©2009 by Angie Ruark
Laundry piles up everywhere in my house. I really don’t know how in the world we generate the amount of laundry that we do, but it keeps appearing day by day. I am starting to consider the possibility that it is multiplying on its own somehow. One night, I thought about sneaking around to check the piles to try and catch it breeding, but I was too tired from folding clothes. Maybe that is its strategy! At this rate, I will never be able to sneak up on it and catch it growing.
I do a little every day, but it's like trying to move a mountain using a spoon. Once in a while I resort to throwing some of the dirty laundry away so I don’t have to wash it. My reasoning is that if I have been able to live the past month (or two) without that shirt, maybe I don’t really need it. It’s kind of a good strategy I think. Maybe I could take it one step further and buy inexpensive clothes every week and just throw them away when I’m done wearing them. This could revolutionize everything! Disposable clothes. Think of all the energy we would save by not using the washer and dryer. Think of the money we would save on water and detergent (not to mention time!) We could make them out of cotton. They would be biodegradable. It would boost the economy because the cotton industry would flourish. Grocery stores could sell them in the paper towel section. This would also solve my sock problem. I have already resorted to buying socks weekly so we have matching pairs once or twice a week. My youngest son claims he has never had a matching pair that he can remember (he is thirteen, so that is sad!) I just bought a pack of ten socks and as soon as we got home, my thirteen-year-old grabbed them all and wrote giant J’s on them in sharpie to claim them. I don’t blame him. Not only does he want matching pairs, but he also says he wants socks that aren’t “crispy.” Or permanently charcoal gray when they should be white.
Disposable clothes would also cut down on stress, thus they would have important health benefits. Nothing gets my heart rate pumping from stress like the question: “Honey, do I have any clean socks I can wear to work today?” Notice the word 'matching' is absent from this question. We know in our house not to even consider something like that! Also, disposable clothes would cut down on the amount of socks that disappear into the Land of Enchantment (at least that is what we call it in our house- the place where socks go after you put them in the washing machine.) Another important stress-relieving benefit of disposable clothes would be that I would never have clothes that have become too small from me working my butt on.* Also, I could enjoy shopping each week for new outfits guilt free. The more I think about this the more I see how important an invention like disposable clothes is. As a matter of fact, I can't see why no one has done this yet! Forget the light bulb or telephone! Disposable clothes will be the invention that will revolutionize the whole world, save the economy, the environment, and peoples' sanity!
*See my blogpost “I've Worked My Butt On!”
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Happy Mother's Day !!!
In honor of Mother's Day, I wanted to share this song
that I wrote for my children. It's about life and love!
Enjoy!!
This is my first attempt at making a video on my computer! Next time,
my youngest son is going to do it!!! :) He's a pro!
Please leave a comment or email me at angie.ruark@live.com!
that I wrote for my children. It's about life and love!
Enjoy!!
This is my first attempt at making a video on my computer! Next time,
my youngest son is going to do it!!! :) He's a pro!
Please leave a comment or email me at angie.ruark@live.com!
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Why Tom Cat Does NOT Like Pizza
This is an excerpt from my children's book. I would love to hear your comments on this so please give me your feedback! I am currently working on book number two in this series: Tom Cat Goes to School but NOT on Purpose. These books are meant to entertain and teach an important life lesson at the same time through humor.
By Angie Ruark ©2009
Every other Friday evening, Joshua’s family ordered pizza for dinner. They ordered the same thing each time: a large mushroom and hot pepper pizza for Mom and Dad, and a large extra-cheese pizza for Joshua and his little sister, Katie. Tom Cat (who was really just a kitten) got a treat on pizza nights, too. He got a can of tuna. But he never felt quite satisfied with “just tuna.” The delicious aroma of the pizza would make Tom Cat stop and sniff the air and twitch his whiskers. He had never tasted pizza before, not because he didn’t want to taste it, he just never had the chance.
Until today.
Want to find out what happens? Contact me!
By Angie Ruark ©2009
Every other Friday evening, Joshua’s family ordered pizza for dinner. They ordered the same thing each time: a large mushroom and hot pepper pizza for Mom and Dad, and a large extra-cheese pizza for Joshua and his little sister, Katie. Tom Cat (who was really just a kitten) got a treat on pizza nights, too. He got a can of tuna. But he never felt quite satisfied with “just tuna.” The delicious aroma of the pizza would make Tom Cat stop and sniff the air and twitch his whiskers. He had never tasted pizza before, not because he didn’t want to taste it, he just never had the chance.
Until today.
Want to find out what happens? Contact me!
Thursday, April 30, 2009
"Oh That Must be His Mom"
©2009 Angie Ruark
Did your mom ever drive you to school in her bathrobe, wearing bright orange socks with dress shoes? Did she ever tell a story about you to a bunch of people that she thought was cute and you thought was mortifying? How about pulling out the ol’ baby pictures for company, or worse, like someone you were dating? Why do moms do these things? Why do they yell at the top of their lungs at soccer games, football games, volleyball games, and every other kind of event their kids are in? Why do they insist on driving to some stranger’s house to take your picture before the big dance? Why do they want a kiss or hug before they drop you off at school (or work!) in front of everyone? How come they want to know all the details about your day as soon as they see you? How come they nag you about brushing your teeth, combing your hair, and wearing clean underwear? How come they stay up late doing your laundry or typing your paper the night before it’s due? What makes them go to the store for the fifth time that day to get another bag of popsicle sticks so you can finish your project by tomorrow?
