Well, Christmas is over and we're enjoying the After-Rush peace. We got gobs of movies for Christmas - I gave Don two, he gave me about 6, including a 3-CD set of the BBC's production of three of the Chronicles of Narnia movies. Deanna got a Star Wars boxed set, both the boys got SuperMan, etc., so we have lots to watch.
The children are really enjoying their presents. They've spent many an hour just playing peacefully - at least it was peaceful until today.
Our mistake was taking them to an ice hockey game last night. A friend of ours works for a company that purchased season tickets to our local semi-pro ice hockey team games and he made them available to anyone who wanted them. There were 4 seats to each home game, so we asked for the ones to last night's game. Don and our friend, Ken, were going to take the two older children and Daelyn and I were going to spend the evening quietly at home. But Ken couldn't go, so Don decided to try and take the baby along.
The game started at 7:05, so they left at 6:30. We packed a backpack with drinks, popcorn and cookies for the kids so they wouldn't pester Don to spend money on concessions. Once they were out the door, I had a good, long phone visit with my sister and then settled into scrubbing the kitchen floor on my hands and knees with a Brillo pad. I got a good section done, then scrubbed the 1/2 bath floor with Pine-Sol before cleaning up and sitting down with a bowl of pecans to crack and a movie to watch.
I put on SpiderMan, which Don had given to me, thinking that it needed to be previewed before the children could see it. They'd been pestering me since Christmas to watch it, so I thought this was the perfect opportunity. There are a couple of rough spots that are just a little too graphic and ucky for the kids, but most of it is passable (lots of violence, but no sex and very few bad words).
They got home about 10:00, carrying the game puck and with Deanna wearing a team T-shirt. I knew Don hadn't purchased it, so I asked how she had acquired it. Apparently, this team has quite a half-time show (if you call it that in Hockey). During each of the breaks between periods, they came out and threw t-shirts to the crowd. The kids had lots of stories to tell and really had a great time, as did I in the house by myself. After the game, Deanna was itching to touch the ice, so Don took the kids down to the floor (the seats were in the 5th row - not too shabby for free tickets). A man was standing on the ice in front of them and gave them the game puck. Boy, were they stoked. They can't wait to go again now.
I got most of the tough cleaning done that needed to be done with the children gone and watched a movie, to boot. A good time was had by all until Daelyn tried out some of the moves he saw at the game last night on his brother today - the only apparent disadvantage to hockey games.
Today, we went to Chuck E. Cheese. Some of you may not know, but I'm the Chuck E. Cheese Guru. I've learned all the ropes and know most of the employees (at least the long-term ones), and the equipment repair manager and I have become good friends. On quiet days, he'll walk around the store with me and give me tips on how to win the games. I've played them enough that I know which ones give you the most tickets and which ones are money traps. I always check with the person at the door to find out what the latest promotion is, and we always take our most-recent report cards with us. (Chuck E. Cheese gives 15 tokens per report card.)
I learned some time ago that you can buy their cups and take them back with you every visit for free drinks. And I always clip their coupons. Right now, their promotion involves them giving each child a peel-away card when they enter the store. The peel-off is good for a number of free tokens, ranging from 5 to 20. Deanna got 20 and both the boys got 5 each, totalling 30 tokens. In addition, I took both Deanna and Dane's report cards for another 30 tokens. A friend of mine and I split the cost of a large pizza with a coupon I had which gave us 30 tokens, a large pizza, and 4 drinks (which I wouldn't have needed if I had remembered my drink cups this visit) for $21.00 (split, this means $10.50 plus tax for each of us). This added another 15 tokens to our total, now running at 75. In addition, I had a coupon I had cut off of something that gave me 10 extra tokens. So, for $11.47, we got 85 tokens, half a large pepperoni pizza and two refillable drinks to split. Not too slouchy.
We always combine all the tickets we win off the games (I usually win the most, which I add to the count), and then divide them up amongst the children and pick out toys on the way out from the display case. The kids love this part and it always turns out to be a fun day.
So, they've been to a hockey game and Chuck E. Cheese. Tomorrow, we are expecting a visit from a friend in the morning, then the children have doctor's appointments. We'll be joining my niece, who works at our pediatrician's office, for lunch. Then, Friday, Don and I are trying to take the kids to The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe in the morning. If we can pull the whole thing off, I think the children will have enjoyed a wonderful school vacation, and Don and I, as well.
For the most part, it's been a peaceful vacation, too, except for the hockey moves. And, earlier this week, Daelyn decided to make it snow in the kitchen with pecans. He began throwing them into the air and yelling, "It's snowing." It wasn't very funny when one hit me in the head. I told him not to do it again, so Dane tried it. I threatened them both with spankings if they did it again. Daelyn picked up a handful and turned to look at me.
"Don't do it," I warned. While looking me dead in the eye, he dropped them, yelling, "It's snowing." At least he didn't throw them up into the air, but he was still disobedient.
I sent him to his bedroom and told him he was getting a spanking. He walked off, crying. A few minutes later, he came back into the kitchen and said, "Mama, you can't spank me, cause you're not the boss of me. Daddy's the boss of our family."
The mini-lawyer. He can always find an angle. I told Don who said, "Fine. Then Daddy'll spank you."
Poor little guy. He tried so hard to argue his way out of it, only to find out that he made matters worse.
Just a small incident in an otherwise wonderful week. Hope yours is as good.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
More Sickies
Well, the bug hit us, too. Yesterday evening, Dane started complaining of his stomach hurting and, within half an hour, was vomiting. I started feeling pretty bad, too. I was trying to tend to Dane while dealing with my own nausea, and not doing a very good job. I held him in my lap in the Den for a while and watched a movie with him, but then he went in to lie down. Soon after, he had another episode, and Don decided he needed a shower.
Daddy took him to bed with him. When I came in, about 11:30, feeling like I was going to be sick any minute, I had to bodily move Dane over to make space for me. I don't know what it is about our bed. The children automatically move towards me. It's like the entire mattress is tipped my direction. I never find them plastered against Daddy. They're either attached to me like a tumor or in my place.
