How Doorknobs Saved My Marriage - and my Sanity

I just went shopping for doorknobs. Let me give a few facts about our new home. It's quaint, older, in a great neighborhood, and has everything a family of four could ask for. However, we are not the first owners. I counted our doorknobs today. There are 18 total doors in our house with doorknobs. 16 of those doors are interior doors. 6 of those interior doors have locks on them. Only 1 of those 6 doors has a lock that works. That door is to the main floor bathroom.
Let me tell you why only 1 out of 16 interior doors locks in this house. Apparently, the previous owners chose to update the look of the house by spray-painting the gold doorknobs upstairs with silver spraypaint. We found this out at inspection and decided to let it go as we were in a time crunch and had bigger fish to fry. The only problem? They spraypainted every turning lock as well so that they no longer turn or function as locking knobs. The bigger problem? Guess where I get all my privacy in a house of 3 males. I love my family but even they know that I would enjoy shaving my legs, waxing my face, using the restroom, and putting on my clothes in complete privacy. I'm a girl dammit!
So on the day of the weekend that my husband took the kids to soccer and urged me to avoid cleaning, organizing, washing clothes, looking over grade school homework and brushing the dog, I could not decide what I wanted to do with my sanity time. I felt terrible anxiety leaving the house a mess and knowing that it's just waiting for us when we come back. I can't be the only one who has ever felt this way. I know that we sometimes need to just let it go and enjoy ourselves, but it's hard sometimes.
Once I was done at least tidy-ing up I had to make my decision. There were plenty of places to go: the mall, the local coffee shop, a library. There were plenty of things to do (although it's raining and I already went for a run): write, read, sew, shop, eat. But that first push out the door was rough. I really needed to do something that would be an instant relief to the current worries on my mind. So I went shopping - as I said, for doorknobs. I just google'd "Who Invented The Doorknob?" Try it. Thank you to the person who did because without doorknobs (specifically, doorknobs with locks), I might be a zombie. I might mutter classic phrases like Goldie Hawn in "Overboard". I might cry for no reason (more than once a week). I didn't purchase the doorknobs, but merely picked out a style and priced them. I'm a step closer.
It's been said that you don't know what you got till it's gone. When I had locking doorknobs, I had power. I had privacy on the spot. If you're like me, you would like to avoid admitting to your children that you do the hippity for as long as possible. If you're not like me in that aspect, I applaud you. I'm not here to make anyone blush or puke, but part of being a grown up, and a spouse with children, is being able to kindle romance in the marriage. Romance in marriage can lead to extra kindness in life which, in turn, can lead to a great influence on your children and hopefully they take that with them in their marriages.
With locking doorknobs we can also let our family members know that we need privacy, a moment, or just the ability to keep our smells and sounds confined until we have a chance to spray. I will admit that I was an only child growing up. We had one non-locking bathroom and that was good enough for me cause the toilet was behind the door and I could use my foot as a doorstop. I can't claim to know what it's like sharing with brothers and sisters, but I do feel that if the knobs were initially intended to lock, I could at least expect my bedroom and my bathroom door to lock. I also feel a need to provide a lock on our guest bedroom door so that my children don't wake up at the crack of dawn and stare at our guests as they sleep until they are ready to get up and start the day.
So, upon "window shopping" for doorknobs and then taking the time to vent about my knob frustrations, I am back to 50% sanity and when we install the knobs next weekend I will ring the bell at 99.9% and maybe next time I'll go shopping for some toe socks.

