A Foregone Conclusion

"We have weapons on board, in case we need them to fight the Aliens. We have nerve gas, even nuclear."

It may be on DVD, but this Superman episode is obviously old.

Skirmish #2

Dane had a baseball game tonight and then he and I stayed to watch his classmates' team play, so we were late getting home. Don took Deanna and Daelyn home after Dane's game, so when Dane and I came through the door, Deanna was waiting, having just had her shower.

"Did I tell you about the squirrel today?" she asked.

"What? Did Donovan chase another squirrel?"

"Not 'chase', almost caught!" she replied emphatically.

Dane walks Donovan in the morning, Deanna in the afternoon. When she took him out for his walk, he spotted the squirrel playing at the base of the tree. Deanna said she watched as Donovan crept slowly towards him, stalking him. When he was about 3 feet away, he took off at a dead run.

"And he would've gotten the squirrel, too, if it hadn't been for me!"

"You held him back? Why? He deserved to get that squirrel as hard as he's worked the last couple of days," I chided.

"I wasn't trying to keep him from the squirrel, but when he took off running so fast, it caught me by surprise and I couldn't keep up with him. He reached the end of the leash before I could get close enough for him to reach the squirrel. He almost jerked my arm out of it's socket."

Squirrel: 2
Donovan: 0

And the war continues. My bets are on Donovan.

Hunter

Dane came running in the house from walking the dog the other day, hollering.

"Mom," he yelled, "Donovan almost got a squirrel!"

Apparently, our brilliant dog had spotted a squirrel in the yard, and moved quickly, without the squirrel noticing him, between it and the tree. Then the stand-off began. Dane stood back, holding Donovan's leash, observing with delight the antics of his favorite puppy (we still call him a "puppy" even though he's three years old). Donovan stood quietly until the squirrel looked up and noticed he was cut off from his tree.

As the squirrel moved to the right to get around Donovan, the dog moved slightly to his left, matching the position of the other animal. They kept this up for a few minutes, Donovan countering every move of the squirrel.

Finally, the squirrel took off at a dead run. Donovan, being a dog and a hunter, at that, couldn't stand still any longer. He took off after the squirrel. Finally, the squirrel came to a screeching halt, Donovan tried his best to stop, but his heavier weight propelled him forward. The squirrel slipped in past him and ran up the tree before Donovan could recover.

Dane was quite excited that his dog had fared so well and can't wait to see the next skirmish. It'll be interesting to see if Donovan's learned anything and can hold his ground without chasing the squirrel - nature vs. training. Not that it really matters. We don't eat squirrel and I would hate to see him kill the little critter.

Although, I'm not entirely sure that Donovan WOULD kill it. He may just want to play with it some. We have yet to see him harm any other creature. He seems to think every other animal is his playmate, but I don't believe the squirrel labors under that false assumption.

Predicaments

Daelyn: "I have quite a predicament on my hands!"

Me, trying to discretely find out if he really knows what the word means: "Oh? And just what is your predicament?"

Daelyn: "I'm hungry, but if I have a snack now, I won't be as hungry for dinner, and I really like the dinner we're having."

Yep, he's got a predicament on his hands, alright. Typical male. If it were Deanna using that word, she'd be saying something like,

"I want to do my hair so it looks nice, but we're going swimming this afternoon and it'll just get all messed up again."

I guess predicaments are in the eye of the beholder.

My Achin' Body!

I went to see the Occupational Therapist yesterday for my hand. Despite the cast, it's not doing too much better. Apparently, water-skiing and tubing last week may not have helped. I, figuratively, got my hand slapped for using it too much when it needs to rest so it can heal.

So, in addition to the cast, I now have to wear a pressure glove on my left hand to help reduce the swelling. It's bad enough that I can't use my left hand most of the day, but add to that the huge bruise on my knee from where the ski hit me last week as I dropped into the water and the lump and bruise on my bad ankle from who-know-what, and I'm not faring very well.

The kids and I are in hot pursuit of the yard beautification project. Dane and I had the front bed ready today to put the brick border up, add Miracle Grow soil and mix it well in with the hand-tilled ground, and prepare it for his Four O'Clocks. I also bought a bag of wild flower seeds to sprinkle in our new bed, so as the Four O'Clocks die out, they should be replaced with some lovely summer flowers.