I climbed in bed but, when I started vomiting, Don moved Dane back into his own bed. When he came back to bed, he announced that Daelyn was complaining of his stomach hurting and Don had given him a throw-up bucket, as well.
About an hour later, while trying desperately to sleep with gnawing, cramping pain in my stomach, I heard Daelyn starting to heave. I jumped from the bed and ran to his side. He had missed the bucket and, once he was done, I had to move him from his bed. Because Dane was finally asleep in their room, I couldn't turn on the light to change the sheets and I really thought Daelyn needed a little extra help (he's only 3, afterall), so I put him between Don and I and discovered that I had traded a large, 6-yr. old tumor for a much smaller, 3-yr. old one. Daelyn and I threw up all night, off and on, taking turns. Inbetween, I'd hear Dane wretching and I'd yell for Don to check on him.
It really wasn't necessary to yell for Don. He was lying right next to us in bed, but he doesn't seem to move during the night unless his yelled at. Subletly never has worked with him.
So, we spent the night juggling sick children and a sick mommy. Around 5:30, Daelyn and I dozed for about an hour. The boys woke feeling much better and ready to attack the world, and there I was, in the middle of my illness.
Needless to say, it was a rough day. Deanna, thankful that she was through the bug and that she had had Mommy's full attention when she was sick, pitched in with the boys. She was a wonderful help to me. Mid-morning, I finally fell asleep in exhaustion, and woke up feeling much improved. I had the children gather on the bed and I read several chapters of a Hardy Boy's Mystery to them. Dane conked out and took a good nap. Deanna helped get him in his bed before Daelyn fell asleep next to me. Deanna asked if she could watch TV and play on the computer. I gladly agreed and, while the boys and I took a much-needed nap, she had a little free time.
We survived. Everyone's feeling a little better tonight, despite the fever Dane spiked this afternoon. I'm actually up and moving - for a little while, anyway. I plan on lying down on the could soon and seeing if there might be something interesting on TV tonight.
I still have several Christmas presents to purchase. Then they have to be wrapped and delivered. In addition, I have cookie platters that need to be prepared and not all the cookies are made yet. I'm at least one day behind, possibly, two, due to this illness.
Tomorrow, I'm going to attempt to finish my shopping, provided the boys are feeling okay. If I can just get the running outside the house done, I can finish the inside stuff between naps.
Hard to believe it's already the 20th. Christmas is just a few days away. I'll breathe a sigh of relief when I finally get everything done and can enjoy sitting in front of our tree, sipping a glass of hot tea or spiced cider.
This year, for me, the pleasure of Christmas is going to be in the aftermath. I'll enjoy next week to the fullest. The children will be happy and have lots to keep them busy. I'll be able to relax, finally done with the work associated with Christmas. And the carols and tree will still be fresh for me.
Next week will be wonderful.
Daddy took him to bed with him. When I came in, about 11:30, feeling like I was going to be sick any minute, I had to bodily move Dane over to make space for me. I don't know what it is about our bed. The children automatically move towards me. It's like the entire mattress is tipped my direction. I never find them plastered against Daddy. They're either attached to me like a tumor or in my place.
I climbed in bed but, when I started vomiting, Don moved Dane back into his own bed. When he came back to bed, he announced that Daelyn was complaining of his stomach hurting and Don had given him a throw-up bucket, as well.
About an hour later, while trying desperately to sleep with gnawing, cramping pain in my stomach, I heard Daelyn starting to heave. I jumped from the bed and ran to his side. He had missed the bucket and, once he was done, I had to move him from his bed. Because Dane was finally asleep in their room, I couldn't turn on the light to change the sheets and I really thought Daelyn needed a little extra help (he's only 3, afterall), so I put him between Don and I and discovered that I had traded a large, 6-yr. old tumor for a much smaller, 3-yr. old one. Daelyn and I threw up all night, off and on, taking turns. Inbetween, I'd hear Dane wretching and I'd yell for Don to check on him.
It really wasn't necessary to yell for Don. He was lying right next to us in bed, but he doesn't seem to move during the night unless his yelled at. Subletly never has worked with him.
So, we spent the night juggling sick children and a sick mommy. Around 5:30, Daelyn and I dozed for about an hour. The boys woke feeling much better and ready to attack the world, and there I was, in the middle of my illness.
Needless to say, it was a rough day. Deanna, thankful that she was through the bug and that she had had Mommy's full attention when she was sick, pitched in with the boys. She was a wonderful help to me. Mid-morning, I finally fell asleep in exhaustion, and woke up feeling much improved. I had the children gather on the bed and I read several chapters of a Hardy Boy's Mystery to them. Dane conked out and took a good nap. Deanna helped get him in his bed before Daelyn fell asleep next to me. Deanna asked if she could watch TV and play on the computer. I gladly agreed and, while the boys and I took a much-needed nap, she had a little free time.
We survived. Everyone's feeling a little better tonight, despite the fever Dane spiked this afternoon. I'm actually up and moving - for a little while, anyway. I plan on lying down on the could soon and seeing if there might be something interesting on TV tonight.
I still have several Christmas presents to purchase. Then they have to be wrapped and delivered. In addition, I have cookie platters that need to be prepared and not all the cookies are made yet. I'm at least one day behind, possibly, two, due to this illness.
Tomorrow, I'm going to attempt to finish my shopping, provided the boys are feeling okay. If I can just get the running outside the house done, I can finish the inside stuff between naps.
Hard to believe it's already the 20th. Christmas is just a few days away. I'll breathe a sigh of relief when I finally get everything done and can enjoy sitting in front of our tree, sipping a glass of hot tea or spiced cider.
This year, for me, the pleasure of Christmas is going to be in the aftermath. I'll enjoy next week to the fullest. The children will be happy and have lots to keep them busy. I'll be able to relax, finally done with the work associated with Christmas. And the carols and tree will still be fresh for me.
Next week will be wonderful.
