The year Ken left for Viet Nam, we bought a house for the first time.  He wanted us to be settled in Oklahoma because, as he put it, "I don't want to be worried about what's going to happen to my family if I don't make it back."

Pat was in the forth grade, Becky in the second, and Scott was almost four years old.  I was on my own in the parenting department.  And in every other department as well.  Which was no big deal as far as being alone...he was gone so much in the Marines anyway that I had a lot of experience at managing.

But I had never been responsible for a house that was mine.  In the military, if you are lucky enough to get base housing, they take care of the problems.  If you have to rent off base, the landlord does...or doesn't--which is many times the case when you rent.

I learned about termites, broken windows, garage door opener repairs...and the list goes on and on.  All in addition to being the cook, cleaner, washer woman, and all those normal jobs as well. And full time parenting with all that entails.

But the thing that almost drove me nuts was the flower beds.  Weeds!  So I made a housekeeping rule for me and the children.  Every time anyone came inside the house, they had to pull 5 weeds.  No more, no less.  Give me your five weeds, and you can come inside.

It sounds like child labor--which is was--but how hard is it to pull 5 weeds.  Eventually they realized that pulling the little weeds was a snap and left the big ones for me to pull. I've kept pulling five weeds myself my entire life.  Five.  No more.  But the problem now is that when I bend over to pull my five weeds, sometimes I just keep going!  I've had to wash a lot of mud off my hands lately.