Catching Up

Guys, I don’t know what it is but I’ve been running catch up alllll year. I mean, I’m not even pregnant!  I actually think I might be more productive when I’m pregnant as, in the in-between pregnancy stage, I always have a needy 1-year-old running around like an escaped chimpanzee from the zoo.


No pants, no problem.  (Yes, that is a hideous stain on my carpet, thanks for asking.)


Not seen: Anna climbing on the back of the couch to escape an attack by pictured drumstick in said needy baby’s hands.

Side note:  You might not know this if your husband’s not a drummer like mine is, and thus do not have dozens of drumsticks laying around your home, but they (drumsticks) are basically the most painful things on earth.

Ok, case in point of how behind I am this year:  We celebrated St Nick day on December 7th.  In case you don’t know, St Nick day is December 6th, but I was too whatever to get my crap together (AND Trader Joe’s sold out of golden coins AGAIN this year before I could get my hands on any.  I blame all this on you, TJ’s.) So, I lied, gulp, and told my kids that this year it was being celebrated on the 7th.  Going to Hell, fo sho.  It gets worse.  As I said, we were sans chocolate coins and I obviously had done ZERO planning so I had no holy cards or icons or religious whatever on hand, so we filled their boots with TROLL BOOKS.  Troll freaking books.  If you were wondering who gets the prize for worst Orthodox convert this year, wonder no longer.

(I would insert a sweet picture of their boots lined up here but SURPRISE I took zero pictures.)  (Help)

I probably don’t have to tell you I’m not doing a Jesse Tree this year, but I’m not.  I’m going to be honest with you for a moment here.  I know the Jesse Tree is like The THING to Christian homeschooling families everywhere, but…I don’t really get it.  No judgment.  If you’re into it, power to you.  But, I don’t know.  The cute little story, the Bible verse everyone is too distracted to listen to, the little camel/donkey/candle ornament to color?  Eyeroll forever.

Is this post too negative?  Probably.  Sorry, peeps!

Ok, I’m going to end this with some positivity.  Here we go.  My three fav things right now.  Why?  Because.

  1. Praise Babies.

Oh, Praise Babies, how I do love thee.  In case you don’t know, Praise Babies is kinda like a Christian version of those Baby Einstein videos where pretty pictures float dreamily by only worship music is played in the background instead of Mozart or Bach or whatever.  Said needy baby is determined to cling to my leg (or preferably, breast) every minute of every day besides the thirteen minutes or so she is napping UNLESS Praise Babies is on, and then I am free for a whole mind-blowing 35 minutes.  Guess what is playing as I am typing at this very moment?  Praise Babies, friends.  Praise Babies.

2. Having an 8-year-old.

(Side note: Do you guys have these little cartoon cars at your mall, too?  Bc my kids almost crash into innocent shoppers about 10 times every time they ride them. How is this legal?)


What?  You can hang up your own clothes?  What? You can empty the dishwasher?  What?  You can take your little sister to the bathroom at the restaurant?  What? You can basically be my own personal slave?  (kidding kidding)  But, seriously, my girl, I love every inch of your moderately independent self.  I always thought that I would love the baby stage the most and be kinda sad when my kids grew out of that and were official Kids, but I gotta say, official kid age has major major perks.  I still love the niblets out of the baby stage, but there is soooooo much to love about the older stages too, I’m finding out.

3. Instagram Stories

How lame am I?  Very very lame, apparently.  But, I’m addicted.  I love watching ppl’s little home movies.  Movies of their kids, their cats, their burritos, whatever.  Bring it on.  Oversharers of the world, I love you.

Welllll, that’s about it for now.  Another random aimless post brought to you by Yours Truly.  As it is fairly unlikely I’ll get it together to put up another post before Christmas, let me wish you all a Merry Christmas!!! right now.

Oh!  On the Christmas note, I’m going to add one more thing.  I would just copy the video and paste it here so you could watch it but, as I’m cheap and have the most basic of basic plans, WordPress won’t let me (cheers, WP):

4. Carrie Underwood singing How Great Thou Art.  Have you guys seen this?  It is A-MA-ZING.  I love it.  I weep over it.  It’s just…the best.  Do yourself a favor and goggle it now, k?