Monday, December 19, 2005
Sleep Problems
One night last week, Don and I were exhausted and wanted to head to bed early, but Daelyn was still wide-awake and unwilling to climb into his own bed. So we put him in ours. Don immediately rolled on his side and, within minutes, was snoring. I, however, have to lay completely still, on my side, with my earlobe bared (see my Post from July of this year, "The Lobes Have It" for an explanation). Daelyn bounced around, back and forth, driving me crazy. If I tried to move to get comfortable, he'd fuss. Just as I began to doze, he'd wiggle or throw a leg over me, and I'd be jolted back into alertness. After about 45 minutes of this, I unceremoniously moved him into his own bed with threats regarding staying there.
I came back to bed and had just settled down when Don rolled over. You have to understand, when in bed, Don does nothing simply. Rolling over involves jerking the covers, flailing in the air, and landing with a thump as his body rotates. The entire bed bounces up and down for several seconds until it settles back into position. It's as if a whale just flapped his tail on the bed. Thank God we don't have a waterbed.
I snickered to myself. All this commotion from Don and, the truth is, it didn't bother me at all. But Daelyn's incessant ear rubbing and wiggling drives me absolutely crazy. I'm assuming it's just because I'm used to Don's movements in bed, after 10 years of sleeping with the man. And, the most important part, his movement rarely bump into me. I get waves of motion from his side of the bed, but his body isn't jolting me and he's not constantly touching me while I'm trying to sleep.
My father told me, about 15 years ago, that my mother slept, every single night, with her head on his chest. While the image of Mama soundly asleep in Daddy's arms is wonderfully touching, the truth is, I'd go crazy - never being able to roll over, waking up and lying awake with this weight on my chest. UGH!! No romantic lives in my bedroom.
When Don and I were first married, I discovered that he's extremely ticklish. He can't stand to be touched. If I reached out to touch him during the night, he'd jump in the air, fully waking up both of us. I learned very quickly that, once he rolls over, there is NO TOUCHING.
Then we had Deanna. She would go to bed every night with her Daddy. By the time I got my chores done and came to bed, she'd be curled up on top of him, whichever side of him was up. It might be his back, his chest, or his side, but she was always on top of him, curled in a little ball. I'd peel her off and put her in her crib. Once I asked Don about it. I couldn't understand how one little touch from me would send him into a tailspin, but Deanna could sprawl all over him with no consequences. He laughed and said that she must climb onto of him after he was already asleep, thus, it didn't bother him.
Big joke. The truth is, she's his baby. Nothing she does bothers Don. It's the same with Daelyn. His wiggling, fidgeting, and talking doesn't keep Don awake. It's just me. I keep Don awake and everyone else in the house keeps me awake.
Ah, motherhood.
I came back to bed and had just settled down when Don rolled over. You have to understand, when in bed, Don does nothing simply. Rolling over involves jerking the covers, flailing in the air, and landing with a thump as his body rotates. The entire bed bounces up and down for several seconds until it settles back into position. It's as if a whale just flapped his tail on the bed. Thank God we don't have a waterbed.
I snickered to myself. All this commotion from Don and, the truth is, it didn't bother me at all. But Daelyn's incessant ear rubbing and wiggling drives me absolutely crazy. I'm assuming it's just because I'm used to Don's movements in bed, after 10 years of sleeping with the man. And, the most important part, his movement rarely bump into me. I get waves of motion from his side of the bed, but his body isn't jolting me and he's not constantly touching me while I'm trying to sleep.
My father told me, about 15 years ago, that my mother slept, every single night, with her head on his chest. While the image of Mama soundly asleep in Daddy's arms is wonderfully touching, the truth is, I'd go crazy - never being able to roll over, waking up and lying awake with this weight on my chest. UGH!! No romantic lives in my bedroom.
When Don and I were first married, I discovered that he's extremely ticklish. He can't stand to be touched. If I reached out to touch him during the night, he'd jump in the air, fully waking up both of us. I learned very quickly that, once he rolls over, there is NO TOUCHING.
Then we had Deanna. She would go to bed every night with her Daddy. By the time I got my chores done and came to bed, she'd be curled up on top of him, whichever side of him was up. It might be his back, his chest, or his side, but she was always on top of him, curled in a little ball. I'd peel her off and put her in her crib. Once I asked Don about it. I couldn't understand how one little touch from me would send him into a tailspin, but Deanna could sprawl all over him with no consequences. He laughed and said that she must climb onto of him after he was already asleep, thus, it didn't bother him.
Big joke. The truth is, she's his baby. Nothing she does bothers Don. It's the same with Daelyn. His wiggling, fidgeting, and talking doesn't keep Don awake. It's just me. I keep Don awake and everyone else in the house keeps me awake.
Ah, motherhood.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
God Sits
Deanna's got the throw-up's. She's feeling so-o-o-o-o bad!! Yesterday afternoon, I walked into the kitchen, and she was sitting at the table holding a throw-up bucket over her nose.
"I don't feel well, Mama. I think I'm going to throw up."
Gee, I'm not sure I would have picked up on those clues without her telling me.
"I can see that, baby. I'm sorry. But, if you need to throw up, don't hold it back. You'll probably feel much better once you get your stomach cleaned out," I responded, thinking about the wonderful French Toast and thick-sliced bacon breakfast I had made for the children and Deanna's spend-the-night guest. Poor Theresa. If she had known that as soon as she left, Deanna was going to start throwing up, I'm not sure she would have opted to spend the night. I just hope it wasn't something she ate and everyone is going to start throwing up.
"Mama, I hate throwing up." The girl's just like me. She can handle colds, sinus problems, ear infections, even pneumonia with barely a whimper, but when the stomach feels sour, her whole disposition changes. At the first cramp or feeling of queasiness, she goes to mush.
"I know, honey, believe me. I understand."
Daelyn stood in the kitchen, silently listening to this conversation. "Mama," he now interjected, "Sissy said a bad thing."