The answer is simple: they can’t help it. It’s built-in mom behavior. Like it or not, that’s the way it is. I know it first hand now from both sides of the fence because I have a mom and I am a mom. And yes, I have driven my boys to school looking pretty scary on occasion-orange socks and all (with the added bonus of a promise to come in to their class and get my hug but only AFTER I have serenaded them in front of everyone, which, by the way, works every time.) But that is because my boys know that I would do it. These kinds of things just come naturally to moms.
It’s like this mom-stinct takes over and you MUST stand up and wave to your child who is on stage right in the middle of the song and take twenty pictures in a row, then cry about how proud you are. Other people know and understand this. They say, “Oh, that must be his mom.” You can always spot me at any of my children’s events. I stand out like a….. like a mom at her kid’s event! One time, my oldest son had the lead part in a play. I was very well behaved during the whole thing. I didn’t hoot and holler when he came out on stage, I didn’t stand up and cheer, I just watched and enjoyed. But the mom behavior stood out anyway because after the show, a lady walked up to me and said, “That was your son wasn’t it?”
I said (with incredible mom-pride, yet feigning objectivity,) “How did you know?”
The lady laughed and said, “I saw your face while you were watching him.”
So you see? Moms just can’t help it. And I am this way with all three of my sons. I look at them and my heart just overflows with love, pride, and joy. Yep, it’s true. Call it cheesy, call it sentimental, call it mushy-gushy mom stuff, but it is true. And I do not apologize for any outlandish mom-stinct behavior I exhibit. I don’t have to. People will just look at me and understand. They will say, “Oh, that must be his mom!”
Did your mom ever drive you to school in her bathrobe, wearing bright orange socks with dress shoes? Did she ever tell a story about you to a bunch of people that she thought was cute and you thought was mortifying? How about pulling out the ol’ baby pictures for company, or worse, like someone you were dating? Why do moms do these things? Why do they yell at the top of their lungs at soccer games, football games, volleyball games, and every other kind of event their kids are in? Why do they insist on driving to some stranger’s house to take your picture before the big dance? Why do they want a kiss or hug before they drop you off at school (or work!) in front of everyone? How come they want to know all the details about your day as soon as they see you? How come they nag you about brushing your teeth, combing your hair, and wearing clean underwear? How come they stay up late doing your laundry or typing your paper the night before it’s due? What makes them go to the store for the fifth time that day to get another bag of popsicle sticks so you can finish your project by tomorrow?
The answer is simple: they can’t help it. It’s built-in mom behavior. Like it or not, that’s the way it is. I know it first hand now from both sides of the fence because I have a mom and I am a mom. And yes, I have driven my boys to school looking pretty scary on occasion-orange socks and all (with the added bonus of a promise to come in to their class and get my hug but only AFTER I have serenaded them in front of everyone, which, by the way, works every time.) But that is because my boys know that I would do it. These kinds of things just come naturally to moms.
It’s like this mom-stinct takes over and you MUST stand up and wave to your child who is on stage right in the middle of the song and take twenty pictures in a row, then cry about how proud you are. Other people know and understand this. They say, “Oh, that must be his mom.” You can always spot me at any of my children’s events. I stand out like a….. like a mom at her kid’s event! One time, my oldest son had the lead part in a play. I was very well behaved during the whole thing. I didn’t hoot and holler when he came out on stage, I didn’t stand up and cheer, I just watched and enjoyed. But the mom behavior stood out anyway because after the show, a lady walked up to me and said, “That was your son wasn’t it?”
I said (with incredible mom-pride, yet feigning objectivity,) “How did you know?”
The lady laughed and said, “I saw your face while you were watching him.”
So you see? Moms just can’t help it. And I am this way with all three of my sons. I look at them and my heart just overflows with love, pride, and joy. Yep, it’s true. Call it cheesy, call it sentimental, call it mushy-gushy mom stuff, but it is true. And I do not apologize for any outlandish mom-stinct behavior I exhibit. I don’t have to. People will just look at me and understand. They will say, “Oh, that must be his mom!”
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Sunday, April 5, 2009
The Battle Begins
©2009 by Angie Ruark
The other morning I looked in the mirror. What I saw brought a line from a poem to mind by Dylan Thomas: “Do not go gentle into that good night.” I had never even read the entire poem before, I just remembered that line. It has to do with fighting against death and not succumbing or giving up, even when it is inevitable. This noble attitude can now perfectly describe me. I’m not dying but the battle is none the less significant and worthy. This conflict in which I am now engaged is one, like death, we all must face. It takes fortitude, stamina, and wit to continually combat this common enemy. I have joined the countless other brave souls who are currently engaging this relentless foe. “Onward! Onward! Defeat is not an option!” is our battle cry. We will attack from all sides night or day. We will not give up or give in. If one of us does eventually succumb, it will not be without a fight! We will not go gently into that good night!
Ok, so now you are probably wondering what it is I am fighting against. I’ll tell you. When I looked in the mirror, I noticed there was something shiny on the top of my head. It caught the light and sparkled a little when I moved my head. I leaned in closer to get a better look (because I can’t see that far without my glasses on.) What I saw took my breath away. There, in all its lone glory, was a shiny, sparkly, white hair. It stood out so perfectly against the backdrop of my brown hair. I immediately called my husband at work and told him I needed to talk to him right away.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” he asked, with a hint of worry in his voice.
“I have a gray hair on top of my head,” I bemoaned. My husband (who already has some gray) broke into laughter with relief that it wasn’t something actually serious. Except it was! “The date is April 2nd, 2009 and I have my first gray hair,” I complained.
