They dip each little beak into the waterer. I think that's only necessary with shipped chicks, because they are mailed out shortly after hatching and can be dehydrated by the time they arrive. We do it with the TSC chicks anyway...maybe it teaches them where to find water...maybe it just gives the kids the allusion they are "helping" me.
The new chicks should be kept at a little over 90º, dropping 2º each week until they are fully feathered and can be moved outside. Now we have the math/science lesson of placing the heat light at the correct distance so as not to roast or freeze the cuties. There are a couple ways to tell if the temperature suits them, handy if you can't locate a thermometer that's safe to put in the pen. If they all huddle under the light, it's too cold. If they are scattered to the edges of the pen, it's too hot. If their waterer seems to be boiling, it's too hot. ;-) You can also listen to them from upstairs. If there is frequent peeping, varying in magnitude, they are okay. They are in a constant awake-sleep cycle. They sleep until someone steps on them, or decides that little speck-of-something on them might be food and needs a good pecking. When awake, they never stop peeping. Too much or too little sound and it's time to check to see if the heat light burned out or if the waterer has boiled dry
We keep our spring chicks in the basement for about five weeks. By then they are fully feathered and can tolerate outside temperatures. In five weeks, they quickly turn from cute little balls of fluff, to scrawny-necked, scraggly looking creatures who stink to high heavens. My whole house stinks and I apologize to every visitor at the door. (Fortunately it dissipates quickly once they're gone.) They also act viciously hungry at all times. Getting the feeder out and in again is a challenge, fighting off a flock of hungry younguns who think they want out of the pen. They are also terrified of any action from above, and scatter in fright when you drop anything in with them. (An instinct to avoid chicken hawks, I guess.) Chicks will poop on anything, including their feeder, their waterer, each other, and you. The waterer, kept warm by the heat light and filled hourly with wood shavings and poo becomes our family foe. We fight over who has to clean in out. We count down the weeks until they will be out of the house.
One year we kept the chicks out in the garage in a refrigerator box. It was much harder to maintain the temperature, though. While they were out there, Hannah came in the house crying. "I was kissing a chick and my gum got stuck on it." I was busy at the time, and sighing in exasperation. Why was she kissing chicks? How was she kissing it so that her gum got stuck on it? The chick was going to be very unhappy at the degumming process. I'm too busy for this. Before I could go out to deal with the situation, Hannah bounded back into the room all smiles. "Don't worry, one of the other chicks pecked the gum off and ate it!" Lord help me! How good could a wad of gum be for a days old chick? Oh well, it survived.
This year we've let hens hatch some eggs. We've had 4 chicks survive. It is so nice to let the Mama Hen do the work! She keeps them at the perfect temperature. She makes sure they find food and water. If they get stinky, she deals with it in her house, not mine!
I am not a country girl. I am not a farm girl. I never had any kind of livestock growing up. I never had any interaction with livestock growing up. We had a cat my entire youth, and various dogs. (When my mom got sick of the dog, she would give it away while we were in school, thinking we'd never miss the dog.) What made me want to raise my own food? I do not really know. My older sister had chickens, goats, and sheep. Did chasing her goats up a hill through a neighbor's property make me want them? I don't know. And I was pretty afraid of her free-range chickens.
The first time we got chicks, we ordered them from a catalog. They came in the mail, but we had to go to the Post Office to pick them up. While my oldest son and I were gone to collect them, a friend dropped by looking for me. Hannah told her I was getting our new chicks. My friend said, "Oh, did she go to a farm?" Hannah looked at her like she'd lost her mind. "NO, she went to the Post Office!" Who knew you can get chicks from the Post Office?
The last couple of years we've hung around Tractor Supply waiting for Chick Days. (They didn't get them during the big Avian Flu scare, so we had to mail order them.) They don't always know when the shipment will come in, because it depends on the weather. Our spring weather is unpredictable, and they won't ship when it's really cold. I do not prepare in advance for new chicks. The day we bring them home, I am scrambling to get their brooder ready. We keep the cute little balls of fluff in an old playpen in the basement. There is no way on earth I have that thing cleaned, sanitized, and laid out with fresh bedding before chick day. No, I'd much rather be scrubbing the playpen out with bleach, drying it, looking for a feeder, waterer, and heat lamp that works while the boxful of chicks sits on my dining room table, driving my cats crazy with their alluring smell and charming peeping. (Please tell me you hear the sarcasm.)