The Simple Post

*I wrote the following to myself because I can’t seem to remember it.  Maybe if I publish it, I’ll feel too much a hypocrite to forget it again.


The only thing children need is love.  If we want to prepare our children for what really matters, then we will love them unconditionally.  We will forgive them.  We will see the best in them.  What truly matters will always matter and the only thing that will always matter is love.  “The greatest of these is love.”  “Only love will remain.”

If it is possible to love too much, then we do not know God.  God loves when it is stupid to love.  God forgives when no one would forgive.  The reason we are alive, that we even exist, is because God loves when it is stupid to love.  Of course, I’m talking as a man.  Men think there is a line where love should not cross.  God doesn’t know about this line.


The thing that homeschoolers talk about, think about, obsess, blog and read about is how to prepare our children for the future.  But we forget that the future is God.  We can’t push love aside and take care of it after the scholarships are earned and the mortgage is paid. Those things don’t even exist.  Not really.  We will not be grateful if we forget love and pursue these things.  We will not say, “I’m so glad I took care of that.  Now I can bother with the religious stuff.”

If handwriting or math or saying, “yes, ma’am” is the focus of every day of my children’s lives then they will grow up and they will not know that God is love.  If the focus of every day of my children’s lives is coerced prayers and forced readings of Scripture and “keep quiet during church”, then they will grow up and they will not know that God is love.  And they will not believe me if I tell them, though they might believe it if God tells them.

If the only thing I did all day, every single day of my children’s lives was love and forgive them, that would be enough.  That would be everything.



Food and Stuff


I know, I know. I’m supposed to be writing Why, Part 3 (you didn’t know my conversion story had more sequels than The Land Before Time, did you?) but I’m going to take a break from that for a bit and discuss something a bit more unschooly.  (I love that that term is still so new my computer autocorrects it every time.  Get with it, Grammarly!)

There are a few articles circulating around Facebook about how totally awesome it is to be a “mean mom”(their choice of words, not mine).  We’re all somewhat familiar with these and, if you’re reading this, I’m guessing we have a similar reaction: something along the lines of “WHAT? whyyyyyy????” One article I read actually said, “If your child tells you you’re mean, take it as a compliment.”  I really really REALLY don’t get this line of thinking.  I mean, I guess it makes sense in an extreme circumstance, “No, Billy, you can’t go to the Black Mass tonight.”  “Awwww, Mom, why are you so mean!?”  But, honestly, if you’re at that point I think it’s safe to say you’ve already lost the battle.

*I personally think that if you wouldn’t dream of saying or doing something to anybody in the whole wide world other than your child, you probably shouldn’t say or do it to them either.  That’s just my IMO.*

Anyway, I could rant and rant and rant discuss a million points on which I disagree with these so-called “mean moms”, but I’m just going to elaborate on one today, as I feel I have a unique perspective on it.  In case you weren’t able to decipher the obscure title of this post, it’s the Food Issue.


You know what I mean, right?

The “no dessert until veggies are gone,” issue.  The “desserts are only for the weekends,” issue.  The “I don’t care how full you are, finish your hamburger,” issue.

I’m going to tell you something shocking.  I did not grow up in a house with the above rules.  This is going to make my mom wince a bit (Hi, Mom!) but I could have eaten bowls of pebbles all day and that would have been perfectly fine.  I remember days where I ate nothing but an entire box of Count Chocula, and other days of nothing but giant quantities of goldfish crackers.  I never NEVER had Halloween candy taken away before I was through with it, was allowed as many pieces of birthday cake that I desired, at any time of the day that I desired, and drank Diet Coke happily out of a baby bottle until I was waaaaaayyyy past the appropriate bottle-drinking-age (I don’t really get why there is a cut off age for bottles, btw…).