My husband was so sweet, he first wanted to know if it was coming from the side of my head, the back or the top. I told him the top. He clacked away on his keyboard and found some information somewhere that said if it is growing out of the top of the head, then it is not a true gray hair. It could be caused by a clogged follicle. Yes! I latched onto that one immediately! That’s all it was! A clogged follicle! I had been trying to use up a bottle of cheap shampoo, so that must have caused it! Ahhh. What a relief. Except now the vigilance begins. I will be like a sentry on the watch for invading forces. When spotted I will sound the alarm! Then I will run to the store, get a box of hair color, and color my hair.
I’m not going gently! I’m going to fight!
The other morning I looked in the mirror. What I saw brought a line from a poem to mind by Dylan Thomas: “Do not go gentle into that good night.” I had never even read the entire poem before, I just remembered that line. It has to do with fighting against death and not succumbing or giving up, even when it is inevitable. This noble attitude can now perfectly describe me. I’m not dying but the battle is none the less significant and worthy. This conflict in which I am now engaged is one, like death, we all must face. It takes fortitude, stamina, and wit to continually combat this common enemy. I have joined the countless other brave souls who are currently engaging this relentless foe. “Onward! Onward! Defeat is not an option!” is our battle cry. We will attack from all sides night or day. We will not give up or give in. If one of us does eventually succumb, it will not be without a fight! We will not go gently into that good night!
Ok, so now you are probably wondering what it is I am fighting against. I’ll tell you. When I looked in the mirror, I noticed there was something shiny on the top of my head. It caught the light and sparkled a little when I moved my head. I leaned in closer to get a better look (because I can’t see that far without my glasses on.) What I saw took my breath away. There, in all its lone glory, was a shiny, sparkly, white hair. It stood out so perfectly against the backdrop of my brown hair. I immediately called my husband at work and told him I needed to talk to him right away.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” he asked, with a hint of worry in his voice.
“I have a gray hair on top of my head,” I bemoaned. My husband (who already has some gray) broke into laughter with relief that it wasn’t something actually serious. Except it was! “The date is April 2nd, 2009 and I have my first gray hair,” I complained.
My husband was so sweet, he first wanted to know if it was coming from the side of my head, the back or the top. I told him the top. He clacked away on his keyboard and found some information somewhere that said if it is growing out of the top of the head, then it is not a true gray hair. It could be caused by a clogged follicle. Yes! I latched onto that one immediately! That’s all it was! A clogged follicle! I had been trying to use up a bottle of cheap shampoo, so that must have caused it! Ahhh. What a relief. Except now the vigilance begins. I will be like a sentry on the watch for invading forces. When spotted I will sound the alarm! Then I will run to the store, get a box of hair color, and color my hair.
I’m not going gently! I’m going to fight!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
I Can't
© 2009 by Angie Ruark
Every family has its rules. One of our family’s rules was set by my husband and I will be eternally grateful to him for it. It’s simple, yet profound. By being bound by this rule, you actually are granted freedom. The rule is this: never say “I can’t.” This does not have to do with whether or not we are free to go to the movies on Saturday, but rather with what we are capable of doing in life. For example, our oldest son, Matthew, was born pretty much legally blind. He sat up and walked a little later than babies do as a rule because of this. One day, when Matthew was about nine years old, we were told in front of Matthew by his ophthalmologist, “Matthew will never play sports, especially baseball.” That was all we needed to hear. The very next day, we signed him up for baseball. He hit a homerun his first time at bat. Now he is nearly seventeen years old, has piloted an airplane, is a pro-marksman with the National Rifle Association, an all-state linebacker, all-district running back, captain of his state championship football team, and now attends a prestigious college-preparatory school. Matthew speaks at youth events to share his story.
I love to share Matthew’s story because it is so inspiring. You see, even though someone else said “he couldn’t” Matthew did not say it and neither did we. This attitude has spilled over into other areas of his life. It has become such a way of life now that Matthew and his younger brothers don’t put limits on what they can achieve. Neither do I. Neither does my husband. We refuse to let the world label us, categorize us, rank us, or put us in a box or a mold.
Most people go through life being told what they can’t do. They accept the limits the world and other “well-intentioned” people place on them. Even worse, they put limits on themselves. I believe that this is the opposite of the way we were meant to live. How does someone else know what you are capable of? How do you know? Don’t you want to find out?
We were created with passion. I believe we were meant to live that way too.
“Behold I set before you an open door.” --- Revelation 3:8
Every family has its rules. One of our family’s rules was set by my husband and I will be eternally grateful to him for it. It’s simple, yet profound. By being bound by this rule, you actually are granted freedom. The rule is this: never say “I can’t.” This does not have to do with whether or not we are free to go to the movies on Saturday, but rather with what we are capable of doing in life. For example, our oldest son, Matthew, was born pretty much legally blind. He sat up and walked a little later than babies do as a rule because of this. One day, when Matthew was about nine years old, we were told in front of Matthew by his ophthalmologist, “Matthew will never play sports, especially baseball.” That was all we needed to hear. The very next day, we signed him up for baseball. He hit a homerun his first time at bat. Now he is nearly seventeen years old, has piloted an airplane, is a pro-marksman with the National Rifle Association, an all-state linebacker, all-district running back, captain of his state championship football team, and now attends a prestigious college-preparatory school. Matthew speaks at youth events to share his story.
