…Rice Ranch….








…hello, Rice Lodge…






We're moving TOMORROW. Eeeeek !!! I'll post more pics later, as we are in a state of chaos at the moment. For now, here is a sneak peek….









…so excited !!



Merry day after Christmas :)
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Can you believe it's two days until CHRISTMAS ???! I'm soooooo excited !!

Jason and Naomi hosted an Ugly Sweater Party on Saturday.

We all "walked the runway" to music and voted on who had the ugliest sweater. Things may have digressed into a dance competition….

I'm posting the videos, but be warned: they are a bit graphic.

You may never view our family the same again.






Cast your vote !!

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We are currently in the middle of a baking frenzy. I'm elbow deep in peanut butter kiss cookies and peppermint bark, but I took a break to give you another Christmas present.

Did you miss your other ones ? See the past two posts if you did. 

And a HUGE thank you for all the Christmas cookie and candy ideas in the comment section a few posts back - we're using a bunch of them ! 


Ready for your gifts? Here we go...

Here's Mister Hayden Patrick...


And the Lilybird, doing her classic "hmmmm" face…




We went to The Nutcracker here in town last Saturday. Monique and Naomi and Norah attended with Kenz, Abbi and Lily and me…it was divine !!






And here is a sweet little video of Hayden…completely entertained by a ball bouncing off his head.

Merry Almost Christmas !!




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Day two of a-gift-a-day-until-Christmas here on A Perfect Lily. If you missed your first gift, see the previous post. It was a good one.


Just a quick update on life at the Rice Ranch before I give you your gifts.

We won't know til December 27th about our house…are you still praying for us ? Please keep it up !

My kids all got flu shots today. Actually, they all got nasal spray (big sigh of relief from lots of children here) and Lily got a shot. Do you do flu shots/nasal spray in your family ? They seem to have helped us the past few years…  although last year this time we got THE worst stomach flu known to mankind while Sam was away having a blast in Thailand. I took care of 8 puking kids while pregnant and puking myself, while he went galavanting around Thailand riding elephants or something.  Not that I'm bitter or anything…

Anyhoot, this was before the nasal spray and shots…




Lily kept peeking in the lab at each child to see what was going on. As soon as it was her turn she lost it. And if you've ever tried to pin an almost-four year old down while she is screaming MAMA PLEEEEEASE up at you and thrashing frantically on an exam table…you know it is right up there with root canals on your list of how not to spend your holidays. 

We did all survive the ordeal, however... I promised Lily and the kids a cookie at Coffee Culture where big sissy works after the doctor visit, so as soon as Lily's band-aid was on, she starting yelling "ALL DONE !!!! COOKIE !!!!" Then she waved and told the nurse bye-bye a hundred times. We took the kids to visit our favorite nurse on the other side of the lab, and as soon as Lily saw her she started yelling "GO !! GO!!" and pointing out the door. Those poor nurses, they have such a reputation for pain with my kids. But if this saves us a bout with the flu for a household of eleven, it is worth it. Trust me on this one.

As promised, a trip to Coffee Culture…





…Lily acts like she owns the place every time we go there. And she must have her giant cookie in a bag every time. Not on a plate, not handed to her in a napkin- it must be in a bag. Girlfriend is all about routine.



So now we're back home, and I am about to hot glue a dozen gingerbread houses together for decorating tonight. This is a yearly tradition, and one of our favorites….and this year my grandbabies are coming too, which makes things twice as fun. Pictures of that tomorrow, but for now here are a few from Instagram….







me with Norah…my granddaughter. I wuv her.


Norah Jane



L is for Lily


And now, for your Christmas presents…are you ready ? Two of them today….

Here is Jason, my oldest son. This is goin' viral folks - remember, you saw it here first.







And here is the Lilybird doing her thang.







Merry Christmas !!
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I had a conversation with my sister-in-law today that sparked this post. She's pregnant with her seventh child, and I couldn't be happier...partly because I love big families, and also because she and my brother produce amazing children. The world needs more little Kopps running around.