(My BFF)

No, I was not neglected.  No, my parents were not conducting a mini Super Size Me experiment on their unsuspecting children.  No, we were not unschooled.  So how in the world was all this culinary craziness allowed, you ask??  Well, I’ve thought about that and I think the answer is some mash up of a mom who didn’t like to cook, an autistic brother’s obsession with McDonald’s (we literally ate there, and (and this, I think is the real reason, the important reason) parents who were just not that interested in micro-managing their kids.

I have wonderful parents.  My mom and dad are two of my very best friends in the world.  Though they were strict in some ways (rolling eyes at mom equaled instant death), they mainly treated my sister and I like little adults.  I can’t ever remember my parents telling me to go to bed, or looking over my homework (unless I asked), or even to clean my room (my mom, who may be the cleanest person that has ever lived, would just tell me to shut the door so she wouldn’t have to look at the mess).  I do remember, however, long discussions about politics, talking late into the night about nothing and everything, and my dad (an incredibly smart man) asking my opinion over money matters at his business.  I don’t think it ever even occurred to my parents that they were supposed to be pestering us about all those other little things.  They saw as us intelligent, interesting people and treated us as such. (At least, it seemed that way to me.)

Ok, I’m going to conclude this post (which, I promise, was supposed to be brief!) with the inevitable outcome of children who are allowed to eat whatever they want, whenever they want: Morbid Obesity.

Just kidding.  No, really, when I went off to college and was blessed with the unspeakable joy of an in-house cafeteria (“You mean, there’s food here?  Like, real, cooked food?  All the time????”), I noticed most of my peers had NO idea how to eat.  My roommates and I would go off to dinner together, eat a nice meal, and then, a few hours later, they’d go back.  And eat another meal.  And sometimes again after that.  They’d also skip breakfast a lot.  I became the opposite of my parents, pestering them about their eating habits, (“You know it’s not a good idea to eat chicken strips and ranch at 2 am, right???”)  These were girls who’d had home cooked meals all their lives, who felt crushing guilt over each sesame seed that tumbled off their hamburger bun, who’d never been allowed double scoops on their ice cream cones, and who had no idea how to organize their meals on their own.  I, on the other hand, had been in charge of my own meals my whole life.  I knew what I was doing.  As an adult, I lead a very healthy lifestyle, eat healthy foods almost nearly close to all of the time, and the same could be said of my sister and my husband (a fellow childhood fridge forager).

So there you have it.  The experiment has been conducted and the guinea pig came out loving organics and spurning Flaming Hot Cheetos (most of the time).  Fear the unwanted crust of your child’s sandwich no longer!  I guess the moral of this post, as could be the moral of all of unschooling, is: relationship is more important.  Maybe its just me, but I can’t imagine how a relationship wouldn’t be damaged by a lifetime of forced feedings.  I’m not suggesting you go out and buy your kid a lifetime’s supply of Count Chocula (in true hypocrite’s fashion, I would never buy that for my kids), I’m just saying…the “mean moms” are wrong.  Forcing your kids to eat stuff they hate or reserving awesome foods for just some days is a bad move.  Honestly, its stupid.  Don’t do it.  There, my moral:

Don’t do it.

Also, enjoy food.  Food is good.

Also, nobody but lunatics only eat dessert on weekends.  You don’t want your kid to be a lunatic, do you?

Until next time.

Personality Types

So, we’ve already established that I’m obsessed with Myers Briggs, though at present I’m a little confused over what my type is.  I was so so sure I was an INTP but then I thought, no, I’m probably more of an E than an I, so I must be an ENTP, but then Shaine was like, you are not a T, you’re an F.  So now I’m all confused…Is it possible I’m an ENFP? All these years I’ve thought of myself of an introverted thinker, but is possible I’m actually an extroverted feeler?  Could the sun set in the middle of the night and the sky be pink? Maybe friends, maybe.

Thrillingly, for this huge nerd right here, there are many more personality type thingys (that is their Latin name) out there in the university of Google. Such as!!! Enneagrams!  And Temperments!  Woo Hoo!