"She did? What did she say, son?" I prompted, thinking back over the conversation and trying to identify any family "curse words" she might have used, such as dumb or stupid.
"She said 'hate'," Daelyn responded.
"Well, it's wrong to say 'hate' when you're talking about a person, son, but it's okay to 'hate' throwing up."
"So, there are some things we can 'hate' and that's okay?" he repeated, unable to believe his ears.
"Yes, son, we just need to be careful to never say we hate a person. That's unkind and God doesn't like it."
"What about Satan? Is it okay to hate the devil?" he explored further.
"Yes, son, it's okay to hate the devil, because he's God's enemy. We SHOULD hate the devil."
"What about God? Does He hate the devil?"
"I don't know, Daelyn. You're getting too theological for me."
"God sits on a throne in Heaven, right, Mama."
"Right, son."
"And Jesus stands behind Him?" He loves to ask questions about Theology. Maybe, someday, he'll be a preacher like his Grandpa.
"No, Daelyn. God sits on his throne and Jesus sits at the right hand of God."
"God sits on his throne and Jesus sits next to him?" he asked again, making sure he clearly understood this point.
"Yes, son. That's what the Bible says."
"I bet, when they get tired of sitting, they stand up."
Somehow, it never occurred to me that God would tire of sitting. I guess, to a 3-yr. old who can't sit for longer that 2 minutes, it's unfathomable that, for eternity, God sits on His throne. Good question for the Bible Scholars.
"I don't feel well, Mama. I think I'm going to throw up."
Gee, I'm not sure I would have picked up on those clues without her telling me.
"I can see that, baby. I'm sorry. But, if you need to throw up, don't hold it back. You'll probably feel much better once you get your stomach cleaned out," I responded, thinking about the wonderful French Toast and thick-sliced bacon breakfast I had made for the children and Deanna's spend-the-night guest. Poor Theresa. If she had known that as soon as she left, Deanna was going to start throwing up, I'm not sure she would have opted to spend the night. I just hope it wasn't something she ate and everyone is going to start throwing up.
"Mama, I hate throwing up." The girl's just like me. She can handle colds, sinus problems, ear infections, even pneumonia with barely a whimper, but when the stomach feels sour, her whole disposition changes. At the first cramp or feeling of queasiness, she goes to mush.
"I know, honey, believe me. I understand."
Daelyn stood in the kitchen, silently listening to this conversation. "Mama," he now interjected, "Sissy said a bad thing."
"She did? What did she say, son?" I prompted, thinking back over the conversation and trying to identify any family "curse words" she might have used, such as dumb or stupid.
"She said 'hate'," Daelyn responded.
"Well, it's wrong to say 'hate' when you're talking about a person, son, but it's okay to 'hate' throwing up."
"So, there are some things we can 'hate' and that's okay?" he repeated, unable to believe his ears.
"Yes, son, we just need to be careful to never say we hate a person. That's unkind and God doesn't like it."
"What about Satan? Is it okay to hate the devil?" he explored further.
"Yes, son, it's okay to hate the devil, because he's God's enemy. We SHOULD hate the devil."
"What about God? Does He hate the devil?"
"I don't know, Daelyn. You're getting too theological for me."
"God sits on a throne in Heaven, right, Mama."
"Right, son."
"And Jesus stands behind Him?" He loves to ask questions about Theology. Maybe, someday, he'll be a preacher like his Grandpa.
"No, Daelyn. God sits on his throne and Jesus sits at the right hand of God."
"God sits on his throne and Jesus sits next to him?" he asked again, making sure he clearly understood this point.
"Yes, son. That's what the Bible says."
"I bet, when they get tired of sitting, they stand up."
Somehow, it never occurred to me that God would tire of sitting. I guess, to a 3-yr. old who can't sit for longer that 2 minutes, it's unfathomable that, for eternity, God sits on His throne. Good question for the Bible Scholars.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Lunch Problems Here
Okay, time for a little light-hearted humor for a change. I didn't mean to get so serious over the last week or so.
My 3-yr. old, Daelyn, loves macaroni and cheese. Every single day for months on end, he would request it for lunch. Sometimes, he'd even ask for it for dinner or breakfast. At least twice a week, I'd cut him off and make something else, like a grilled cheese sandwich or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. On busy days, I found it nearly impossible to cook a box of macaroni and cheese for him. Some days, it'll be noon before I stop my chores long enough to think about lunch, and Daelyn needs to be down for his nap by 12:30 if he's going to be up in time for us to pick up the other two from school at 3:00.
For those tight days, Don found a great alternative - Easy Mac. Easy Mac is a single serving in a pouch that you can make in the microwave. Two pouches are attached by a perforation. One has the macaroni, to which you add water and pop in the micro for 4 1/2 minutes, and the other has the powdered cheese sauce that you add when the macaroni is cooked. All-in-all, in 5 minutes, you have a bowl of tasty, simple macaroni and cheese.
Over time, Daelyn discovered he liked Easy Mac even better than the boxed type, so we practically stopped buying the cheap, generic brands of boxed mac-n-cheese and Don discovered generic Easy Mac. For at least 6 months, Daelyn ate his and six or seven other people's share of store-brand Easy Mac.
One day, while at the grocery store together, Don showed Daelyn a new type of boxed mac-n-cheese - Spider Man. They also sell Sponge Bob and numerous other cartoon characters, all represented in pasta. They came home with about 6 boxes of the old-fashioned, boxed stuff. Don would make it for the kids on weekends, when he was home and there was more time to devote to cooking lunch and naps could be postponed.
And thus life went, until, one afternoon, in a rush to put lunch on the table, I asked Daelyn what he wanted, knowing full well in advance what the answer would be.
"Hard Mac, Mama," he replied.
Pretty sharp for a 3-yr. old. I guess I've complained enough that the boxed stuff is hard or he's learned that hard is the opposite of easy. In any case, he has now outgrown Easy Mac and we have a year's supply rotting in the cabinet.
