Church o' the Peeps

Home church is imminent. My blog might become “Housewife Lonely; Give Kel Some Love” cuz this is one Savant that will be seriously secluded in the advent of home church.
I don’t keep in touch with anyone, not even people with whom I feel genuine attachment. If I’m not duty-bound to see or talk to you on a regular basis, you’ll think I’ve died, unless you facebook. Unless you read my blog.

As Pastor’s Wife I was obligated to keep company with church peeps. Having very little common ground betwixt us, and unfortunately no transparency, we were more like acquaintances. Pastor's Wife can’t be telling anyone what she really thinks, but on Wednesdays and Sundays I got my fix of conversation outside my immediate fam. There were some laughs, and not purely of the “laughing-at” variety. The relationships fed my need, but Traditional Church has reached its expiration date.

I’m often struck by the frenzied lives of homeschoolers who try to prevent social retardation of their sheltered children by hustling them into a surplus of extracurricular activities. With that hope in mind I’m signing up for gymnastics.
I don’t want to wither.

I do full-time daycare for a two-year-old who was recently diagnosed with Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia. His chemo-ravaged immune system prohibits forays into the public sector and his general welfare prevents us from even going outdoors. Top that with the fact that I’m a low-energy housecat, lazybones, couch potato, slacker, who procrastinates, and the planets are aligned for some serious social deprivation.

In my never-ending quest for likeminded buds, I planted “home church” in my Profile Interests and clicked for instant friends.
There is slim chance I’ll find my Girl Posse amongst THAT faction on this network. Until I start making my own maxi pads from cloth diapers we’re not gonna click.

Home churching women have home churching hubbies with interests like gun collecting and head coverings for women. Whilst the womenfolk make bread from flour they’ve milled themselves the men are free to discuss medical conspiracies and rail against the government. Never mind a significant portion of those men have been unemployed for the better part of a decade.
What the heck is homesteading? It’s Very Popular with the home church crowd. I asked my hubb to explain. He didn’t know.

Hubb’s ignorance is significant. (That sounds funny, eh? Let me develop that point so’s not to leave you thinking I’m married to a moron.) Despite the fact that hubb can’t remember to read care labels when he helps with laundry and he fails to discern “Hard Row to Hoe” from “Hard Toad to Row”; he’s really smart. Hubb graduated seminary with a 3.97. That earned him honors from something like Kappa Holy Krappa.
He’s very intelligent, yet he’s sansa-clue when it comes to homesteading. We both are.

I told hubb about home church bloggers and explained to him my fear of Home Church Retardation.
“I don’t want to be the housewife equivalent of the homeschooler who gets beat up at math camp by the band geek!” I whined.
“First off;” hubb explained, “your wit and banter are too ingrained to be greatly altered by circumstance.”
I told you he’s smart. He talks like that.
“Nuh-UH,” I countered intelligently, “I need peeps.”
“Well,” he asked, “What about ‘G.R.I.T.S. on a Swing’?”
Point well taken, despite the mixed monikers.

He teases that my blog is the best thing that’s happened to our marriage in years. (I believe the exact words were, “More blog means less blab.”)
I genuinely have a HECK of a good time blogging. It’s right up there with boogie boarding and that’s the danged-est best time ever, in my malapert-ic opinion. The stork that dropped me in Northern Wisconsin was off by several degrees of latitude. I'm Southern, can'tcha see? and I’m meant to be on the water in the warm.

Just as I’m meant to be part of a sisterhood.

We’re not sharing magical jeans, but there are peeps. I have some peeps. I’m getting peeps, and they’re Sweet.

Hubb and I came to the conclusion that I’m not gonna find my groove amongst home church bloggers. I’m not making prairie dresses for my girls out of fabric I’ve woven from my own hair. I don’t enjoy gardening, canning, baking, sewing/quilting or keeping any sort of livestock, unless a fully stocked meat freezer counts.

Before I’d be kindred with homesteading girls I’ve got to take my axe into the woods and build myself a Menstrual Hut.