Not that I would ever obsess over anything, least of all myself (lies lies lies), I may be a personality type junky.  I can’t help it!  They are far from an exact science and I seem to change my mind about which type I am every week or so, but for some reason I’m hooked.  I’m a Cabo San Lucas Grouper and the Personality Tests are a boatful of drunk tourists. Get me?

Ok, I know you’re all dying of suspense, so I’ll just tell you: I think I may be a 7 on the Enneagram, which would mesh perfectly with being an ENTP.  I thought for sure I was a 5 which would mesh with an INTP but all the tests I’ve taken say, no, you’re not a 5.  I think the thing that trips me up about all this is I must view myself as a shy, reserved, deep thinker (i.e., 5, INTP) but I’m actually an obnoxious, pleasure seeking lush (i.e., 7, ENTP).  This is reflected perfectly in a conversation I had with someone who knows a lot about Enneagrams:

“So, what’d you score?”

“Well, I thought I’d be a 5 but I scored 7.”

“Hmm, what degree did you get in college? That should tell you something about your personality.”

“Oh, I dropped out of community college after about a year.”

Awkward silence.

So, I guess I’m that terrible kind of person that thinks they’re much smarter than they really are?  But, on the plus side, maybe I’m also more likable than I ever thought I was?  I don’t know.  Does it matter? No, probably not.  Ok, I just heard the whole blogging world sigh in unison so I’m moving on.

To the Temperments!  (You didn’t think I was done talking about the tests, did you? Neva)  The Temperments are much easier, in my opinion, to figure out as there are only four so their descriptions are much broader and I don’t feel the need to flip-flop every time I have indigestion or don’t get enough sleep.

Part of this obsession with typing comes from wanting to understand my children (it’s not all about me, I promise!) so I think I’ll describe the four types through them:


Jo – Sanguine/Choleric.  The most active of all the types (hold me, Jesus).  Sanguine types are fun loving, pleasure seeking extroverts.  Cholerics are quick tempered, strong willed types.  This is the type of child that will tie FOUR ropes of varying materials from your bannister (see above) so she can continue moving even while watching TV.  Jo’s main goal in life is to make people laugh, though, if she can’t pull that off, she’s also content with making people cry.  Whatevs.

anna(I did not make the above picture Godzilla gigantic and this pic small as a mouse on purpose.  I just have no idea what I am doing)

Anna – Melancholic/Phlegmatic.  Melancholics are sensitive, quiet, introverted thinking types.  Phlegmatics are calm peacemakers.  This combo is interesting as the two instincts are at a bit of a variance with each other.  Anna is the type of child who cries over something her sister has said to her, yet begs you not to be upset with the offending sister, and cries even harder if said sister is punished in any way.

If you can’t tell, Anna and Jo are complete opposites, which has the potential to create conflict, but actually has been a huge blessing in many ways.  Jo, left to herself, is a savage barbarian that belongs in a Roman colosseum while Anna is so prim she shrieks if an ant crawls over her toe.  In short, they NEED each other.  Jo brings loads of fun into Anna’s otherwise neat and tidy world while Anna makes Jo a bit more aware of ridiculous things such as manners and closing the door while you go the bathroom.  God knows what He’s doing, it seems.


Ruby – Phlegmatic/Sanguine.  Phlegmatics, as we’ve discussed, just want everybody to get along, and Sanguines want to have lots of fun.  I have no favorite among my children (no nope never), but Ruby is seriously so so easy.  As any parent of multiple children will understand, a child who’s main goal in life is getting along with everybody is a GODSEND (hallelujah hands emoji).  She also happens to think I’m pretty and awesome so, cheers to you, Rubes.


If your main hobby is not staring googley eyed at sleeping babies, then we can’t be friends.