Marthaaaaaaaaaaaa

Tale As Old As Time OR How Snakey Baken Touched Our Lives

So, if you don't know who Snakey Baken is, he's the teeny tiny corn snake who came to our house on Christmas last year. He was about 6 inches long and had the girth of my pinky finger. We suspected that he would show up on this particular holiday so, before commiting to welcoming him into our home, I went all out to make the most of the "first pet" our oldest boy would own. I did everything right. I bought an educational book on how to have a corn snake for a pet. I forced my son to read the book from cover to cover so he could take a customized test (that I took lots of time to prepare). If he didn't pass the test, there was no way we would allow the snake in our home. After passing the test with flying colors, our son also had to sign a contract. This particular contract stated many important oaths to feed the snake, assist in cleaning the terrarium, handle the snake on a regular basis and so on... It also included the agreement to ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS close the lid properly because corn snakes are escape artists. My son, a very strong willed child, willing to prove to his parents that he was capable of caring for his first pet, did everything he was supposed to do. Survived corn snake 101. Stuck around for the defrosting and demise of every pinkie (dead pink baby mouse) to make sure Snakey Baken was fed properly. And any time that snake was out of his terarrium, the boy was sure to press the lid closed until he heard a "snap". One day, I went to get Snakey Baken some fresh water and was fully prepared for him to drop out of the bottom of his water bowl (where he loved to hide) then I could scream for no reason and pour him a fresh drink from the bathroom sink. Only, this time, he did not drop out. I looked underneath and, when I didn't see him there, figured he was in the log. When I got back from the bathroom, I started to question the last time I saw Snakey Baken in the tank. I prepared to lift the log, scream for no reason when he wiggled, and place the log back down. Only, this time, he was not in the log. I pulled back the plastic plant, looked under the basking rock, man I looked everywhere. It was then that I had calculated that I had not seen Snakey Baken in three days. I retracted the last three days of Snakey Baken's life and came to the conclusion that I had possibly been the last one to see him and change his water bowl. Within that conclusion, I began to question my thoroughness in closing his lid. I knew I had always closed it, but could not recall the "snap" sound that my son had always listened for. In fact, as I dwelled on it, I walked back over to the tank and saw that I had not closed it properly at this moment either. I fell to the ground. Not in the realization that I was the worst corn snake owner in the world, but just to see if I could catch up with S.B. on his expedition to anywhere. Alas, he was already three days ahead of me. The next few hours were bundles of fun: heater vents were removed, furniture was shuffled around, bedding was disheveled, laundry baskets were emptied. I spent the next day in Snakey Baken's shoes (or belly bottom) slithering on the ground asking, "If I were a Snake, where would I go?" Do I really need to say it? Snakey Baken was a pleasure to have around for two whole months, but I did not close the the lid properly. It left a hole about the girth of my pinky finger and Snakey Baken found it, probably on day one. Never to be seen again. Dead nor alive.
The point of this story? It will haunt me the rest of my life. It will come up over every discussion of how to take care of a pet. Unfortunately for me, it will also come up over holiday get togethers, after a couple glasses of wine, and whenever I try to point out someone else's failure to be responsible. You get it. It will go down in history as "the time that mom made a big deal about how one should care for a corn snake and then let the snake escape"! I'm not the only one who has an event in their life that will go down in the family file under "remember that one time?" I'm not done by any means...

To be continued...

Marthaaaaaaaaaaaaa

The Age of Electronics

I'm thinking that the generation of today's children is pegged as the e-generation. Back when I was a kid the GameBoy was one of just two handhelds to have. Now, our kids can have a range of handheld electronics (not just games). Let's see, we have the ipad, the ipod, an array of cell phones, the Nintendo DS to name one handheld video game player, I'm sure there's more but I don't have all night. I think if I could have had a cell phone when I was a kid, I'd probably pass on the bagphone.
I admit that I use the DS or my cell phone to keep a situation under control during what I like to dub the "chaos hour on-the-go". Let me clarify. There's a time of the day I like to call "CHAOS HOUR!!!" dun dun dun! This is the time of day that my children decide to compete in decibels and energy levels. It's also a time of day I like to call "Daddy's Home!" because they usually coincide with eachother. There's a little switch that flicks when Daddy enters the house and in the depths of my kids brains they ultimately have to make Daddy believe that it's been like this all day and mom really has no control whatsoever. The worst part? The dog loves to join in on chaos hour. This 10+ year old dog becomes a puppy for chaos hour and for some reason snorts and sneezes repetitively. So, take Chaos Hour and take it on the road, or to a football game, a restaurant... you get the picture. Thank you Nintendo for taking a video game console and making it portable. Sorry, Sega.
My opinion is that my generation is well aware that our children could easily become a generation fully dependent on electronics. Seriously, I saw a commercial where a kid was happy to watch a movie on his device while he was at the beach. It made me sick to my stomach. But, I think many of us are up to the challenge of not limiting our children's worlds to 4 inches in front of their face. I've been paying attention to children and their devices. I've been to soccer games, a college football game, malls, grocery stores, parks, restaurants, etcetera, etcetera. I'm pretty impressed that most kids are still reading books made from trees, they are throwing wood chips and playing tag. Kids are talking to eachother, running amok, talking out of turn and not watching where they're going (because they have too much energy, not because they have their heads in an electronic).
I can't give myself credit for setting limits and using electronics as a reward, not a babysitter. I give many people credit for being aware. Sure, there are those who give electronics a bad name. Why else would there be movies showing teenagers mass texting or texting from the next room? It's true to a point. But you can't say we are not aware. You can't say we rely on electronics to find serenity in our day. We still find happiness in doing it "old school" with books and paint and kites. However, I do enjoy humor about kids who are confused when they see a rotary phone or a phone booth. Still, kudos to us! Kudos to us.