I love to share Matthew’s story because it is so inspiring. You see, even though someone else said “he couldn’t” Matthew did not say it and neither did we. This attitude has spilled over into other areas of his life. It has become such a way of life now that Matthew and his younger brothers don’t put limits on what they can achieve. Neither do I. Neither does my husband. We refuse to let the world label us, categorize us, rank us, or put us in a box or a mold.
Most people go through life being told what they can’t do. They accept the limits the world and other “well-intentioned” people place on them. Even worse, they put limits on themselves. I believe that this is the opposite of the way we were meant to live. How does someone else know what you are capable of? How do you know? Don’t you want to find out?
We were created with passion. I believe we were meant to live that way too.
“Behold I set before you an open door.” --- Revelation 3:8
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Death and Taxes, Dishes and Laundry
©2009 by Angie Ruark
My dad used to tell me that “the only things that are certain in life are death and taxes.” I respectfully and lovingly disagree with my dad’s statement. We have recently seen just how uncertain paying taxes can be- some people get away with not paying them at all! But that’s not what this article is about. Most of you reading this will probably agree with me that we could update my dad’s saying by changing death and taxes to dishes and laundry. Until someone invents disposable clothes (see my post “A Plea for an Invention”) we are faced with the inevitable burdens of dishes and laundry. Every day. Rain or shine. Hot or cold. Summer or winter, spring or fall, come what may, we have dishes and laundry! Even on vacation there is no escape! Even if you eat at restaurants the whole time, you still have laundry!! How about the cooler in the car “to save some money on eating out?” Ugh! That’s just one big dishes item to deal with when you get home and are exhausted and it smells like bologna sandwiches. Forget it!
I used to take a little pride in my housekeeping (when I was a stay at home mom and could actually stay at home, which, by the way, did not last long.) With sincere conviction I used to say, “I will never pay someone to clean my house. I will always take care of it myself.” Ha! What a joke! I am certainly singing a different song now! Funny how a few years have a way of completely reversing an opinion. I just wish I could afford to pay someone to come in and clean my house! Although, I know that I would clean it all up first to make a good impression. Might as well tell it like it is! While I’m at it, I would also like to hire a chef too. And a personal shopper. You know, those really do exist and people really do hire them! Wow! Can you imagine?
But I should get back to reality: dishes and laundry. They are there waiting for
me in the morning (at least a cup or two are and always clothes because they reproduce on their own of course.) It doesn’t matter where you go or what you do, you WILL have dishes and laundry in some form to deal with. But it’s not so bad, at least we have death and taxes too!
My dad used to tell me that “the only things that are certain in life are death and taxes.” I respectfully and lovingly disagree with my dad’s statement. We have recently seen just how uncertain paying taxes can be- some people get away with not paying them at all! But that’s not what this article is about. Most of you reading this will probably agree with me that we could update my dad’s saying by changing death and taxes to dishes and laundry. Until someone invents disposable clothes (see my post “A Plea for an Invention”) we are faced with the inevitable burdens of dishes and laundry. Every day. Rain or shine. Hot or cold. Summer or winter, spring or fall, come what may, we have dishes and laundry! Even on vacation there is no escape! Even if you eat at restaurants the whole time, you still have laundry!! How about the cooler in the car “to save some money on eating out?” Ugh! That’s just one big dishes item to deal with when you get home and are exhausted and it smells like bologna sandwiches. Forget it!
I used to take a little pride in my housekeeping (when I was a stay at home mom and could actually stay at home, which, by the way, did not last long.) With sincere conviction I used to say, “I will never pay someone to clean my house. I will always take care of it myself.” Ha! What a joke! I am certainly singing a different song now! Funny how a few years have a way of completely reversing an opinion. I just wish I could afford to pay someone to come in and clean my house! Although, I know that I would clean it all up first to make a good impression. Might as well tell it like it is! While I’m at it, I would also like to hire a chef too. And a personal shopper. You know, those really do exist and people really do hire them! Wow! Can you imagine?
But I should get back to reality: dishes and laundry. They are there waiting for
me in the morning (at least a cup or two are and always clothes because they reproduce on their own of course.) It doesn’t matter where you go or what you do, you WILL have dishes and laundry in some form to deal with. But it’s not so bad, at least we have death and taxes too!
Saturday, March 14, 2009
The Paper Trail
© 2009 by Angie Ruark
Everywhere I go, I am surrounded by paper. As I go, I collect it. It’s everywhere: in my house, my car, and purse. This is not something I do on purpose, it’s just a part of life. It really builds up quickly too. So quickly, I can barely keep up. And now I have reached that time of the year where I have to go through all of the boxes of paper I have been collecting in my bedroom (and my purse.) What usually happens when I do this is I sort through it all, find a thing or two I didn’t know I was missing, and then end up transferring the paper to a new container and putting it in a different spot in my bedroom than it was before. I enjoy this for a few reasons. First, I feel pretty good that I found that “long lost to do list I made for myself” two years ago. Second, I went through all the stuff I had boxed up so I know where to find important pieces of paper when I need them. And third, I get a sense of having re-decorated my room since I moved the box somewhere else. What would be really great is if it was actually just one box. It’s not. This year, it’s more than one (but I won’t say how many!)