Zoe- Choleric/Sanguine.  Oh, Zoe.  Zoe, Zoe, Zoe.   Should I say it again? Okay: Zoe.  I have never had an angry baby.  I’ve seen angry babies, sure, being pushed around in strollers by other, less competent parents.  But my children never acted in such a way.  Last said by me, about twelve months and three weeks ago.  This kid has such a temper!  I used to blame it on teething, and the kid does have an obscene amount of teeth (what baby has her back molars before age 1?), but I’m starting to come out of denial and realize that, yes, she actually is trying to bite me.  She seems to get over things quickly (thank you, friend Sanguine) but it can be a bit of a wild ride until she does.

How have  I rambled on so far down the page about personality types??  I should probably be embarrassed by this, right?  In case any of you are thinking, seriously, this is your Easter weekend blog post!?  Let me remind you that I am Orthodox so Easter is still weeks and weeks away for me, so ha! I promise you, whilst I am shopping for deeply discounted Easter merch in the following weeks, I will be constructing something of a bit more depth to lay on ya’ll.  Or, I’ll write about how much I love the show Parenthood.  You’ll just have to wait and see!

P.S. In case you were wondering (you weren’t? what?) I am a Sanguine/Phlegmatic (No, Parris, I am not a Choleric. No!) and Shaine, sweet, blessed Shaine, is a Phlegmatic/Melancholic.  I highly recommend marrying a Phlegmatic. They are thee best.

P.P.S. Yes, I am aware that I use an unwholesome amount of commas.

And, (not P.P.P.S., this is too big to be a P.S.) to all my non-Orthodox friends out there: Happy Easter!  Christ is Risen!

New Things

These guys arrived the other day! Are they or are they not the ca-hustest things you’ve ever seen?   They’re Waldorf Math Gnomes: King Equals and his four serfs; Plus, Minus, Divides, and Times.  My girls are absolutely, ridiculously, over-ze-top in love with them, though, personally, I’m a little suspicious of their religious leanings.



(I just found them like this…) Actual time spent using them for mathematical purposes versus marrying them to each other is undisclosed.

Also, this!


Okay, Colloidal Silver is not new.  Uses of it can be traced back to Hippocrates.  But it’s new to me.  Zoe has had a terrible case of pink eye (the first case ever among our kids which just happened to befall us five days after I mentioned this fact to my husband.  Seriously, why?)  I tried every home remedy Dr. Google prescribes but nothing was able to save my sweet baby from the angry beast below.


(They love when I take pictures of them while they’re crying, btw.)

I was ready to hang up my Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman bonnet and actually take her to a real, licensed doctor (oh, the horror!) but decided to make one last ditch effort and buy the colloidal silver a friend of mine had recommended.  I am happy to report after one day’s application, she is almost completely healed! This morning was the first in many that she didn’t wake up with her eye glued shut looking like a slightly (a little more than slightly?) creepy Lalaloopsy doll.  I won’t say the pink eye is 100% cured quite yet, she’s still pretty goopy (you’re loving all these beautiful images I’m conjuring up, right?), but its much, much improved.

Okay, last but not least:


Yes, that’s right.  I’m an Oil Lady now.  Please enter your credit card info right below…No, just kidding.  I’m not selling anything.  But I am officially dabbing/rubbing/spraying/diffusing oils on every surface, human and otherwise, that I come in contact with.  I think my favorite use of them are the homemade cleaning sprays I have made.

Recipes? So glad you asked:

~Mulitpurpose (including glass) Spray: Half vodka (yes, vodka), half water, 10 drops tea tree oil, 10 drops lavender oil.  Seriously this, is thee best!  It smells amazing, cuts through everything (including olive oil and mold), leaves no streaks (even on my granite counters which everything left streaks on), and, best of all, doesn’t emit the scent of poison (see: Windex)

-Disinfectant Spray: Straight vodka, with about 25 drops On Guard oil (doTerra’s immunity blend).  I use it on toilet seats, clothing stains, the rim of my HE washer (am I the only one who cannot scrub the mildew off this thing?), and basically anything that my children touch, ie everything.

Vodka, who knew, right?  It makes so much sense, though! No smell, no stickiness, safe to ingest, antiseptic, and, as it tastes like death, there’s really no other earthly use for it.