We were picking up the rest of the brick border when one of the bricks fell, hitting against the fourth finger on my right hand. It slit my finger significantly. Blood began pouring out of my finger and the skin was hanging off, only attached by a sliver. They sent us to Customer Service for doctoring but it wasn't long before my right hand began to ache.

Okay, I can get around without my left hand for a while as it heals, but no hands makes things a little difficult, especially when you're gardening.

Deanna's had to open bottles for me today as well as other various tasks while I've favored BOTH HANDS!

I found myself laughing today as she, once again, helped with something.

"I have a bum knee, two bum hands, and a bum left ankle. There's not much left of me that works. Daddy's going to trade me in on a newer model if I'm not careful."

Deanna grinned and nodded. Although I'm bruised and battered, I keep chugging along and it's amazing how much work is getting done in the yard. I've decided that prior planning, and making sure the kids are very clear the evening before what's expected of them the next day, is key to this yard work business. I just hope I don't mess up the right leg . . .

Mega Zucchini

When we got home from camping Saturday night, Dane and I took off outside with flashlights to check the garden. We couldn't wait to see what progress our plants had made while we were gone.

First, we went to the big garden in the back. One of our pickling cucumbers had two flowers. All the cucumbers had grown and two had even outgrown the stakes that seemed huge when we first put them beside our little plants. Our bush tomato was a full foot higher than the highest rung on the tomato cage and had miniature tomatoes and several more blooms, as did several more of the tomatoes, including my Roma's. The potatoes, which I planted by cutting 3 or four of our potatoes into individual eyes and burying each eye methodically (all the research I did said you can't use store-bought potatoes because they're treated to keep them from rooting - we tried anyway, and I'm sure glad we did), were much larger, the tallest measuring 8 - 12 inches in heighth. Dane and I counted 11 little potato plants. The bell peppers had flowers and the sweet banana peppers, which I planted very late, even were beginning to establish themselves. We were thrilled and oohed and ahhed excitedly about each little plant.

Then we moved to the box garden on the side of the house. We began pushing back leaves and checking for yellow, crooked-neck squash. We found some huge ones that shocked us both. All told, there were about 5 that were almost too big for the plant to sustain. Additionally, there were several that needed to be picked over the next two days. As I was finishing up with the yellow squash, Dane moved to the other side of the garden to check the zucchini. I heard a gasp, then a yell.

What, son?" I asked. "WHAT?"

Dane could hardly contain himself.

"Mama, you've got to SEE this!" he screamed at me. I sure hope none of the neighbors were trying to sleep.

I made my way to the other side of the garden. He was holding back leaves and pointing his flashlight at one of the biggest zucchini I've ever seen. We looked at each other and laughed.

I can't even imagine how that thing got so big in the 4 short days we were gone. Surely, it must've been ready to be picked before we even left for our camping trip. I suppose we may very well have just missed it amongst all the foliage. The yellow squash stand out amongst the green, but the zucchini are much harder to see. They look very much like the stalks on the leaves and can be difficult to pick out unless you look VERY carefully.

In addition to Mr. Mega Zucchini, we also found two others that were very large and needed picking. There are three more on the plants that will need to be picked tomorrow or the next day.

I plan to make zucchini bread with that largest one which is probably mostly seeds and not very good eating. The rest will need to be cooked up. Dane's birthday is Sunday and he wants them battered and fried in the deep fryer for his birthday dinner.

In the meanwhile, I'm looking for creative uses for yellow squash. I cooked a lot for dinner last night and cooked 3 more for my sister. I'm thinking about cooking up the rest and canning them. They'll be great this winter, when yellow squash is in short supply and the squash bores have long-since claimed our plants.

I'll have to take a picture of Mr. Mega Zucchini to post before I shred him. Dane will want to keep a record of some kind for posterity.

I just want to eat him.

The Beginning of Summer

It's been awhile since I posted - the end-of-school craziness always leaves my head reeling and my feet running.