But this is not my fault! I am too worried about identity theft to throw anything away. So I have to shred everything. Which would be fine if I had time to do it. It takes about fifteen minutes of every day to shred all the receipts and credit card offers we get on a daily basis. Who has that kind of time? I am not even counting the extra time it takes to unplug the shredder, go get a fork, and pry out the jammed wads of paper that clog my shredder every few pages. So as my busy days zoom by, I toss things in a “to shred” box and I put things to file in a “to file” box. Ok, actually, they are plastic grocery bags most of the time and I stack them up in a laundry basket. This is because the envelopes always tear the bags so when I pick one up to sort through it, all the papers and envelopes fall out. I love this. Nothing makes my day more than picking up a bag I didn’t really want to look at let alone touch, only to have all of its contents spill everywhere. Especially receipts. Those are my absolute favorite. I particularly enjoy how long my grocery store ones are. And how I get more than one with every purchase. This gives me more shredding to do at home. Fun! My sixteen year old son offered to make a bonfire in the backyard to get rid of it all at once but I said, “NOOOOO!” This wasn’t because of the fact that we are not allowed to burn inside city limits, but because I had conjured up this image of a receipt being propelled aloft by the flames, getting caught on the wind, and floating lazily away into the greedy paws of an identity thief!! Yikes! Then what? I do NOT want to end up working in that piratey-fish food restaurant like in the commercial. So I tell my son that it is a great but impossible idea. He can, however, burn some in the grill. He’s satisfied and so am I. We can put a lid on the grill so no receipts will fly away.
So here I am on the kitchen floor, sitting on a pillow because the floor is cold and hard, in the middle of a circle made of my shredder, the radio (gotta have something to listen to during all this!), an actual box this time for “to file” papers (which, by the way, is a whole other matter I don’t want to get into), the inevitable grocery bag for the newly named “to grill” papers, a garbage bag to really throw some things away this time, and some stacks of things that ended up with these papers that don’t belong, like a dollar bill, a two year old Christmas gift card that I hope I can still use, an earring, and some photos that make me look fat.
My purse is also part of this process because it is a receipt abyss. I know exactly how Mary Poppins felt when she dug through her bottomless carpet-bag. Only my purse is a bottomless receipt receptacle. I am amazed at how much you can actually cram in there. I am glad to be cleaning out my purse finally because it gets embarrassing to have to look through it when I am out in public. I try not to let people hear the paper crinkling and crackling as I dig and dig and dig to find my pen or my keys, but I know they can hear it. I also try to angle myself so they can’t catch a glimpse inside. No matter what I do, though, a tell-tale receipt will jump out with anything else I grab. So much paper! I think it would be easy to find me if I were ever lost in a forest- just follow my trail!
You may be wondering why I am taking on a project of this magnitude at this time of year. This is simply to begin to get ready to do another one of my favorite things- taxes!
Everywhere I go, I am surrounded by paper. As I go, I collect it. It’s everywhere: in my house, my car, and purse. This is not something I do on purpose, it’s just a part of life. It really builds up quickly too. So quickly, I can barely keep up. And now I have reached that time of the year where I have to go through all of the boxes of paper I have been collecting in my bedroom (and my purse.) What usually happens when I do this is I sort through it all, find a thing or two I didn’t know I was missing, and then end up transferring the paper to a new container and putting it in a different spot in my bedroom than it was before. I enjoy this for a few reasons. First, I feel pretty good that I found that “long lost to do list I made for myself” two years ago. Second, I went through all the stuff I had boxed up so I know where to find important pieces of paper when I need them. And third, I get a sense of having re-decorated my room since I moved the box somewhere else. What would be really great is if it was actually just one box. It’s not. This year, it’s more than one (but I won’t say how many!)
But this is not my fault! I am too worried about identity theft to throw anything away. So I have to shred everything. Which would be fine if I had time to do it. It takes about fifteen minutes of every day to shred all the receipts and credit card offers we get on a daily basis. Who has that kind of time? I am not even counting the extra time it takes to unplug the shredder, go get a fork, and pry out the jammed wads of paper that clog my shredder every few pages. So as my busy days zoom by, I toss things in a “to shred” box and I put things to file in a “to file” box. Ok, actually, they are plastic grocery bags most of the time and I stack them up in a laundry basket. This is because the envelopes always tear the bags so when I pick one up to sort through it, all the papers and envelopes fall out. I love this. Nothing makes my day more than picking up a bag I didn’t really want to look at let alone touch, only to have all of its contents spill everywhere. Especially receipts. Those are my absolute favorite. I particularly enjoy how long my grocery store ones are. And how I get more than one with every purchase. This gives me more shredding to do at home. Fun! My sixteen year old son offered to make a bonfire in the backyard to get rid of it all at once but I said, “NOOOOO!” This wasn’t because of the fact that we are not allowed to burn inside city limits, but because I had conjured up this image of a receipt being propelled aloft by the flames, getting caught on the wind, and floating lazily away into the greedy paws of an identity thief!! Yikes! Then what? I do NOT want to end up working in that piratey-fish food restaurant like in the commercial. So I tell my son that it is a great but impossible idea. He can, however, burn some in the grill. He’s satisfied and so am I. We can put a lid on the grill so no receipts will fly away.
So here I am on the kitchen floor, sitting on a pillow because the floor is cold and hard, in the middle of a circle made of my shredder, the radio (gotta have something to listen to during all this!), an actual box this time for “to file” papers (which, by the way, is a whole other matter I don’t want to get into), the inevitable grocery bag for the newly named “to grill” papers, a garbage bag to really throw some things away this time, and some stacks of things that ended up with these papers that don’t belong, like a dollar bill, a two year old Christmas gift card that I hope I can still use, an earring, and some photos that make me look fat.