So today we were discussing schooling options. Lori and my brother have chosen to send some of their kids to school, and they homeschool the others. They make their decisions based on each child's needs, and also how they feel their school is doing when it comes to educating each child. Their oldest child achieved a perfect score on the math section of his SATs and was accepted into the Air Force Academy this year...he is brilliant. They have a host of children coming up in the ranks who are equally brilliant, and they want them to remain so. Thus their decision to homeschool.

Because contrary to the belief of some, homeschooling is many times a better choice than public schooling. And I say that with a profound respect for teachers- my mom was a teacher for many, many years, and I have dozens of friends who have chosen that noble profession. But the sad fact is, not every teacher is a great teacher, and even when some are, not every school is a wonderful place to teach.

We have done everything when it comes to schooling our kids. We've had them in public school, we've homeschooled, we've done public school online, and we've gone the private school route. This has all been done in an effort to find the best fit for our family. Honestly, I did not want to homeschool my kids. The reasons against it are endless.

I'm not a naturally organized person.

I like having my time to myself.

I don't feel qualified.

I have a lot on my plate already.

It takes so much work.

I love a quiet house.

I enjoy school Christmas programs and field trips and parent nights.

I loved school myself. LOVED it.

Having said that, we faced so many disappointments and problems in the public school system where we live, and private school became so expensive the more children we had, that homeschooling became our only option.

I'm going to give you a little glimpse into that last year of public school that sealed the deal for me...because I hope to make some people investigate what is going on in their children's schools. Perhaps you're one of the lucky ones who have an awesome school and some equally awesome teachers. I know they're out there. I really do. We had those in the town we lived in before we moved here, and I couldn't have been more delighted.... and then we moved here.

Side note : I don't want to disparage all the schools in my town, and I am willing to admit that I may have a bad taste in my mouth because of the particular grade school my children attended. So if you live here, please know that I don't think you're a terrible parent if you send your kids to public school. This was just my experience.

My oldest son was in fourth grade when we moved here, and we had him go to one month of school to meet new friends before the next school year began. He was always well liked, and he fit right in immediately. The problems began the next year, in fifth grade.

We spent the good part of that year staying up late talking to Jason and praying with him, because he could not get images out of his mind, or conversations he had with other boys at school. Every day he came home telling us about things that were told to him that he could not stop thinking about. He was 10 years old and still sleeping with a teddy bear, and yet the kids at his school were constantly talking about one thing : sex.

For instance, there was a boy at school who was being raised by his single mother. I'm not sure where the teacher was - and neither was Jason - but this little boy took advantage of his absence in the classroom by unzipping his pants and opening and closing his book on his private parts. And calling to Jason to look at him, while he laughed. I often wondered how different that little boy would have been if he had a father figure in his life, but that's a whole different topic. *Edited to add: this sentence apparently hurt some single moms. When I wrote it I was thinking about his deadbeat dad...and the fact that this little boy often told my son how he wished his dad came to his baseball games like Jason's dad did. What was written as a statement about dads who miss their chance to impact their kids' lives for good was taken by some as a slam against single moms. I'm sorry for the misunderstanding :(

Another boy pulled up pornography on the class computer, and Jason walked by while he was looking at it. When I asked the teacher how this could possibly happen, he assured me it couldn't - the school computers had filters on them, and you couldn't even get to a website that had the word sex on it. When I told him what Jason saw on his friend's computer, the teacher then told me that he was sure they "both" knew they should not have been looking at that. (???)

The last six weeks of school were used to allow student teachers to come in and teach. And apparently they were used by the regular teachers to go have a smoke or hang out in the teacher's lounge... because according to my kids, they were rarely in the classroom during those six weeks of school.

One day Jason came home to tell us what had happened while the student teacher from our local college was teaching...a boy in his class read (out loud) a story he wrote about his father. His dad was obviously a very sick man, who strapped him to the table and did ...things... to him to punish him. Sam marched down to the school to talk to the principal, who put him in touch with the student teacher. She explained to my husband that this particular boy would not do math or reading assignments, but he WAS very good about writing. So she allowed him to write about whatever he wanted, and to encourage him, she had him read his paper aloud to the classroom. When Sam asked her if she thought it was appropriate to read that kind of disturbing behavior to a group of ten and eleven year olds, she responded that she didn't know ahead of time what he had written. When Sam asked her why she didn't stop him when he started reading the sordid details of his troubled home out loud, she said she "didn't want to embarrass him."