We take off school on chick day. I seem to do all the work...Teacher In-service Day maybe? The kids enjoy putting the peeps into the fresh, clean playpen, equipped with a removable chicken-wire screen top to keep the curious cats out and the able-to-jump/fly-way-sooner-than-you'd-think chicks in. They dip each little beak into the waterer. I think that's only necessary with shipped chicks, because they are mailed out shortly after hatching and can be dehydrated by the time they arrive. We do it with the TSC chicks anyway...maybe it teaches them where to find water...maybe it just gives the kids the allusion they are "helping" me.
The new chicks should be kept at a little over 90º, dropping 2º each week until they are fully feathered and can be moved outside. Now we have the math/science lesson of placing the heat light at the correct distance so as not to roast or freeze the cuties. There are a couple ways to tell if the temperature suits them, handy if you can't locate a thermometer that's safe to put in the pen. If they all huddle under the light, it's too cold. If they are scattered to the edges of the pen, it's too hot. If their waterer seems to be boiling, it's too hot. ;-) You can also listen to them from upstairs. If there is frequent peeping, varying in magnitude, they are okay. They are in a constant awake-sleep cycle. They sleep until someone steps on them, or decides that little speck-of-something on them might be food and needs a good pecking. When awake, they never stop peeping. Too much or too little sound and it's time to check to see if the heat light burned out or if the waterer has boiled dry
We keep our spring chicks in the basement for about five weeks. By then they are fully feathered and can tolerate outside temperatures. In five weeks, they quickly turn from cute little balls of fluff, to scrawny-necked, scraggly looking creatures who stink to high heavens. My whole house stinks and I apologize to every visitor at the door. (Fortunately it dissipates quickly once they're gone.) They also act viciously hungry at all times. Getting the feeder out and in again is a challenge, fighting off a flock of hungry younguns who think they want out of the pen. They are also terrified of any action from above, and scatter in fright when you drop anything in with them. (An instinct to avoid chicken hawks, I guess.) Chicks will poop on anything, including their feeder, their waterer, each other, and you. The waterer, kept warm by the heat light and filled hourly with wood shavings and poo becomes our family foe. We fight over who has to clean in out. We count down the weeks until they will be out of the house.
One year we kept the chicks out in the garage in a refrigerator box. It was much harder to maintain the temperature, though. While they were out there, Hannah came in the house crying. "I was kissing a chick and my gum got stuck on it." I was busy at the time, and sighing in exasperation. Why was she kissing chicks? How was she kissing it so that her gum got stuck on it? The chick was going to be very unhappy at the degumming process. I'm too busy for this. Before I could go out to deal with the situation, Hannah bounded back into the room all smiles. "Don't worry, one of the other chicks pecked the gum off and ate it!" Lord help me! How good could a wad of gum be for a days old chick? Oh well, it survived.
This year we've let hens hatch some eggs. We've had 4 chicks survive. It is so nice to let the Mama Hen do the work! She keeps them at the perfect temperature. She makes sure they find food and water. If they get stinky, she deals with it in her house, not mine!
Friday, November 12, 2010
Laundry
Laundry is like a sleeping giant you know is in your basement. You tend to it when you have to, then try to pretend it isn't there the rest of the time.
I like doing laundry, for the most part. I get that from my mother. I love going through the motions: sorting, filling the washer, hanging clothes on the line. Few people (read: children) follow me to the bowels of the house to the laundry room. It is a peaceful process. It is fortunate I like laundry; eight people make a LOT of dirty clothes.
However, I do not like hauling clothes up and down stairs. My clothes line is clear across the yard--more hauling. I tolerate folding clothes, but hate putting them away. And I hate talking my family members into putting their clothes away, too.
So, there's my feelings on the matter. Now to dive into the matter I find in my laundry.
