One afternoon while shopping for a winter coat for Liam at Old Navy, a woman approached the boys and me. Normally, when a stranger approaches you, they say "Oh, your kid(s) are cute," or "You dropped something," or "Where did you get that whatever you got?" or they ask your for directions or time or at the very least, simply say hello.

This woman walked up to me with her nose in the air her eyes squinched, as though she followed our scent.

"Why aren't they in school?" she asked tersely. I steeled myself against what I anticipated would be her criticism and said a little prayer, something along the lines of "OHDEARGODSHUTMY MOUTH, KEEP IT CLOSED DON'T LET ME TALK" because if provoked, I will go all Julia Sugarbaker on someone.

I took a deep breath and asked "Who are you?"

The woman blinked and repeated her question: "WHY aren't they in school?"

"They are homeschooled," I said, overenunciating the last word and speaking loudly as though she were hard of hearing.

The woman rolled her eyes and sighed "Ohhh" before trouncing off.

I had visions of running up behind her and jerking her hair hard enough to cause her head to snap back and her jaws to clap and break her giant horseteeth. Which wouldn't be very nice and possibly illegal but I totally thought it and I'm not sorry. Instead, I turned to the boys and loudly said: "Boys, that woman was rude. When we approach people with a question, what do we say?"

"EXCUSE ME," they replied in unison.

As we made our way to the checkout, Liam raised one eyebrow and gave me a sly grin.

"You're funny, Mom," he said.

So remember that, Joy Behar, the next time you decide to expel a bunch of bigoted nonsense into perfectly good air (around 7:08):
 
Homeschoolers put their pants on one leg at a time - just like you do, Joy. Except, when our pants are on, we kick your bass in test scores, community service, and manners in general.

This is what homeschooling looks like.  

I reviewed "Twilight" (I'll plug my ears so you can girl shriek) over at Mamapop. Go forth and read because omg.

When we returned Liam was a fountain of vomit. It was a long evening. Today I'm watching him and feeding him crackers and bread as though he were a pigeon.

I also finished my stepdad's birthday scarf, the gift for the man who hoards the giftcards you get him and and pretends to like that shirt you got him for Christmas three years ago - the one he never wears and is at the bottom of is drawer (so Mom tells you) because he's too afraid to hurt you feelings by taking it back. So, just, gawd, I made it easy on him and knitted it out of a cotton and wool blend so he can wash it because he's ever heard of Woolite. But he can grill a mean porksteak, so hey. Here it is and here's me wearing it because after I finished it I wanted it.
 


Click to enlarge the photos and for further description.

Bulk stores fascinate me endlessly. Sundays after church we sometimes stop by Sam's to pick up a few things we need in bulk. I've made this argument before: why buy a box of 24 tampons when you can buy a box with a large enough quantity to outfit a small Midwestern town?

We eat lots of raisins, yogurt, and fruit, and can easily go through a massive batch of it in a week, so we get those things at Sam's. I also love how I have the option of purchasing a faux-fireplace, deer blinds, and economy size bottles of Frank's Red Hot Sauce. Going to Sam's is our version of going to the amusement park. It's free and they give you free food in the form of samples offered by the Sample Ladies scattered all throughout the store.

One afternoon while I was at a baby shower, Chris took the boys to Sam's to get gas and buy toilet paper. They spent the next hour wandering around the store, trying different samples of food, and basically made a lunch out of it. They took video of themselves on Chris's Centro and sent it to me. They do this so often that they are now recognized by the Sample Ladies, as I learned during Sunday's trip.

"Oh, hi, W," Liam said to an elderly woman in an apron and hairnet who was offering samples of some sort of Hot Pocket.

"Hello Liam," she replied. "Care to try?"

"Is it the same thing you had last time?"

"No, that was the pot pie. This is different."

"Oh, okay. Yes please."

Sometimes Sam's even has entertainment, as with the nice older gentleman with a belly laugh who did a quasi-Pirelli and gave a presentation on steel knives next to the spice aisle. Cris and Liam stood identically with their arms crossed and watched with the small crowd.

This past Sunday also marks the first time any of us has ever purchased an item of clothing at the retailer. They always have clothes splayed out on tables in the middle of the warehouse; it reminds me of the bazaars in the Bahamas. Chris, who believes it's fashionable to buck the dictates of fashion, owns only two pairs of jeans (and three pairs of pants total, including his dress slacks). One pair has given out and he needed to replace them. He was drawn by the rainbow of washes and brand names on the table, and spent a good 20 minutes searching for his size.

"You know," he said to me over a pair of faded Calvin Kleins, "I think it's really cool that I can get my jeans where I get my food but at the same time it also freaks me out to buy jeans where I get my food."

"I understand that. It would be hard to be the master of everything."

We paid for our purchases and I again got all flustered because I always feel like I'm being judged when I lay my life-in-products out on the conveyor belt. From this week's haul it looks like all we do is eat yogurt, fruit, menstruate, and like $20 Calvins. The guy behind us had two boxes: one diapers, the other was a knife set from the Pirelli man. Make your own assumptions.

As we loaded up our vehicle with our mass quantities I looked around and saw other families doing the same, loading up purchases fit for a bunker. We drove home feeling very American.

(This isn't a sponsored post, just so you know. I'm emphatically opposed to those. I simply dig the store.)

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I've gotten a lot of email about the Motrin situation and the title of my website; we're aware of it, no, it wasn't sanctioned and I'm not affiliated with them, and yes, as someone who wore both of her children, I found it pretty inconsiderate - even more so concerning what they chose to call their campaign.

While the headlines threaten to drive me to drink, while the children are bored because it's rainy and cold (and I'm still too snotty and cough-y to take them anywhere) I force myself to focus on things that make me happy, like these three:


This chair sits in the corner of our bedroom, dwarfed by the high ceilings and moulding. It's a hand-me-down (or secondhand, like most of the things in my house, I feel it more prudent, generally and financially, to rescue things from landfills rather than buy new) from Chris's mother, painted cream with a needle-point seat made by an aunt or some aunt's mother-in-law, or someone in the family. It's a runt, all by itself, and it sits in our rather sparse, all-white bedroom, the only room in the house that the boys are not allowed to trash with toys. They don't make furniture like this anymore; people rarely have the time to sit aroud and needle-point seat covers. Things like this remind me that Back Then, people did have the time to make the extra effort, or maybe details like that were just more important all those years ago. There's something about it that I find appealing.  
 
 


Sweet jeebus I love this skirt, almost as much as this one. It's vintage, a square-dancing skirt, made by a company called Partner Please which was based in San Francisco. Ewan says I have "nice legs!"

Speaking of which ...
 

These guys. Taken during a trip to the circus, the photos from which I'm preparing to upload. They're wearing hair in the likeness of circus' star, Bello. I won't mention the protesters outside, one of which was dressed like a grim reaper with fake animal carcasses hanging off its belt (for the kids, you know. "My grim is better," Ewan had said) because then I'd have to explain how one of them approached us and tried to hand me literature and I politely refused it but they rolled their eyes at me and I shot back that I was saving trees. I abhor the wasting of our precious and finite resources. Crap. Positive! POSITIVE.