Dane, on the other hand, likes sandwiches. At least, he did until we ran out of Canadian honey. You may not have realized that Canadian honey is different from American honey, but I can assure you, that's the truth. My Aunt and her boyfriend own appiaries in Canada. Fairly often, she sends large containers of honey to my mother to be distributed to us kids. My children love this honey. It's practically solid, milky white, and not as sweet as American honey. It has a mild flavor, stays where put on the bread, and doesn't overpower the peanut butter. My children have gotten so used to Canadian honey that we had a problem the other day when we ran out.
Dane: "Mama, my sandwich tasted funny today, so I didn't eat it."
Me: "Tasted funny? What do you mean, 'tasted funny'?"
Dane: "I don't know. It just didn't taste right. It tasted like something was wrong with it."
Me: "Was it the honey? You know, we ran out of Canadian honey and I had to use American
honey. Was that what it was, son?"
Dane: "I don't know, Mama. It just tasted wierd, and I didn't like it."
I smelled his whole sandwich, with one small bite missing off the edge. It smelled fine. I tasted a little. It tasted fine. Nothing wrong with this sandwich.
Me: "Dane, there's nothing wrong with this sandwich. You need to eat it."
Dane: "Oh. Okay." He gobbled down his sandwich for his after-school snack. When it was all done, he commented, "Mama, I don't like that honey. Can we get some more Canadian honey."
I guess it's time to write to Aunt Bea and see if we can buy some honey from her. My children are picky.
Another problem I have with lunches is that everyone wants something different. Deanna has special bread that's high fiber. It costs a fortune, so I try not to use it for the boys, so everyone's bread is different. Deanna likes crunchy peanut butter (which has more fiber), but Dane can't handle the little chunks of peanuts and Daelyn accumulates the chunks in his cheek like a squirrel and then spits them out, so the boys have to have smooth peanut butter.
Deanna likes jelly, but Dane has to have honey (Canadian, as we've already seen). Daelyn doesn't have a set standard. Some days he wants honey, some days, jelly. Then there's the issue of what kind of jelly. Deanna hates strawberries, so strawberry jelly is out. She likes grape, but no one else seems to. Deanna's favorite is red currant (which costs more than our house) or red raspberry, which has seeds and Dane and Daelyn won't eat.
In addition to the sandwich issue, we're trying to help Deanna lose weight, so we use fat free chips and low calorie sweets in her lunches. Dane, on the other hand, is so slim, he looks sickly and we can't keep trousers on his hips as it is, so he needs more fat and calories (apparently, he burns them up and Deanna doesn't). Thus, every other aspect of their lunches is different.
Now, to the drinks. Deanna has her drink medicine in milk every morning. She seldom finishes it all, so we send it along to school in her thermos. When Dane started school, his grandparents gave him this cool SpiderMan lunchbox with a thermos. We attempted milk in his thermos for the first week and then abandoned thermos' for him. It appears he is incapable of putting the cap with the seal on the thermos after use. He'd just screw on the cup and, by the time he got home, his backpack would be leaking milk. All his school work would be thoroughly soaked, and I got tired of washing out his backpack daily. He now gets a juice box every day.
Thank God the children are out on their Christmas break and I have a break from lunches for two weeks. Perhaps by the time they return, I'll have figured this out and come up with a lunch plan that doesn't take me two hours each night to prepare.
My 3-yr. old, Daelyn, loves macaroni and cheese. Every single day for months on end, he would request it for lunch. Sometimes, he'd even ask for it for dinner or breakfast. At least twice a week, I'd cut him off and make something else, like a grilled cheese sandwich or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. On busy days, I found it nearly impossible to cook a box of macaroni and cheese for him. Some days, it'll be noon before I stop my chores long enough to think about lunch, and Daelyn needs to be down for his nap by 12:30 if he's going to be up in time for us to pick up the other two from school at 3:00.
For those tight days, Don found a great alternative - Easy Mac. Easy Mac is a single serving in a pouch that you can make in the microwave. Two pouches are attached by a perforation. One has the macaroni, to which you add water and pop in the micro for 4 1/2 minutes, and the other has the powdered cheese sauce that you add when the macaroni is cooked. All-in-all, in 5 minutes, you have a bowl of tasty, simple macaroni and cheese.
Over time, Daelyn discovered he liked Easy Mac even better than the boxed type, so we practically stopped buying the cheap, generic brands of boxed mac-n-cheese and Don discovered generic Easy Mac. For at least 6 months, Daelyn ate his and six or seven other people's share of store-brand Easy Mac.
One day, while at the grocery store together, Don showed Daelyn a new type of boxed mac-n-cheese - Spider Man. They also sell Sponge Bob and numerous other cartoon characters, all represented in pasta. They came home with about 6 boxes of the old-fashioned, boxed stuff. Don would make it for the kids on weekends, when he was home and there was more time to devote to cooking lunch and naps could be postponed.
And thus life went, until, one afternoon, in a rush to put lunch on the table, I asked Daelyn what he wanted, knowing full well in advance what the answer would be.
"Hard Mac, Mama," he replied.
Pretty sharp for a 3-yr. old. I guess I've complained enough that the boxed stuff is hard or he's learned that hard is the opposite of easy. In any case, he has now outgrown Easy Mac and we have a year's supply rotting in the cabinet.
Dane, on the other hand, likes sandwiches. At least, he did until we ran out of Canadian honey. You may not have realized that Canadian honey is different from American honey, but I can assure you, that's the truth. My Aunt and her boyfriend own appiaries in Canada. Fairly often, she sends large containers of honey to my mother to be distributed to us kids. My children love this honey. It's practically solid, milky white, and not as sweet as American honey. It has a mild flavor, stays where put on the bread, and doesn't overpower the peanut butter. My children have gotten so used to Canadian honey that we had a problem the other day when we ran out.
Dane: "Mama, my sandwich tasted funny today, so I didn't eat it."
Me: "Tasted funny? What do you mean, 'tasted funny'?"
Dane: "I don't know. It just didn't taste right. It tasted like something was wrong with it."