Alright, friends, another riveting post completed.  Until next time.

P.S. Just in case you’re interested, I found the Waldorf gnomes on Etsy and the colloidal silver at (where else?) Whole Foods.


Happy Days are Here Again

Sho…It’s been forever and approximately one day since my last post and I know that ALLLL of you have beside yourself with worry and grief over my absence, but Fear Not.  The Lady has returned.  (please please please note the sarcasm).

I touched on this a bit in earlier posts but I’m a wee bit (never say little when wee would work; one of my life mantra’s) torn over how I should style this blog.  Preachy McPreacherson or Let Me Tell You About My Boring Day.  If you’ve perused this blog at all, then you’ve seen all the muddy soapboxes cluttering up the place and can see which direction I was originally leaning.  But.  I don’t think I can keep that up.  I mean, its kind of ridiculous.  My oldest child is 7 years old.  Why am I telling anybody how to do anything?!  One of my biggest pet peeves is when I realize a certain blog I’ve been reading, that’s chock freaking full of parenting advice, is written by a mom of, like one 3 year old kid.  I mean, Gurl, (always with a u, always) give me a break.

PC moment: Yes, that mom may be the Albus Dumbledore of moms and could have gems and gems (pirate chests full) of wisdom.  That. Is. Possible.

Anyway, I’m think I’m going to start leaning toward the Boring Day Highlight Reel (everybody cheers woo hoooooo).  And, since I’m super spontaneous and full of that elusive edge every writer craves, I thought I’d tell you all about it before I actually did it.  So.  I guess that’s done now.

Actually, before I do that (this is the sort of blog that requires a lot of prep work), let me brush you up on the star players that will be featured on said Highlight Reel.

Okie Dokie (side note: I may or may not be a female manifestation of Ned Flanders) let’s start with the lucky first born who, prior to her birth, I actually expected to be perfect every moment of every day (cue hysterical laughter).


Jolie. 7.

Likes: 1. Kissing her sisters.  2. Tormenting her sisters

Dislikes: 1. Being alone, this applies to every conceviable situation.  Yes, that one too.  2.  Mom’s rice.  Any other presention of rice is fine.

Moving on.


Anna. 5.

Likes: 1. Ice cream (clearly). 2. Being alone (to the joy of above sister, as you can imagine).

Dislikes (you knew this was a page for Christian Mingle, right?): 1. Foods that don’t end in the word “cream”. 2. Driving anywhere that is more than 2 minutes from our home.


Ruby. 3 (who, judging from above picture may or may not be a pirate).

Likes: 1. Hopping, particularly into or on top of people. 2. Mommy and Daddy’s bed (forever and always. Never ever ever ever ever leaving) (ever).

Dislikes: 1. Mornings. 2. Every single article of clothing hanging in her closet.



Zoe. Almost 1.

Likes: 1. Boobs. 2. Small, potentially fatal objects.

Dislikes: 1. Not being held, for any reason whatsoever. 2. her sisters’ sheninanigan’s (because she will always be perfect and will never so much as dream of doing anything to upset her mother.  We have a pact.)

So that’s it.  Wait, oh yeah.

s and c

We live here too.  (It took a shamefully long to time to find a pic of only us together). He’s Shaine.  I’m Casey.

Thanks for stopping by and all that polite stuff.  I would type a witty yet surprisingly deep farewell paragraph here but the 3 year old pirate is screaming “I’m sorry!” at the top of her lungs which is officially my cue to go.

Clever farewell sentence HERE.

P.S. I don’t have some fetish for unnecessarily huge photos.  I just do not know how to make them smaller.