One of the grossest things I've found in the washer was a worm. It may have been alive when it went into the washer, but it was very dead when I found it. Who had a worm in their pocket?! Sarah tried to keep worms in a cardboard jewelry box last summer. I opened the box to find several dried worms. When I told her that worms can't live in boxes because they need water, she got ready to water the dead worms. "No, sweetie, you will just make dead worm soup."
More than once, because we have laying hens, a smashed egg-in-a-pocket has gone through the wash. Carrying eggs in your pockets is a dangerous thing. Carrying eggs any way is a dangerous thing. You bend over and they fall out of your pocket. You drop the second egg into your pocket just a little too hard. You forget the eggs are there and whack the side of your coat with...anything. When you hear that sound, your brain begins processing, trying to figure out just where it's heard that before. It almost sounds like a muffled...breaking...egg...ah, nuts!! I forgot I put that in there! Maybe your sweet daughter smashes the egg in her pocket, doesn't tell you, and drops the coat in the laundry (that alone should make you suspicious). Egg shells are difficult to get out of the bottom of the washer!! Trust me on this...I did it today.
Pens, crayons, markers: the evil enemies of laundry. How many clothes have been ruined by this terrible trio? I washed a load of new white dress shirts and two new blouses, only to take them out of the dryer streaked with purply-blue. Nothing, nothing, nothing would take all of it out. It was horrible, heart-breaking. Why can't blue crayons and pens go through the laundry with a load of jeans? Well, it has happened, but the effects are so much less depressing.
Now we swing into sweets. Suckers, mints, gum, mini candy bars. Often I take empty wrappers out of the dryer, hoping they were empty when they went in. Sometimes the candy comes out still in the package and mostly intact. Sometimes the clothes need rewashed to get the dryer-melted stickiness out. If I have personally washed chocolate, I have blocked that memory. How awful to waste chocolate...what a potential mess!
Probably once a month I find a tube of lip gloss in the wash. I keep one in my pocket all the times to ward off chapped lips (and to look alluringly kissable to my prince charming). Sometimes they make it through the laundry just fine, although I've had tubes misshaped by the heat of the dryer. Lip balm and lipstick don't always make it out alive. There's nothing like noticing dark spots on the dried clothes, searching the dryer and finding an empty tube. Now to treat each stain and rewash the load. Oh, and wasn't that my favorite color/flavor?
I have not had the misfortune of washing electronics. I know people who have, though. My mother was helping my sister's family out by doing their laundry. I believe she found a cell phone and an ipod thoroughly cleaned, but no longer functioning. In fact, I think it happened more than once. Ouch.
The moral of the story: Check pockets, and hope there are no worms in one!
I like doing laundry, for the most part. I get that from my mother. I love going through the motions: sorting, filling the washer, hanging clothes on the line. Few people (read: children) follow me to the bowels of the house to the laundry room. It is a peaceful process. It is fortunate I like laundry; eight people make a LOT of dirty clothes.
However, I do not like hauling clothes up and down stairs. My clothes line is clear across the yard--more hauling. I tolerate folding clothes, but hate putting them away. And I hate talking my family members into putting their clothes away, too.
So, there's my feelings on the matter. Now to dive into the matter I find in my laundry.
One of the grossest things I've found in the washer was a worm. It may have been alive when it went into the washer, but it was very dead when I found it. Who had a worm in their pocket?! Sarah tried to keep worms in a cardboard jewelry box last summer. I opened the box to find several dried worms. When I told her that worms can't live in boxes because they need water, she got ready to water the dead worms. "No, sweetie, you will just make dead worm soup."
More than once, because we have laying hens, a smashed egg-in-a-pocket has gone through the wash. Carrying eggs in your pockets is a dangerous thing. Carrying eggs any way is a dangerous thing. You bend over and they fall out of your pocket. You drop the second egg into your pocket just a little too hard. You forget the eggs are there and whack the side of your coat with...anything. When you hear that sound, your brain begins processing, trying to figure out just where it's heard that before. It almost sounds like a muffled...breaking...egg...ah, nuts!! I forgot I put that in there! Maybe your sweet daughter smashes the egg in her pocket, doesn't tell you, and drops the coat in the laundry (that alone should make you suspicious). Egg shells are difficult to get out of the bottom of the washer!! Trust me on this...I did it today.