Me: "Was it the honey? You know, we ran out of Canadian honey and I had to use American
honey. Was that what it was, son?"
Dane: "I don't know, Mama. It just tasted wierd, and I didn't like it."
I smelled his whole sandwich, with one small bite missing off the edge. It smelled fine. I tasted a little. It tasted fine. Nothing wrong with this sandwich.
Me: "Dane, there's nothing wrong with this sandwich. You need to eat it."
Dane: "Oh. Okay." He gobbled down his sandwich for his after-school snack. When it was all done, he commented, "Mama, I don't like that honey. Can we get some more Canadian honey."
I guess it's time to write to Aunt Bea and see if we can buy some honey from her. My children are picky.
Another problem I have with lunches is that everyone wants something different. Deanna has special bread that's high fiber. It costs a fortune, so I try not to use it for the boys, so everyone's bread is different. Deanna likes crunchy peanut butter (which has more fiber), but Dane can't handle the little chunks of peanuts and Daelyn accumulates the chunks in his cheek like a squirrel and then spits them out, so the boys have to have smooth peanut butter.
Deanna likes jelly, but Dane has to have honey (Canadian, as we've already seen). Daelyn doesn't have a set standard. Some days he wants honey, some days, jelly. Then there's the issue of what kind of jelly. Deanna hates strawberries, so strawberry jelly is out. She likes grape, but no one else seems to. Deanna's favorite is red currant (which costs more than our house) or red raspberry, which has seeds and Dane and Daelyn won't eat.
In addition to the sandwich issue, we're trying to help Deanna lose weight, so we use fat free chips and low calorie sweets in her lunches. Dane, on the other hand, is so slim, he looks sickly and we can't keep trousers on his hips as it is, so he needs more fat and calories (apparently, he burns them up and Deanna doesn't). Thus, every other aspect of their lunches is different.
Now, to the drinks. Deanna has her drink medicine in milk every morning. She seldom finishes it all, so we send it along to school in her thermos. When Dane started school, his grandparents gave him this cool SpiderMan lunchbox with a thermos. We attempted milk in his thermos for the first week and then abandoned thermos' for him. It appears he is incapable of putting the cap with the seal on the thermos after use. He'd just screw on the cup and, by the time he got home, his backpack would be leaking milk. All his school work would be thoroughly soaked, and I got tired of washing out his backpack daily. He now gets a juice box every day.
Thank God the children are out on their Christmas break and I have a break from lunches for two weeks. Perhaps by the time they return, I'll have figured this out and come up with a lunch plan that doesn't take me two hours each night to prepare.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
A Christmas Song
Lat night at church, we had our musical Christmas program. They started this three years ago. Instead of a choir cantata, we have a sing-along-type program called, "Home for the Holidays." We have dinner at 5:15 followed by the music at 6:00. It's like sitting in the living room of your home, singing Christmas songs with some of your best friends.
Lots of little groups perform, also. Each of the girls in the teenage girl's choir did a short solo. Some of the adult soloists in the church sang, as well. The handbells played. And my Deanna sang.
She was in a back-up group for a soloist, singing on the chorus. The song was "Christmas Shoes", which was ironic, because I had just brought this song to Deanna's attention. On the morning of the Christmas Fair, Don and the boys, who were ready early, took off for the school to begin set-up. It was very cold out and I didn't have a pressing need to be there early, so Deanna and I left about a half hour later and ran to Sonic for coffee and breakfast. I ordered a breakfast burrito and decaf, but they were out of decaf coffee. In frustration, knowing this meant we would have to go to yet another drive-thru, I waited for my burrito. I was tapping my foot impatiently and decided to turn on the radio to calm me down.
While Deanna and I chatted and we waited, the song, "Christmas Shoes" came on the radio. I recognized it near the very beginning and turned it up, telling Deanna the story briefly to peak her interest. We listened together to every word and bawled our eyes out when it was done. It's such a beautiful song, and so poignant. After Choir Rehearsal last week, Deanna met Don and I in the sanctuary, where we were practicing handbells, bubbling over with excitement.
"Mommy, remember that song you played for me?" she burst out. "You know, 'Christmas Shoes'? We're singing it at Home for the Holidays. I'll be singing the chorus."
I've been hearing the song for the last week, either from Deanna's mouth as she practiced or in my own head. For those of you who don't know the song, it's a story about a young boy on Christmas Eve who's trying to buy a pair of shoes, but doesn't have enough money. In desperation, he turns to the man behind him and relates his story.
"Mama always made Christmas good at our house, though, most years she just did without. Tell me, Sir, what am I gonna do, somehow, I've got to buy her these Christmas shoes...Sir, I want to buy these shoes for my Mama, please. It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size. Could you hurry, sir, Daddy says there's not much time. You see, she's been sick for quite a while and I know these shoes would make her smile, and I want her to look beautiful if Mama meets Jesus tonight."
Last Saturday, Deanna's little girl's group had their Christmas Party. We went caroling to three homes in the neighborhood and went to the Kent's house. The woman in charge of the meeting had called and asked permission for our girls to bring ornaments for the Kent children to hang on their tree. Joey agreed.
When we arrived, no one was home but the oldest daughter. Joey had said they might all be gone to ballgames, but he'd leave the door unlocked and we could come in and put the ornaments on their tree. As we filed into the living room, I couldn't keep my eyes off the tree. My friend, Kelly, had taken dinner to the Kent's the night they decorated the tree. The next day, when we spent our Wednesday morning together, she poured out her heart to me.
"Patti, they're so filled with joy. It's hard to even understand." I agreed. I had noticed the same thing. We decided it was the grace of God.
"But the thing about it is this - the only ornaments they have on the tree are one that's a Wonderful Life ornament that Theresa gave Joey and special ornaments that she handmade for each of the children and Joe with their initials on them." She went on to express concern that the baby, Michaela, might not have one, since she's only 6 months old. "What if that baby grows up being the only child in the family to not have one of those ornaments from her Mom?" Kelly's concern poured out of her. We talked about various options, such as Kelly helping the oldest daughter make one for the baby, etc. In the end, we didn't come up with any solutions, and agreed to pray.