My purse is also part of this process because it is a receipt abyss. I know exactly how Mary Poppins felt when she dug through her bottomless carpet-bag. Only my purse is a bottomless receipt receptacle. I am amazed at how much you can actually cram in there. I am glad to be cleaning out my purse finally because it gets embarrassing to have to look through it when I am out in public. I try not to let people hear the paper crinkling and crackling as I dig and dig and dig to find my pen or my keys, but I know they can hear it. I also try to angle myself so they can’t catch a glimpse inside. No matter what I do, though, a tell-tale receipt will jump out with anything else I grab. So much paper! I think it would be easy to find me if I were ever lost in a forest- just follow my trail!
You may be wondering why I am taking on a project of this magnitude at this time of year. This is simply to begin to get ready to do another one of my favorite things- taxes!
Saturday, March 7, 2009
A Plea for an Invention
©2009 by Angie Ruark
Laundry piles up everywhere in my house. I really don’t know how in the world we generate the amount of laundry that we do, but it keeps appearing day by day. I am starting to consider the possibility that it is multiplying on its own somehow. One night, I thought about sneaking around to check the piles to try and catch it breeding, but I was too tired from folding clothes. Maybe that is its strategy! At this rate, I will never be able to sneak up on it and catch it growing.
I do a little every day, but it's like trying to move a mountain using a spoon. Once in a while I resort to throwing some of the dirty laundry away so I don’t have to wash it. My reasoning is that if I have been able to live the past month (or two) without that shirt, maybe I don’t really need it. It’s kind of a good strategy I think. Maybe I could take it one step further and buy inexpensive clothes every week and just throw them away when I’m done wearing them. This could revolutionize everything! Disposable clothes. Think of all the energy we would save by not using the washer and dryer. Think of the money we would save on water and detergent (not to mention time!) We could make them out of cotton. They would be biodegradable. It would boost the economy because the cotton industry would flourish. Grocery stores could sell them in the paper towel section. This would also solve my sock problem. I have already resorted to buying socks weekly so we have matching pairs once or twice a week. My youngest son claims he has never had a matching pair that he can remember (he is thirteen, so that is sad!) I just bought a pack of ten socks and as soon as we got home, my thirteen-year-old grabbed them all and wrote giant J’s on them in sharpie to claim them. I don’t blame him. Not only does he want matching pairs, but he also says he wants socks that aren’t “crispy.” Or permanently charcoal gray when they should be white.
Disposable clothes would also cut down on stress, thus they would have important health benefits. Nothing gets my heart rate pumping from stress like the question: “Honey, do I have any clean socks I can wear to work today?” Notice the word 'matching' is absent from this question. We know in our house not to even consider something like that! Also, disposable clothes would cut down on the amount of socks that disappear into the Land of Enchantment (at least that is what we call it in our house- the place where socks go after you put them in the washing machine.) Another important stress-relieving benefit of disposable clothes would be that I would never have clothes that have become too small from me working my butt on.* Also, I could enjoy shopping each week for new outfits guilt free. The more I think about this the more I see how important an invention like disposable clothes is. As a matter of fact, I can't see why no one has done this yet! Forget the light bulb or telephone! Disposable clothes will be the invention that will revolutionize the whole world, save the economy, the environment, and peoples' sanity!
*See my blogpost “I've Worked My Butt On!”
Laundry piles up everywhere in my house. I really don’t know how in the world we generate the amount of laundry that we do, but it keeps appearing day by day. I am starting to consider the possibility that it is multiplying on its own somehow. One night, I thought about sneaking around to check the piles to try and catch it breeding, but I was too tired from folding clothes. Maybe that is its strategy! At this rate, I will never be able to sneak up on it and catch it growing.
I do a little every day, but it's like trying to move a mountain using a spoon. Once in a while I resort to throwing some of the dirty laundry away so I don’t have to wash it. My reasoning is that if I have been able to live the past month (or two) without that shirt, maybe I don’t really need it. It’s kind of a good strategy I think. Maybe I could take it one step further and buy inexpensive clothes every week and just throw them away when I’m done wearing them. This could revolutionize everything! Disposable clothes. Think of all the energy we would save by not using the washer and dryer. Think of the money we would save on water and detergent (not to mention time!) We could make them out of cotton. They would be biodegradable. It would boost the economy because the cotton industry would flourish. Grocery stores could sell them in the paper towel section. This would also solve my sock problem. I have already resorted to buying socks weekly so we have matching pairs once or twice a week. My youngest son claims he has never had a matching pair that he can remember (he is thirteen, so that is sad!) I just bought a pack of ten socks and as soon as we got home, my thirteen-year-old grabbed them all and wrote giant J’s on them in sharpie to claim them. I don’t blame him. Not only does he want matching pairs, but he also says he wants socks that aren’t “crispy.” Or permanently charcoal gray when they should be white.
Disposable clothes would also cut down on stress, thus they would have important health benefits. Nothing gets my heart rate pumping from stress like the question: “Honey, do I have any clean socks I can wear to work today?” Notice the word 'matching' is absent from this question. We know in our house not to even consider something like that! Also, disposable clothes would cut down on the amount of socks that disappear into the Land of Enchantment (at least that is what we call it in our house- the place where socks go after you put them in the washing machine.) Another important stress-relieving benefit of disposable clothes would be that I would never have clothes that have become too small from me working my butt on.* Also, I could enjoy shopping each week for new outfits guilt free. The more I think about this the more I see how important an invention like disposable clothes is. As a matter of fact, I can't see why no one has done this yet! Forget the light bulb or telephone! Disposable clothes will be the invention that will revolutionize the whole world, save the economy, the environment, and peoples' sanity!