That was Jason's first and last year at that school. We made the decision to pull him out of school, and Josiah asked to be homeschooled as well. We decided to leave Mackenzie in the school, as she was only in second grade...how much could happen at that age ? We were so wrong.

Just after the school year began, the school counselor called Mackenzie into her office at lunch time (without notifying me) because another little boy said she told him to f*** off. I guarantee you Mackenzie did not even know the f-word at that age, and we knew this little boy from her softball team...his parents regularly hauled him off the field when he threw himself on the grass refusing to play. His father would carry him screaming to their van while he cursed him all the way...so I have no doubt he had heard those words before.

Kenzie told the counselor she didn't know what word she said, and later on the counselor called to tell me the story. When Mackenzie came home and I asked her about the incident she said this little boy had been yelling at HER on the playground and got in trouble - he obviously lied to the teacher to get himself off the hook. When I asked Kenzie if she said anything like "you sucker" (thinking maybe there was a name she did know that rhymed with the f-word ???) she BURST into tears and said she would never ever use the word "sucker". (Whew. Because we all know that is the worst you could call someone ;)) I called the counselor and told her about our conversation, and she said she believed my daughter and was dropping the matter. But the next day she called Mackenzie into her office and asked her "why she lied to her mommy ? Was she afraid of her mommy ??"

A few weeks later Mackenzie's teacher sent home a letter explaining that for two weeks (??) they would be talking about good touch/bad touch in the classroom. When I called the teacher to ask what kind of things would take place, she said they would talk about many things, including how corporal punishment was bad touch, and if children had experienced this at home they were encouraged to talk to their teachers about it. They would also be discussing inappropriate touches (with second graders) and using role play to demonstrate how a child should react to inappropriate touching. There would be a video detailing what inappropriate touches were, which did not include the act of inappropriate touching, but left the children to surmise what it was because of the drama that led up to it.


So yes, we had problems. And what I described was the worst of them, but there were dozens upon dozens of smaller problems, all adding up with the big ones and resulting in our decision to pull our kids out of that school.

I prayed long and hard about that decision - and believe me, there have been days when I have wanted to quit. Lots of days.

But I'll tell you what - I am not going to sacrifice my kids' innocence and expose them every day to that kind of crud because I like having my time to myself. I'm not going to subject them to that kind of environment day in and day out because I don't feel qualified. Because in my opinion, my kids' character and innocence - in the long run - matters to me so much more than their education. Period.

So I pray, and I take the time to look for good curriculum, and I ask lots of questions, and I try to become better educated myself so that I can help my kids learn. I employ help when needed - I go to people who understand math better than I do, and I ask for help teaching my kids algebra. I call people who are smarter that I am when I don't know how to teach something else. I make sure my children are reading and reading and reading, and then I make sure they read some more. And then I pray and pray and pray again for God's wisdom and help in doing this job of homeschooling.

Do I make mistakes ? I'm quite sure I do. But I know one thing - I have my kids' best interests at heart. And those teachers did not. I  have no idea what their motivation for teaching was, and I'm sure it wasn't evil. Perhaps it was just to earn a paycheck. Perhaps they really did believe that a ten year old glancing over and seeing pornography on another student's computer was no big deal. Because - as that teacher informed me - it was nothing worse than what kids see every night on tv.

My point exactly.

Which is why we don't have a tv either, thank you very much.

I'm not raising my kids to live in a cave. They will be inundated with all of the garbage the world has to offer soon enough. It's on billboards and in magazines and on iPhones and just about everywhere you look.

But while my kids are little I want them to be just that - KIDS.

And kids shouldn't have to be subjected to an "adult" culture every day.

Children should have a chance to enjoy things like sleeping with their teddy bear at night - instead of being asked every day by the boy in the lunch line which one of the Spice Girls he'd like to have sex with.


I'll get off my soapbox now. If you have any questions or thoughts about the subject of homeschooling, I'd love to hear them.


I'll end with reason number 4,753 why I'm glad we chose homeschooling for our family :





...I get to go on mid-morning coffee dates with my kids. And I don't even have to ask permission to do it.