On Saturday morning, the first thing I noticed on the tree was a prominantly displayed hand-made felt ornament with the word, "Baby" on it. Joy flooded my heart. Apparently, Theresa, without even knowing if the baby she was carrying was a girl or a boy, made sure that one had an ornament, as well. Michaela will always have that to cherish and will know, for the rest of her life, that her mommy loved her, even if she has no memory of that cherished mother.
Last night, after the Program at Church, I came home and started more baking. While I worked in the kitchen, the words to that song ran through my mind continuously. Mingled with the song words was the memory of that beautiful red ornament with "Baby" in gold on the front. Life can be just as painful as a Country Western song, but in that sadness can be great consolation. One selfless act of a mother, without ever understanding what the future would hold for her and her family, will sustain that child at difficult times over the holidays in the future.
We are living through a Country Western song this Christmas, but God's grace is sufficient. He will sustain that family as they sit in their living room looking at the ornaments lovingly made for each of them by their mother. And they will remember all the good times. Sad memories fade quickly. It is God's plan that we remember the good and forget the bad. Thank God for that. And thank God that Theresa had the foresight to make an ornament for her unnamed baby. "Mama always made Christmas good at our house though, mostly, she just went without."
Lots of little groups perform, also. Each of the girls in the teenage girl's choir did a short solo. Some of the adult soloists in the church sang, as well. The handbells played. And my Deanna sang.
She was in a back-up group for a soloist, singing on the chorus. The song was "Christmas Shoes", which was ironic, because I had just brought this song to Deanna's attention. On the morning of the Christmas Fair, Don and the boys, who were ready early, took off for the school to begin set-up. It was very cold out and I didn't have a pressing need to be there early, so Deanna and I left about a half hour later and ran to Sonic for coffee and breakfast. I ordered a breakfast burrito and decaf, but they were out of decaf coffee. In frustration, knowing this meant we would have to go to yet another drive-thru, I waited for my burrito. I was tapping my foot impatiently and decided to turn on the radio to calm me down.
While Deanna and I chatted and we waited, the song, "Christmas Shoes" came on the radio. I recognized it near the very beginning and turned it up, telling Deanna the story briefly to peak her interest. We listened together to every word and bawled our eyes out when it was done. It's such a beautiful song, and so poignant. After Choir Rehearsal last week, Deanna met Don and I in the sanctuary, where we were practicing handbells, bubbling over with excitement.
"Mommy, remember that song you played for me?" she burst out. "You know, 'Christmas Shoes'? We're singing it at Home for the Holidays. I'll be singing the chorus."
I've been hearing the song for the last week, either from Deanna's mouth as she practiced or in my own head. For those of you who don't know the song, it's a story about a young boy on Christmas Eve who's trying to buy a pair of shoes, but doesn't have enough money. In desperation, he turns to the man behind him and relates his story.
"Mama always made Christmas good at our house, though, most years she just did without. Tell me, Sir, what am I gonna do, somehow, I've got to buy her these Christmas shoes...Sir, I want to buy these shoes for my Mama, please. It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size. Could you hurry, sir, Daddy says there's not much time. You see, she's been sick for quite a while and I know these shoes would make her smile, and I want her to look beautiful if Mama meets Jesus tonight."
Last Saturday, Deanna's little girl's group had their Christmas Party. We went caroling to three homes in the neighborhood and went to the Kent's house. The woman in charge of the meeting had called and asked permission for our girls to bring ornaments for the Kent children to hang on their tree. Joey agreed.
When we arrived, no one was home but the oldest daughter. Joey had said they might all be gone to ballgames, but he'd leave the door unlocked and we could come in and put the ornaments on their tree. As we filed into the living room, I couldn't keep my eyes off the tree. My friend, Kelly, had taken dinner to the Kent's the night they decorated the tree. The next day, when we spent our Wednesday morning together, she poured out her heart to me.
"Patti, they're so filled with joy. It's hard to even understand." I agreed. I had noticed the same thing. We decided it was the grace of God.
"But the thing about it is this - the only ornaments they have on the tree are one that's a Wonderful Life ornament that Theresa gave Joey and special ornaments that she handmade for each of the children and Joe with their initials on them." She went on to express concern that the baby, Michaela, might not have one, since she's only 6 months old. "What if that baby grows up being the only child in the family to not have one of those ornaments from her Mom?" Kelly's concern poured out of her. We talked about various options, such as Kelly helping the oldest daughter make one for the baby, etc. In the end, we didn't come up with any solutions, and agreed to pray.
On Saturday morning, the first thing I noticed on the tree was a prominantly displayed hand-made felt ornament with the word, "Baby" on it. Joy flooded my heart. Apparently, Theresa, without even knowing if the baby she was carrying was a girl or a boy, made sure that one had an ornament, as well. Michaela will always have that to cherish and will know, for the rest of her life, that her mommy loved her, even if she has no memory of that cherished mother.
Last night, after the Program at Church, I came home and started more baking. While I worked in the kitchen, the words to that song ran through my mind continuously. Mingled with the song words was the memory of that beautiful red ornament with "Baby" in gold on the front. Life can be just as painful as a Country Western song, but in that sadness can be great consolation. One selfless act of a mother, without ever understanding what the future would hold for her and her family, will sustain that child at difficult times over the holidays in the future.
We are living through a Country Western song this Christmas, but God's grace is sufficient. He will sustain that family as they sit in their living room looking at the ornaments lovingly made for each of them by their mother. And they will remember all the good times. Sad memories fade quickly. It is God's plan that we remember the good and forget the bad. Thank God for that. And thank God that Theresa had the foresight to make an ornament for her unnamed baby. "Mama always made Christmas good at our house though, mostly, she just went without."