We've just finished the first full week of summer vacation, and what a fabulous start! Last Monday, the children and I worked hard all morning. Dane and I are making a new garden in the front yard and plan to move his Four O'clock's to it, then put a box garden (for vegetables) in the spot where his Four O'clock's have taken over. Dane has become Gardener Extraordinaire and I want him to have his own garden plot to plan and work.

We spent two hours cleaning up the area behind the swingset - weeding, digging up stuff that had begun to grow, and rooting out the vines with throns that are so plentiful in that area of the yard. It's amazing how much we got done and how much better the backyard looked after just two hours. Then Dane and I began turning over the soil in the area where we want to put the new garden. Daelyn worked on cleaning up under the deck until it was just too hot to do too much more. We left the project in the front for another day.

While we were doing that, Deanna worked inside, doing laundry, cleaning up the kitchen, and beginning to pack us. We spend most of Tuesday packing for our camping trip, which started on Wednesday.

As a reward for hard work, I took the kids out to the local lake Monday afternoon with my friend, Kelly, and her children. We swam, floated, dug in the sand, explored in the woods, and grilled Bubba Burgers and fresh yellow squash from our garden for dinner. It was dark by the time we got home, so the kids got a quick bath and headed straight to bed.

Wednesday dawned beautiful. We packed up the van, cleaned up the kitchen, and headed for a further lake, about 1 1/2 hrs. drive, to meet friends to camp for a few days. We had sent some of our stuff ahead with them, including our tent, and, when we arrived, they had already set it up. The kids helped me unload and we began setting up camp - pumping up air mattresses, putting up our canopy and tablecloth, setting up our work table and getting out my new Coleman stove that Don gave me for Christmas.

Without going into too much detail, we had a wonderful time. We were camped right in front of the boat dock and our friends, Ken and Karen, have a boat, so we swam off the dock and boated until we were exhausted and burned like lobsters fresh out of the pot. My dear friend, Anne, and I spent a lot of time on deck chairs on the dock visiting and watching the children swim and play. Across our inlet was a sandy beachy area (the kids called it "the island") and they spent a lot of time swimming over to it, then playing in the sand. I shelled pecans while Anne and I visited and, after the first day, discovered my knees had sunburned. My chest and my knees. No other part of my leg - just those knees that were poking up.

We skiied, we tubed, we swam and boated to our heart's content. We visited, we told stories, we snacked and read until we were quite satisfied. We enjoyed ourselves to our very core.

Now we're home and have days of work to do to get caught back up, but we're all happy and life is taking on a slower pace. I think I may try to plan camping trips for the very beginning of summer every year to help us adjust to summer rhythm.

Our plan for this summer is to make and wrap all the children's Christmas presents for family and friends (like usual), serve others (we've come up with a specific plan for serving outside the home), and beautify our house and yard. We'll work in the mornings, and do crafts, can, or swim in the afternoons.

Seems like a lot to accomplish, but I really believe we're moving at a much slower pace than during the school year, which we all need. I find it much easier to REST - completely and thoroughly, without the panic I normally feel to "get it all done". The kids are out in the yard now, after having worked yesterday afternoon to help unpack and clean up. The boys are having water gun fights and Deanna's reading on a swing up the backyard. I have dinner in the crockpot and am finishing up the laundry.

I love Summer. Then again, I love Spring with everything budding and beginning to grow. Spring carries with it hope and promise. And Winter contains Christmas, my favorite holiday, and cooler weather with fires and hot cocoa. Then there's Fall, with the smell of coldness, the start of school and order again. In fact, I think I love all seasons equally.

But right now, I love Summer the most.

Commitment takes Many Different Forms

I've been having cramps lately. First, my thumb froze in place, pressed against my palm, not one, but three different times the same evening. I chalked it up to having a cast on the other hand and overusing my right hand. Several days later, my big toe froze poking straight up into the air. Weird! I could feel the muscle stretched across my arch knotting and spasming (Spellcheck doesn't think this is a word, but I KNOW better). Then, around 3 a.m. Wednesday morning, I woke violently to a charliehorse in my left calf. I could feel the muscle knotting, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. I began yelling to Don and reaching for him, aimlessly thrashing my right arm his direction. For some reason, I have this VERY mistaken notion that he will massage my legs when I get cramps and help work them out.