*See my blogpost “I've Worked My Butt On!”
Saturday, February 28, 2009
I've Worked My Butt On!
Another true story by Angie Ruark (who is still living it)
©2009 by Angie Ruark
How we look at situations we are in often determines our outlook on life. Sometimes a different perspective can make all the difference.
In the last three years, I have gained fifteen pounds. But I keep referring to the fact that “I’m fifteen pounds heavier than I normally weigh.” You would think that I would figure out that if I have weighed this much for three years in a row, that THAT is my normal weight. But no. I refuse to give in. It makes me feel better to say that I’m normally fifteen pounds lighter than I am. So, to what do I credit these extra pounds? I work my butt on. That’s right. I don’t work it off anymore. I work it ON. How do I do that you ask? It’s easy: I sit on it. At the computer, at my desk, or driving in my car, I sit. I have worked my butt on so much that I have had to buy the next size up in pants. This is not my favorite outcome of course, but I guess I don’t mind it too much because I am not giving up my chocolate! So here I am again, sitting.
Typing on the computer is now my mode of exercise. I suppose I could try butt-tucks in my chair but that might look weird. My fingers are in great shape, and I am pretty fast now at typing in my email account, but the rest of me, well….! Here’s the thing: I work all day and then I go home. And at the end of a very long workday, the LAST thing I want to do is work some more, even if it is at a gym.
When I get home, I like to plop on the couch. I don’t “gracefully lower myself into a nice sitting posture,” I plop. If anything is near where I land, it flies off the couch and onto the floor where I MIGHT pick it up later (but don’t count on it.) “Will someone bring my bon-bons please?!” So I sit there. Then I lie there. Well, what do you expect? I’m tired! I work hard all day and all week! The saying used to be, “Man, I worked my butt off today!” But it’s not the saying anymore! I declare it officially changed to: “Wow! I have worked my butt on today!” That makes me feel so much better about those extra fifteen pounds I’ve gained (not my normal weight though don’t forget!) If I think about it that way, those extra fifteen pounds (that pretty much landed in the same posterior area) are more like a badge of honor, something to be proud of because of all my hard work!
So, I’m just not going to worry about it! Maybe I should go ahead and have hot fudge sundaes (how about the hot fudge right out of the jar, hmmm?), or pizza or burgers, fries, sodas, or cheesecake! Yes!! All of it guilt free because I am working my butt on this week! I work hard and I deserve it! Out with the “inspiration pants” I bought to “help me lose weight.” They’re outta here! I declare that I will wear my new and improved derriere with pride! It’s a testament to my hard work ethic, my dedication to driving my kids all over creation, and my prolific computer skills (especially online shopping! – I am SO good at that!)
Remember, the next time you look in the mirror and find that you’ve earned a badge of honor, be glad! You’ve worked so hard, you’ve worked your butt on!
©2009 by Angie Ruark
How we look at situations we are in often determines our outlook on life. Sometimes a different perspective can make all the difference.
In the last three years, I have gained fifteen pounds. But I keep referring to the fact that “I’m fifteen pounds heavier than I normally weigh.” You would think that I would figure out that if I have weighed this much for three years in a row, that THAT is my normal weight. But no. I refuse to give in. It makes me feel better to say that I’m normally fifteen pounds lighter than I am. So, to what do I credit these extra pounds? I work my butt on. That’s right. I don’t work it off anymore. I work it ON. How do I do that you ask? It’s easy: I sit on it. At the computer, at my desk, or driving in my car, I sit. I have worked my butt on so much that I have had to buy the next size up in pants. This is not my favorite outcome of course, but I guess I don’t mind it too much because I am not giving up my chocolate! So here I am again, sitting.
Typing on the computer is now my mode of exercise. I suppose I could try butt-tucks in my chair but that might look weird. My fingers are in great shape, and I am pretty fast now at typing in my email account, but the rest of me, well….! Here’s the thing: I work all day and then I go home. And at the end of a very long workday, the LAST thing I want to do is work some more, even if it is at a gym.
When I get home, I like to plop on the couch. I don’t “gracefully lower myself into a nice sitting posture,” I plop. If anything is near where I land, it flies off the couch and onto the floor where I MIGHT pick it up later (but don’t count on it.) “Will someone bring my bon-bons please?!” So I sit there. Then I lie there. Well, what do you expect? I’m tired! I work hard all day and all week! The saying used to be, “Man, I worked my butt off today!” But it’s not the saying anymore! I declare it officially changed to: “Wow! I have worked my butt on today!” That makes me feel so much better about those extra fifteen pounds I’ve gained (not my normal weight though don’t forget!) If I think about it that way, those extra fifteen pounds (that pretty much landed in the same posterior area) are more like a badge of honor, something to be proud of because of all my hard work!
So, I’m just not going to worry about it! Maybe I should go ahead and have hot fudge sundaes (how about the hot fudge right out of the jar, hmmm?), or pizza or burgers, fries, sodas, or cheesecake! Yes!! All of it guilt free because I am working my butt on this week! I work hard and I deserve it! Out with the “inspiration pants” I bought to “help me lose weight.” They’re outta here! I declare that I will wear my new and improved derriere with pride! It’s a testament to my hard work ethic, my dedication to driving my kids all over creation, and my prolific computer skills (especially online shopping! – I am SO good at that!)