Pens, crayons, markers: the evil enemies of laundry. How many clothes have been ruined by this terrible trio? I washed a load of new white dress shirts and two new blouses, only to take them out of the dryer streaked with purply-blue. Nothing, nothing, nothing would take all of it out. It was horrible, heart-breaking. Why can't blue crayons and pens go through the laundry with a load of jeans? Well, it has happened, but the effects are so much less depressing.
Now we swing into sweets. Suckers, mints, gum, mini candy bars. Often I take empty wrappers out of the dryer, hoping they were empty when they went in. Sometimes the candy comes out still in the package and mostly intact. Sometimes the clothes need rewashed to get the dryer-melted stickiness out. If I have personally washed chocolate, I have blocked that memory. How awful to waste chocolate...what a potential mess!
Probably once a month I find a tube of lip gloss in the wash. I keep one in my pocket all the times to ward off chapped lips (and to look alluringly kissable to my prince charming). Sometimes they make it through the laundry just fine, although I've had tubes misshaped by the heat of the dryer. Lip balm and lipstick don't always make it out alive. There's nothing like noticing dark spots on the dried clothes, searching the dryer and finding an empty tube. Now to treat each stain and rewash the load. Oh, and wasn't that my favorite color/flavor?
I have not had the misfortune of washing electronics. I know people who have, though. My mother was helping my sister's family out by doing their laundry. I believe she found a cell phone and an ipod thoroughly cleaned, but no longer functioning. In fact, I think it happened more than once. Ouch.
The moral of the story: Check pockets, and hope there are no worms in one!
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Multiplication
No, this isn't about a math lesson. And no, we aren't expecting a new baby (even if anyone was hoping for a New Orleans Surprise.)
Last weekend we were facing a financial crisis. We were going to "make it," but it was going to be rough. What can you do but pray, and ask your friends and loved ones to pray with you?
On Sunday morning, I was going to tithe on the $8 or $9 I had in my wallet--all I had for what could be more than a week. I had three ones in my hand, waiting for the offering plate. God said, "Put in the five dollar bill." I replied that $3 of $8 was more than a tithe, and I may need that $5. "Put in the five." It went back and forth until I was literally squirming in my seat! If you start squirming in your seat, you'd better just obey!! The three ones went back in my purse, and the five went in the offering plate, with a prayer for multiplication.
At the end of service, I sold some eggs and the five was replaced. Wow, God, that was fast. That was the beginning. The situation we feared was resolved on Tuesday, only a day later than "should have been." In the following days, Bill picked up enough extra work to multiply that $5 eighty times! Then, someone who couldn't afford it, sent us $20. That five was replaced and multiplied over eighty-four times!
Would everything have worked out if I had just put in the three dollars instead of the five? I don't know. I do know that just as I reward my children for their obedience, God rewards His children for their obedience. This is a lesson He's been showing me over and over in the last year. Little by little I'm learning to obey faster and faster.
Last weekend we were facing a financial crisis. We were going to "make it," but it was going to be rough. What can you do but pray, and ask your friends and loved ones to pray with you?
On Sunday morning, I was going to tithe on the $8 or $9 I had in my wallet--all I had for what could be more than a week. I had three ones in my hand, waiting for the offering plate. God said, "Put in the five dollar bill." I replied that $3 of $8 was more than a tithe, and I may need that $5. "Put in the five." It went back and forth until I was literally squirming in my seat! If you start squirming in your seat, you'd better just obey!! The three ones went back in my purse, and the five went in the offering plate, with a prayer for multiplication.
At the end of service, I sold some eggs and the five was replaced. Wow, God, that was fast. That was the beginning. The situation we feared was resolved on Tuesday, only a day later than "should have been." In the following days, Bill picked up enough extra work to multiply that $5 eighty times! Then, someone who couldn't afford it, sent us $20. That five was replaced and multiplied over eighty-four times!
Would everything have worked out if I had just put in the three dollars instead of the five? I don't know. I do know that just as I reward my children for their obedience, God rewards His children for their obedience. This is a lesson He's been showing me over and over in the last year. Little by little I'm learning to obey faster and faster.
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