I finally jumped up and began stomping my left foot on the ground, hoping to jolt the muscle back into compliance. It relaxed and I finally, gingerly, climbed back into bed.

"What was THAT all about?" Don asked.

"What do you mean? I had a cramp in my leg!"

"Well, why did you wake ME up?"

"I was hoping (emphasis) that you would get up and massage my leg. I needed HELP, honey!"

"Is THAT why you beat me mercilessly in the head?"

Long pause.

"I was concentrating on my leg. I didn't realize that was your head."

That evening, Don and I were to attend an appreciation function for the church volunteers. I wasn't sure if he would be able to make it or not. He called from work and, before I hung up, I asked,

"Not to put any pressure on you, honey, but do you think you'll be coming to the Party?"

"My plan is to leave work in enough time to get there. However . . . you beat me in the head last night!"

I wonder if anyone's ever written a book on the "true" cost of marriage?

THE Game

Dane's baseball team played the team that all the rest of his classmates are on last night. The team is coached by two of Dane's friend's dads. The other boys began playing together in T-ball and the coaches moved up to each subsequent league with the boys, so they've been together now for many years. They're a very hard team to beat and play well together.

We didn't start Dane in baseball until much later than the other boys began. For various reasons, he didn't ever get on his classmate's team, which has been just fine. Dane loves the team he's played with for the last two years and really respects his coach. T.J. (Dane's coach) has been a constant encourager to Dane and has taught him well, even working with him to make him into a pitcher.

T.J. has told me several times this year that he wants to put Dane on Pitcher's Mound, but it hadn't yet happened. When I discovered we were playing this other team, I called the coach and suggested that this might be a good time. He told me later, at the game, that it was Divine Intervention, because he had been talking to his wife about getting some of the other boys up on the Mound since they'll be moving up to a new league next year and really need the experience. Nine of his players will move up and he had only used 3 as pitchers so far this year; his two regulars that he rotates and, in one game, he used one other boy.

At the start of the 3rd inning, I saw Dane trot out to the Mound and begin warming up with the catcher. I jumped up from where I was sitting right next to home plate and ran to an empty field where Daelyn was playing with some of Deanna's classmates.

"Daelyn," I yelled to him, "Dane is pitching. You need to come and watch!" Daelyn took off on a dead run to join the family. The opposing team's dugout was directly behind me when I yelled to Daelyn and, as I walked back to our side of the field, I heard an excitement growing from it.

"Dane's pitching!" "Dane's pitching?" "Dane?" "Yep! Dane's pitching!" "DANE's pitching!" "Dane IS pitching!" Bz-z-z-z-z-z-z, like a swarm of bees amongst his friends. Apparently, they were very surprised, but seemed pleased, as well.

It's a hard situation to watch. My son, on Pitcher's Mound, pitching against boys that I've known and loved since they were in the womb. Before he got on the Mound, I found myself routing for OUR team unless one of his classmates was up to bat. I couldn't help but yell encouragement to them.

"Hit it over the fence, J.P.!" I hollered. He turned and grinned at me. Later, I called to Ben.

"You can do it, Ben. Whack it good!" And Conor, "Come on, Conor, I know you've got it in you to get a homerun!" Booty, Sam . . . I had to root for these boys. The other moms on my team were scowling at me until one quiet, patient dad explained that these were all Dane's classmates. "OH!" yelled several moms, then turned and smiled at me, understanding in the way only a mother can.

But once Dane was standing out there, preparing to wind up, all I could think of was, "STRIKE HIM OUT, Son!" I didn't want to discourage these sweet boys that I love so much, so I walked a good ways away and joined Don and Ben's dad, an assistant coach on the other team, where they were standing, evaluating every pitch. I sat right up until J.P. took his batting stance, then I couldn't stand it any longer. It was like watching one brother pitching to his blood brother. These two, while they've strayed from each other over the last two years, have always been very close, like siblings. J.P. is an only child and I have a very close relationship with both his parents. We've been on vacation together and are going camping together right after school gets out. I just couldn't take it. That's when I joined Jimmy and Don. And, boy, was I glad I did.