Remember, the next time you look in the mirror and find that you’ve earned a badge of honor, be glad! You’ve worked so hard, you’ve worked your butt on!
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Why Oh Why Did I Wear Those High Heeled Shoes???
Life happens. You think you have control over what is going on, but you don’t. Sometimes that’s a good thing.
Why Oh Why Did I Wear Those High-Heeled Shoes???
A True Story by Angie Ruark (who lived it) © 2009 by Angie Ruark
Of course I know why I wore those high-heeled shoes. I wanted to look grown up and pretty. After all, I was in ninth grade and I wanted to look nice. No, better than nice. I wanted to look beautiful! Even though it has been twenty-three years (yikes!) I can still see my sleek, steel-gray high-heeled shoes. The ones that went so perfectly with my silver and black pants and blouse. Plus the black bow in my hair. And my black earrings. Perfect! I prissed around all morning as I went to school. With my posture nice and straight I kept my outfit nice and neat all through homeroom. Once the first period bell rang, I carefully grabbed my stack of books. (I still don't know why I had so many) Out in the hallway, it was very crowded. In fact, it was the most crowded part of the school at the most crowded time of day. As I tippy-toed in my high-heels to the stairway I felt very grown up. I looked around at all the other faces in the crowded hallway that were still unknown to me at the time. Carefully, I stepped onto to the first step at the top of a very tall staircase with all of my books in my arms. I began my descent, but not the way you normally would. You see, my beautiful steel-gray high-heeled shoe (my right one to be exact) caught on something on the very first step.(Looking back, I think it was my ego) Then I fell like a tree that has been chopped down in a forest right after someone yells, "Timber!" I slowly went head first down the stairs but managed to catch myself with my knees. Instead of nose-diving down the stairs I banged all the way down on my knees and performed a nice little somersault (not on purpose) at the bottom. Funny how I never dropped a book! I landed flat on my back looking up at a sea of faces: some worried, some shocked, some amused, and some already unable to hold back their laughter. The little old janitor was so kind to take my books. Ok, he had to pretty much pry them from my arms because I did not want to move. Not from pain, though. I was hurt somewhat, but I was more humiliated than anything else. He tried to pick me up, even though I was easily twice his size. To avoid making an already embarrassing situation mortifying, I refused his assistance and painfully got to my feet, with an emphasis on the pain to hopefully erase everyone’s memory of my stairway gymnastics escapade. I gathered my books and did the smartest thing I could think of at the time (which was to call my mom and go home and change out of those heels and clothes into something sensible!) I made it through the rest of the day without too much ridicule and eventually the rest of high school. Little did I know that the young man who would become my high school sweetheart and eventually my husband had witnessed the entire episode. One day several years later, he lovingly reminded me of that event. "How do you know all that?" I asked. "I was there that day you fell down the stairs and I thought you looked cute when you fell," he replied. “It made me want to ask you out.”
I am so glad I wore those shoes!
Why Oh Why Did I Wear Those High-Heeled Shoes???
A True Story by Angie Ruark (who lived it) © 2009 by Angie Ruark
Of course I know why I wore those high-heeled shoes. I wanted to look grown up and pretty. After all, I was in ninth grade and I wanted to look nice. No, better than nice. I wanted to look beautiful! Even though it has been twenty-three years (yikes!) I can still see my sleek, steel-gray high-heeled shoes. The ones that went so perfectly with my silver and black pants and blouse. Plus the black bow in my hair. And my black earrings. Perfect! I prissed around all morning as I went to school. With my posture nice and straight I kept my outfit nice and neat all through homeroom. Once the first period bell rang, I carefully grabbed my stack of books. (I still don't know why I had so many) Out in the hallway, it was very crowded. In fact, it was the most crowded part of the school at the most crowded time of day. As I tippy-toed in my high-heels to the stairway I felt very grown up. I looked around at all the other faces in the crowded hallway that were still unknown to me at the time. Carefully, I stepped onto to the first step at the top of a very tall staircase with all of my books in my arms. I began my descent, but not the way you normally would. You see, my beautiful steel-gray high-heeled shoe (my right one to be exact) caught on something on the very first step.(Looking back, I think it was my ego) Then I fell like a tree that has been chopped down in a forest right after someone yells, "Timber!" I slowly went head first down the stairs but managed to catch myself with my knees. Instead of nose-diving down the stairs I banged all the way down on my knees and performed a nice little somersault (not on purpose) at the bottom. Funny how I never dropped a book! I landed flat on my back looking up at a sea of faces: some worried, some shocked, some amused, and some already unable to hold back their laughter. The little old janitor was so kind to take my books. Ok, he had to pretty much pry them from my arms because I did not want to move. Not from pain, though. I was hurt somewhat, but I was more humiliated than anything else. He tried to pick me up, even though I was easily twice his size. To avoid making an already embarrassing situation mortifying, I refused his assistance and painfully got to my feet, with an emphasis on the pain to hopefully erase everyone’s memory of my stairway gymnastics escapade. I gathered my books and did the smartest thing I could think of at the time (which was to call my mom and go home and change out of those heels and clothes into something sensible!) I made it through the rest of the day without too much ridicule and eventually the rest of high school. Little did I know that the young man who would become my high school sweetheart and eventually my husband had witnessed the entire episode. One day several years later, he lovingly reminded me of that event. "How do you know all that?" I asked. "I was there that day you fell down the stairs and I thought you looked cute when you fell," he replied. “It made me want to ask you out.”
I am so glad I wore those shoes!
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