Dreary, dirty dishes

The dishwasher died.

 It has been over a year now since I started washing our dishes by hand. At first I enjoyed it. The dishwasher had been dying slowly for a while and was doing a pretty poor job by the end, so I was happy to be getting the dishes actually clean. "It's such a satisfying feeling," I told my hubby, "getting everything all nice and clean!" Yeah, nice.
 Fast forward to now. Satisfaction lessening, irritation increasing. The other day I found myself standing in the kitchen giving serious thought to smashing every last dirty dish. "Now that would feel satisfying!" I thought, "But wait, then I would have that mess to clean up. Maybe I could just throw them all out and buy new dishes? That's it; all brand new dishes! But, I would have to wash them before we could use them. I guess I might as well just wash these ones. Ho hum."

Approval

I keep thinking about this question of motivation. Ultimately it seems to come down to needing approval. That is why we want the pat on the back; we want to know that we are seen as valuable, to be approved. That just brings me to another question.
Why do we want anyone else's approval anyway? Does it matter? And who are we looking to obtain this approval from? Anyone and everyone? Or just an elite group? I was mulling this all over while I was running, whick can lead to some bizzarre thoughts, but I really want to sort this out. I don't want to be motivated by a need for approval. I want more than that. So what I thought was that all I should really need is God's approval. Talk about the ultimate in delayed gratification though; I won't know I have that approval until I'm dead! Maybe that's why it's easier to settle for the approval of other people, at least you get it right away. I think I'd like to aim for the big prize though. The approval of God. Yeah, that's what I want. Next question: How?

Motivation

What is it that motivates us to do the things that we do? Do we want recognition, or pats on the back? Do we genuinely want to help people or relieve the suffering of others?
There was a storyline on Friends where they decided that there is no such thing as a completely unselfish act. Even when we do something for someone else, so the idea went, if we even feel good about it then it has been selfish. Exaggeration for humour, yes, and of course I wouldn't go that far, but it does raise an interesting point. How often do we really do something without looking for some kudos? It seems very hard to have worked hard at something or made some sacrifice for someone, only to be overlooked. Even if we weren't hoping for any congratulations, it hurts to see someone else get the thanks when you yourself feel ignored. So, given that, I find I really need to ask myself, what was my motivation to begin with?

Gumby Kong

From the imagination of my 11 year-old son.

Precarious Pedestal

The ultimate test of my character seems to be to view myself through the eyes of my own children, complete with the moral filters that my hubby and I instilled in them. There is something so deflating about seeing the sweet young face of your child disappointed in you, not because you didn't buy him the toy/candy/whatever that he wanted, but because he heard you swear.

 The older my kids get, the lower my pedestal is, and that's okay. I don't really want them to see me as an unrealistic ideal, but I do wish I could actually be something closer to that ideal than I am. there have been several occurrences of me being disappointing, but it seems to happen less often for the hubby. Most recently, however, it was his turn.
 We have an ongoing problem with raccoons. We even bought a live trap so that we could catch them and drive them far away from our house to start a new life, probably annoying someone else. Two nests of robin's eggs under our deck have been destroyed by raccoons, frogs have been killed and (most annoying to me) these raccoons have decided that our deck makes a nice toilet. Almost every morning there is a fresh pile of poop for me to clean up. We have been trying to keep them off the deck at night by blocking the stairs. After all, raccoons must certainly observe conventions such as stairs; they wouldn't climb over the railing, right? Hubby went out before bed the other night to reconstruct our crafty barricade. When he was done and about to come back into the house, he heard a noise on the deck. It was dark and he couldn't see much, but what he did see was a raccoon, pulling itself up the side of the deck. Now if it had been me, I would have dashed inside; I have the proper respect for those nasty little teeth and claws.

 My hubby though, he's going to fight! Frantically searching for some sort of weapon, he laid his hands on the only thing available, a plastic watering can. With some some previously unknown mad swordplay skills, he jabbed and poked at that thing until it was begging for mercy, just clinging to the top of the railing. Then, he delivered the final blow. For a quick switch of weapons he dropped the watering can and grabbed a large Rubbermaid bin. Raising it high in the air, he brought it down full-force on the fuzzy head of our unwanted intruder.
Alone in his room, listening to the struggle from his bed, our son heard a THWACK, followed by a THUD, followed by "Get out of here you little sh*t!"
 And that is how my hubby fell an increment down the pedestal in our youngest son's eyes.

Quack!

And here are the new occupants of the dog crate:

These are my son's two-week-old ducklings, fresh from their daily splash in the tub. Cute, aren't they?
Here they are, going from their bath back into the crate:

It makes me laugh every time I hear them walking across the kitchen floor, or should I say, it quacks me up! (Oh, groan.)



Guessing Game

Yesterday afternoon found me far from my usual routine; I bought a dog crate. This is particularly unusual because I do not own a dog. Oh, but there is a plan! And you get to play my guessing game! So, can you guess who is going to live in the dog crate?
Here is the crate, all ready for it's new inhabitants:

Okay, guess!

Need a hint? There are four of them.

Need another hint? Their names are Dipper, Constance, Lucky and Possibly Bill.

The Beginning (Isn't that an original title)

A few times now I have been told that I really should blog. I suspect that this is because my friends don't really want to hear the little stories that I think are funny. At first it seemed like a nice bit of flattery. I would email my friends a silly anecdote about something like, oh, my struggle to get my vacuum out of the closet. (Really, it is a funny story!) When they replied, "LOL You should put that on a blog!", I would think they were so amused by my tale that they thought I should share it with the world. Perhaps, though, they just want me to stop polluting their inbox with my semi-entertaining accounts of woe. If I had a blog, then just maybe they wouldn't have to hear about my inability to shave my armpits with my dull razor. Yeah, maybe.