Jimmy knows a lot about baseball - way more than me or Don. He explained to us that the coach wanted Dane to pitch high and outside on a particular batter, who was one of their best hitters, so he (the coach) had the catcher stand up and put his mitt on the outside. Dane always pitches to a glove. Wherever that glove sits, that's where he's going to aim his pitch. T.J. knew that (because that's how he's taught Dane, of course), so he moved the catcher around to where he wanted Dane to put the pitch. It was so exciting.

Anyway, he struck out the first batter, then walked one. The next hit they got out on base. Dane walked a second. Someone must've gotten a base hit, because the bases were loaded with two outs when this great batter stepped up. Jimmy was talking Don and I through every pitch. Strike, ball, ball, strike, ball . . . FULL COUNT! And with the bases loaded. If this guy got a hit off Dane, they would have gotten home some runs, maybe as many as FOUR! It was absolutely nail-biting.

"I can't take it! I can't watch," I mumbled, terror in my voice.

"Watch, Patti, watch!" Jimmy coaxed. "T.J. knows that with really strong batters, you pitch either low and outside or high and outside so they'll strike for it but miss. This guy tends to hit low, so T.J.'s having Dane pitch high and outside. Dane's doing a fabulous job and has a great delivery. T.J. knows what he's doing. Dane'll do it. Just watch."

Despite my protests, I couldn't peel my eyes away from the game. I think I held my breath for a full three minutes as Dane wound up for the final pitch. What would it be? Would he throw a wild ball with all the pressure, walking the batter and forcing a runner home? Or could he control himself, with as little experience as he has, and throw that pitch just where T.J. wanted, egging the batter to reach for a ball just outside his strike zone and shut down the inning? Could he do it? I really didn't know. Jimmy seemed very certain that Dane could, but I wasn't so sure.

As soon as the ball left Dane's hand, before it even reached home plate, Jimmy said, "That's it! Dane DID it!" Sure enough. High and outside. The batter stuck at it but couldn't quite stretch far enough. THE THIRD OUT!

Dane trotted off the field, a great big smile on his face.

"I'm going to go talk to him," Jimmy said. "He did a GREAT job!"

Isn't it wonderful to have friends that love your children so much. The coach of the opposing team came over to congratulate Dane on a job well-done in the middle of the game. I really love our life.

Matt, the Head Coach of the other team, threw the game ball to Dane with a smile. After the first half of the next inning, the game was called - 4 to 2, but one of their runs was a bad call by the Umpire and the game should have been 3 - 2. We lost, but held our own really well. It was a game played with pride.

In our dugout after the game was over, T.J. gave his usual pep talk. He always highlights all the good plays of the game and talks about plays that should have worked better. Mostly, though, he encourages the boys to have fun and play like a team. He announced that he doesn't believe in giving out Game Balls, because every player is just one on a team and it takes the entire team to win a game, but he wanted to make an exception in this game. He wanted Dane to take the Game Ball, take it into school today, and show his friends.

"There was a lot of trash talk about Dane not being able to pitch from the other team," he said. (I told him that. Dane's been telling me for weeks that the boys in his class have been saying, "You can't pitch." "You're not a pitcher." "I don't believe you pitch!", etc. That's what T.J. was referring to, I believe. I didn't hear any trash talk during the game.) "I think he proved them wrong real well. And I think he deserves this Game Ball. This was his first time pitching, he didn't give up ONE run. Way to go, Dane."

When we got home, Dane had me write the date, "Game Ball" and "Pitched 3rd Inning" on the ball in Sharpie for him. It's quite a treasure. I just wish I could go to school with him today and hear what his friends have to say about his pitching. I'm sure they'll be encouraging. They're all good boys. They just hadn't ever seen him pitch before. That's not the case now!

I don't know if he'll get the chance to pitch anymore this season, but he made himself (and us) proud. And he pitched as well as the two boys T.J. typically uses to pitch, maybe better than one of them. It'll be interesting to see if he gets used again, but there are lots of other boys on the team who want a chance to pitch in a game, too, and deserve that right.

Today, I'll be walking with my head held high and my chest puffed up just a little. I think Dane actually looked a little taller today before school. Or maybe it was an illusion because of the grin and gleam in his eye.