The End.
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** warning: this post has absolutely nothing to do with Lily, Down syndrome, or anything lovely. It's just me venting. Thankyouverymuch. ***



It's going to be a great day, I can tell. When it starts off like this, things can only get better.

I was scheduled to have my glucose test this morning...the one they have you do every pregnancy to check for high blood sugar (gestational diabetes). I asked my OB if I could somehow escape this dreaded test, as I know I have LOW blood sugar, not high blood sugar. I had it last pregnancy and I have all the signs this time as well...if I don't eat every few hours I get light headed, dizzy, shaky, tunnel vision, I start cussing, etc. It's a lot of fun. After many episodes in stores or the library where I have almost passed out and had to borrow cheese and crackers from someone...a library clerk, a stranger, etc, I have learned to always have a Fiber One bar in my purse with me at all times.

Anyhow, my OB said I absolutely had to have this test, and I scheduled it for this morning at seven a.m. I had to fast for twelve hours before..which was already not easy because of what I just described.

On typical mornings I open my eyes, and there is Caleb standing by my bedside with a cup of tea. I'm not kidding. I have trained him well. I stumble downstairs and shovel Special K in my mouth before my brain is fully engaged. This is my daily pregnancy routine, and it shall continue to be my daily morning routine until I die or Jesus comes back, world without end, amen.

SO not eating after seven last night was bad enough (I forgot and ate at eight)... knowing I couldn't have my morning tea or beloved Special K was even worse...but add to that the anxiety of having my blood taken for three consecutive hours this morning on an empty stomach, and you have a very restless night. I kept waking up to check the clock and make sure I hadn't overslept...Sam took our van in to the shop yesterday, so Mackenzie was taking me to the hospital today on her way to work. I was worried I would oversleep and either make her late or miss my ride altogether...and my stupid stomach decided to act up all night as well...I think it was protesting the bottle of thick syrupy orange flavored liquid sugar I would have to down in five minutes or less once I arrived at the lab this morning. (WHO INVENTS THESE TESTS ANYWAY?!?!)

Sam's alarm woke me up at five. I breathed a sigh of relief,  knowing I had plenty of time to get ready before Mackenzie and I had to leave at 6:30...and I promptly fell asleep until 6:15. When I woke up and asked Sam (who was just getting up) what time it was, I jumped out of bed, realizing I had fifteen minutes to get out the door. In my twenties this would not have been a problem..at 44 and 362 days, this was a nightmare. It takes fifteen minutes just to get my hair to stop looking like something out of a horror movie (think Elvira on crack) let alone my face. I looked in the mirror, swallowed my pride and decided I wouldn't see anyone I knew at the lab anyway (hopefully)... and forced my unruly mass of bedhead into a ponytail.

Fifteen minutes later a sleepy Caleb (moral support - hey, he was jobless this morning!) and I climbed into Mackenzie's car.

"Do you have my Cliff Bar for afterwards?" I asked Caleb in a panicked voice. Maybe because I was. Panicked that is. "Check." he replied. "Water bottle??" I barked. "In my jacket pocket," he dutifully answered.

Side note - every mom should have a Caleb. When pregnancy and motherhood depletes all your brain cells, you need a Caleb to fill in the gaps. Did you ever watch M.A.S.H growing up ? Caleb is my Radar. If you don't know what I'm talking about, google it.


Kenzie dropped us off at the hospital, where the lab is located - in the basement, where all torture chambers are located, of course. It's been there for the fifteen years we've lived here. So Caleb and I headed confidently to the torture chamber, my stomach churning and my teeth gritted, ready to face Nurse Nancy and her dreaded needles.

Have I mentioned how much I hate needles? Let me push a seven pound baby out of a place nothing weighing that much should come out of ANY day...but do not show me a needle. The mere sight of them causes waves of nausea to course through me while gallons of sweat drip profusely from my brow.


I hate needles.



The kind gentleman at the front desk asked us where we were going as we were confidently whizzing by... I muttered "the torture cha - umm... lab" and he held up his hand. "They moved it," he apologized. "Are you kidding me?" I asked him. Maybe my voice sounded a bit desperate. After all, I was just deprived of my morning tea and beloved Special K. "Oh, it's not far," he smiled, then glanced at my protruding belly. "Well, not too far," he mumbled, and pointed across the street to a brick building.