If you want to know…



I thought, maybe, I should I write a wee bit about meself, on the off chance any of you are like me and like to read random lists about total strangers.  So,

  1. I am Casey
  2. I have 4 kids. All two years apart.  All girls.
  3. Having 4 girls is awesome.
  4. Awesome.
  5. Sometimes I call myself Marmee, in my head.  You know, Little Women.
  6. I have been married 8 years.
  7. I got married when I was 21, and Shaine, my him, was 19.
  8. Yes, I like to rob cradles.
  9. We are converts to Orthodoxy from Evangelical Protestantism, something I’m sure I’ll write muchhhhhhh more about than any of you would care to read.
  10. My husband and I met in Youth With A Mission, in Adelaide, Australia.  G’Day.
  11. No, none of our daughters are named Adelaide (why?)
  12. Out the 4 above mentioned children, 2 are still in our bed.  We are those kind of people.
  13. I pretend that I really like to sew, knit and crochet, but what I actually like is pinning cute stuff on pinterest.
  14. I have not gone into labor naturally with any of my children. My eldest was induced after she was 8 days late.  No. 2 was 14 days late and induced.  No. 3 induced on her due date.  No. 4 induced after 17 days late.
  15. Yeah.
  16. We used to want 10, 11, 12 children, when we first married.  Now, that seems like a crazy drug induced experiment meant to discover what happens when no one brushes their teeth and is it possible to be smothered to death by dirty laundry?
  17. I kind of still do want a huge, crazy family.
  18. Well, a huge family.  Hold the crazy.
  19. I am one of 4, though I have 2 step siblings who feel like just regular non-stair like siblings.
  20. I am the third born and have all the desirable traits one expects in a middle child.
  21. My youngest brother is autistic.
  22. Yes, we think vaccines had something to do with it.  BOOM!
  23. I’m an unschooler.  Shocker, because you couldn’t tell that from the url address, right?
  24. My oldest daughter reminds me a LOT of Han Solo.
  25. My second daughter is incredibly sensitive, which is hard for me as I’m practically a sociopath.  Kidding?  Probably.
  26. My third daughter is so pretty I kind of dread the day she figures it out and it becomes a Thing.
  27. She looks nothing like me, so, no, it’s not conceited to say that.
  28. I don’t have much to say about daughter No. 4 as she’s 6 months old.
  29. Except I love her.  She is my squishy and I shall call her Squishy.
  30. IMG_2826 Zoe for President, 2016.
  31. I am very neurotic about my kids watching TV.  I’m somehow convinced that one too many episodes of Strawberry Shortcake will cripple them (psychologically? spiritually?) for life.
  32. My favorite movie is Moonstruck, which I like to watch when I’m feeling hypocritical about no. 31.
  33. My favorite (fiction) books are A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Little Women (duh), The Mark of the Lion Series, and something I’m going to remember as soon as I publish this page.
  34. I’d waaaaaaaay rather hang out with my kids than friends.
  35. My favorite kind of person is Nice.
  36. My least favorite kind of person gives unsolicited advice constantly.
  37. Like by writing a blog about unschooling.
  38. I’m a wee bit obsessed with the Myers Briggs personality test and have classified (pigeon-holed. forever.) my whole family, every character on every TV show I watch, and most celebrities.
  39. I’m an INTP, which explains the sociopath thing.  It’s also the most rebellious combo, which doesn’t explain the fact that I’ve chosen to unschool. At all.
  40. My husband is an INTJ.  I think God for that J.
  41. I am convinced I could never be happily married to an S.
  42. Not that I don’t like S’s.  My sister is an S and I’m practically in love with her.  I just need that N around the house.
  43. Figuring out my kids’ combo’s has been super duper (don’t be intimidated by my mastery of the adverb) helpful in understanding them.  I used this book to do it.
  44. My husband is really cute.
  45. I have a chi-weenie named Pippa who thinks I am God.  It makes me slightly uncomfortable.
  46. My patron saint is St. John the Baptist, who I chose after I dreamed of his icon two nights in a row.
  47. Getting to know Mary as the Theotokos has been one of the greatest Joys (yes, that needed a capital J) of my life.
  48. I live in California, the land where everyone feels guilty about flushing the toilet.
  49. George MacDonald has been perhaps the greatest influence of my spiritual life.  If you have never read anything by him, please, stop reading this nonsense and get this immediately.
  50. I’m going to stop this list at 51. I promise.
  51. I am a spy.