Rules for Living - Sounds Pompous, Huh?

So I always see all these lists on how to live. And they're usually thought provoking and almost always by someone who is rich, and famous, and rich...
So I thought I would write a list myself, since my birthday is coming up, and I'm, umm, not rich or famous...or rich. For that matter, I don't even earn enough income to support myself on a commune. But I have one qualification which might trump rich and famous - I'm happy - usually.
So here's my list on how to live life:


1 - Learn to say no and mean it. Not maybe, not I'll check and see...just say no. And don't give explanations - that just opens up that whole justification thing, and the look on your face when they tell you that you CAN do something will cause wrinkles. (This one is by far the hardest one for me!)
2 - Always carry band-aids. Even when your children are too old to skin their knees, someone else's child isn't.
3 - The Golden Rule is golden for a reason - stick with gold. It's a good investment in your life.
4 - Just because someone is mean to you, no need to try to one-up them. See Rule Number 3, and KARMA, baby.
5 - Forgiveness doesn't mean being a victim. You can forgive someone and not hang around for them to do it to you again. Forgive...then get the heck outta there if they don't know how to change their ways.
6 - If at first you don't succeed, Google it. It's amazing how many repairs and knitting patterns you can find, and other stuff, too.
7 - If you dress as if you are going to Wal Mart, you WILL run into your biggest enemy. Dress decently every day or else suffer the embarrassment.
8 - Find some way to laugh every day. If nothing else, use Facebook and Pinterest as a comedy tool - trust me, you'll laugh. Some statuses are meant to be funny, and some just are funny.


That's it. See no boring rules about health and all that stuff - I'm not your mother. And at this point you might be grateful. Any rules you want to add?

No Running in the Biltmore House

By Sheilah

Another year, another volunteer for anything and everything. Just got back from the all-day field trip to the Biltmore House. Rain, fog, 4 hours on the interstate. Oh joy. The kids were little charms, but I wasn’t. They had to be. The tour guide kept them, kept us all, in line. In a strict line, bellying up to the velvet rope so the other visitors with their lovely ear buds and self-guided tour could linger, listen, maybe even learn something in a leisurely way. Not us, no, we were ushered through with a 30-second spiel on each room and then outta there. Why not let the boys linger and lovingly stare at the library’s ceiling with its nudes? It was some great art, and they would have learned something I bet. And I want to hear more about the secret rooms; better yet, let us tour them. I mean at $40 bucks a pop plus the gas and time and multi coffees, give me a second here.

Too much to ask. It’s a public school field trip, on chartered buses, and there is no time. Rules rules rules. I hear in the old days parents packed their paneled wagons with as many kids could stack on top of each other and drove them across county lines without fear of liability. Imagine that. Probably stuffed them full of homemade goodies chock full of nuts and other allergens, and no epi pin in sight. The horror. Now the rules, since 9/11 I hear, mean a bus must be chartered, for insurance sake, if the trip is long. And no parents may ride, and no parents may follow the bus closely, and no parents can bring snacks, and no parents can enjoy it at all.

I’m sorry, but I had to work late last night, and 4-5 hours of sleep will kill a person easily. Charles Kuralt. Diane Sawyer’s probably next. It’s been established that too few hours of sleep will do you in. And it’s not good on field trip days when you can’t just jump in the car in your pjs and deposit son at school. No, you must shower and drive 2 hours, avoiding the 2 charter buses at all times. Through the rain and fog, up the mountain. Smile. You’re not a room mom this year, but you look like one.

Last year’s trip to the zoo was more fun. Let’s face it, I always get 4 boys to keep track of, because I have a son. And 4 boys is a zoo. So add 4 boys to a zoo, and you really get something resembling a moo-moo here and a moo-moo there. By mid-day through that trip, I’d put my hand up to one kid, as in, “Speak to the hand.” I was afraid I’d say something snotty. He deserved it. But at least they ran and lingered and enjoyed themselves. Why in the world take four classes of 4^th graders to an enclosed mansion? America’s castle? What were they thinking? You can’t run, touch, ask questions, raise your hand, eat, or potty. It’s kind of like work. We were so hot and tired and hungry that Dylan and I kind of propped each other up through the two-hour tour that lead us nowhere. No pictures allowed either.

Needless to say, the bus trip was the best part for him. The seats were plush, the snacks available, the movies running, the friend beside him, the toilet working. A toilet in a bus--I mean that really is something.