Poor Caleb was the subject of my tirade against needles, doctors, thick disgusting syrupy orange flavored liquid, and all of humanity, as we lugged ourselves across the street and into the new and improved torture chamber/lab.

"WHO THINKS UP THESE TESTS ANYWAY???!" I whispered hideously. Have you ever heard a hideous whisper ? Listen to the pale faced guard in the torture chamber from Princess Bride and you'll get a clue. It's not a pretty sound.


*Side note...we don't have a tv. But you might think that we do from reading this post. I watched a lot of tv growing up. Obviously.

I swear my legs weighed a hundred pounds each as I forced myself to the registration desk.

"I'm here for my glucose test," I whispered pathetically. (Not to be confused with hideously. Those kind of whispers are reserved for friends and family.)


"Orders ?" the stone faced man behind the window barked at me.


"I...order you...to give me a glucose test?" I whimpered.


Okay, I didn't whimper that. But I wanted to.


"What orders ?" I asked.


"Orders. From your doctor. We have to have them or we can't do lab work."


"The lady on the phone told me you had my orders," I said.


Stone Face turned to rifle half-heartedly through a stack of papers.


"What's your name?" he spat over his shoulder. Clearly he loves his job.


"Patti Rice," I yelped back. I wasn't in a barking mood...yet. But his lack of compassion for pregnant mothers about to undergo torture treatments was irking me.


"Nothing here," he said over his shoulder. "Sorry."


And then he just stared at me.


"What does that mean?" I asked him.


"It means you need to go to your doctor and get your orders," said Stone Face.


"They don't open til eight," said a very large nurse from behind the window, licking her sticky fingers and continuing to munch on an equally large donut.


"Whatcha got there?" smiled Stone Face at Nurse Nancy, suddenly looking more like Marshmallow Man.


"A yummy donut from the cafe...the last one," grinned Nurse Nancy, and polished off her last sticky bite.


"Excuse me," I interrupted, "but I'm confused. Do I have to...reschedule ? Or...??"  Mackenzie was at work by now, and Sam was on his way out of town to a meeting. My tummy was rumbling, and the smell of donuts was wafting through the air.


"Apparently," Stone Face glared at me. (Marshmallow Man was nowhere to be seen now.) "Call your doctor today and get some orders and we'll see you when you reschedule."


"I'm SO GLAD I fasted for this!" I barked, and threw my book on the counter as I frantically dialed my son Josiah. Suddenly I didn't care what Stone Face or Nurse Nancy thought. Or anyone in that stupid torture chamber.


"Get me the President of this hospital STAT!" I barked into my cell phone.


Okay, not really.


"Josiah ??" I cried into the phone. "Can you come pick me up from the hospital?" Poor Josiah had just woken up and he said he would be there in five minutes.


A nice nurse from the back of the torture chamber came out to apologize and told me we could reschedule for tomorrow morning. She said this kind of thing happens all the time with doctors - they forget to give their patients their lab orders and they have to reschedule. She wrote me down for seven a.m. tomorrow and assured me they would poke me gently.


Josiah picked us up, and I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing my Special K and English Breakfast tea were waiting for me at home, just minutes away.


And suddenly my Venting Novel has become so long that I don't have time to tell you about the rest of my crappy morning...the one where I bent over to pick up a crushed ball point pen in the driveway after Josiah drove off...and promptly covered my hands and only pair of maternity jeans that fit with dark blue ink...and how someone locked the garage door when they left this morning, and Caleb and I didn't have a house key...and how I stood drooling at the front door and ringing the doorbell for ten minutes, praying one of my older kids would wake up and hear it while ball point pen ink dried quickly on my hands and jeans... and a coughing fit triggered by the cold Oregon morning triggered another episode of weak-bladdered-pregnant-woman-syndrome.


So here I sit at the computer, typing away, wearing a fresh pair of maternity yoga pants, an empty cereal bowl on one side of the keyboard, and my second cup of tea steaming beautifully on the other. My jeans are soaking in the washing machine with oxyclean, and The Rice Ranch is just now coming to life.






And it just gets better from here.









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