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
More Grief
Monday night, I realized I was struggling with depression. It seems funny to even say this. I've never been depressed. I didn't even suffer post-partem depression. Instead, I experienced what Don fondly refers to as "Post-partem elation". After being sick for 8 - 9 months, I gave birth to a beautiful, special baby and felt better, all at the same time. Now, that's something to be elated about. I experienced this with all my pregnancies. No depression here.
The closest I ever came was Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after Daelyn was born. He had some medical problems from birth and wouldn't nurse, which created a tremendous amount of stress, especially tacked onto the end of a nightmare pregnancy. He didn't act quite right, and I kept telling nurses and doctors (not mine, however, who would have believed me, but wasn't on call when I had Daelyn), only to be rebuffed and told that the baby was fine. It wasn't until the third night in the hospital, when my nurse was a close family friend, that I poured out my heart and concerns, and she listened. She immediately took the baby from me, took a blood sample from his still-bleeding heel (he had just had a blood test for jaundice), and called the pediatrician on call. Daelyn's blood sugar was dangerously low, thus the lethargy I had been noticing. The lethargy caused him to be too tired to nurse and the lack of nursing added to the low blood sugar - a vicious cycle. The pediatrician ordered the nurse to stay with me while I nursed and observe the baby, then to do another blood sugar test and call him back. BINGO!! Someone finally was able to observe what I had been telling them was happening. When the nurse entered the room, it would stimulate the baby, and he would nurse great for about 2 minutes. Then, it was back to sleep. The nurses never saw the "back-to-sleep" part - only the wide-awake 20-second nursing marathon.
When they finally released us from the hospital, five days after delivery, we went home on formula. No sooner did we settle into a routine than Daelyn started crying, well, shrieking, really, all the time. At two months, he was diagnosed with severe reflux and put on medication which was about as easy to get him to swallow as it is to force a fully inflated balloon down the sink drain. There was lots of spitting up, screaming (him as well as me), and crying (mostly from Don - ha!!). Thank goodness, he outgrew the reflux by his first birthday. But, somewhere along the line, I began to notice that I felt great upon waking in the morning but, by the afternoon, I just wasn't able to cope any longer. After Don and I talked about it several times, he encouraged me to call my doctor. The nurse laughed.
"Dr. Christie's been waiting for your call," she told me. "She says you're not suffering from depression - it's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - and she expected you'd call and need some help." She put me on some mild medication and, presto, in two days, I felt better. In 3 months, I was ready to get back to real life and get off the medication.
This thing this week, though, is different. I haven't wanted to eat, I'm exhausted all the time, snippy with Don, edgy with the children, am prone to cry at the drop of a hat, and have absolutely NO JOY. For those of you who know me, that's just NOT me. It finally occurred to me on Monday night that I was suffering from depression.
Tuesday morning, after Deanna's dental appointment, I took her back to school. Her teacher is an old family friend who lived with my family when I was a teenager. She asked me, very seriously, how I was doing, and I began to tell her. While I was talking, the truth became clear to me. I was struggling, still, with the death of my friend, Theresa, two months ago.
The funny thing is this. Theresa and I were not close. We knew each other, our children attended the same school, and played on the same soccer teams, and we bumped into each other a lot, but I had never been in her home and could count on one hand the conversations we had had. So why was I struggling so much with her death? I decided I needed to go and get prayer.
The answer finally came to me while I was being prayed with. I was angry with Theresa for dying and leaving her children and husband behind. While I didn't know Theresa well, her husband is a cherished friend. He and I grew up together, were in the same homeroom all the way through high school (in a small, Catholic high school where you knew every student by first name), his family lived just up the street, and his sister was my best friend. We even went on one date during high school - nothing romantic, just good friends. Later, when I moved out on my own, I lived in a duplex and Joey and his mom lived in the other half. We used to bang on the bedroom walls to let each other know in a friendly, we-grew-up-together way, that one of us was being too loud. Sometimes we banged and yelled greetings through the wall. I'd hear him practicing the guitar and applaud for him when he was done - things like that. Just friends living next door to each other.
A couple of years ago, we attended our high school reunion together with our spouses. I kidded with him about how many children he had and he joked right back with me. After all the years since high school, Joey and I could still talk like friends that saw each other every day. Without any preamble, we were able to jump right into the "big" topics, the important things. We were childhood friends that still respected and appreciated each other.
But I'm talking about Joey in the past tense. It wasn't him that died. It was his treasured wife. For the last 20 years or so, since Joey discovered Theresa and fell madly in love, he could hardly string a sentence together without her name in it. After her death, I took dinner over to the family one night. We walked outside to talk, and Joey asked me, without preamble or pretense, if Don and I talked regularly. He had no regrets about his relationship with Theresa and he wanted to pass his wisdom along to me. It was such a caring, loving thing to do.
So I grieved for Joey. Then, last week, I kept his and Theresa's two youngest children - Tessa, who's 3 and Michaela, who's 6 months. Tessa needed a lot of holding and mothering, and, somewhere in my heart, I decided I needed to be that for her. While I knew it wasn't possible, nor prudent, somehow I couldn't let go of the desire to take care of these little girls every day, to give them continuity in their lives, to put my own life on hold to serve them. And, thus, depression set in. I have my own family and their needs to tend to. While my heart is in the right place, I was taking on a false burden, which became very obvious to me when I got prayer.
The burden lifted almost immediately, and I began to smile and enjoy life again. While I'm still grieving the loss of Theresa to her husband and children, and would love to be able to reach out to those children, I know it's not what God is calling me to - at least not in this season. What He is calling me to is to pray. That is how I can support them the most while still taking care of the needs of my own family.
I turned on Christmas music today and began making cookies, a changed woman. The Season once again holds joy for me. While I'm still tired, my taste for food seems to have returned and the edginess is gone. I WILL pray for those children, and reach out to them whenever I see them. But I will not try to be their mother. I won't feel the need to be everything to someone else's children.
They don't need a replacement Mom right now. They need lots of loving aunts. That's what I want to be.
The closest I ever came was Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after Daelyn was born. He had some medical problems from birth and wouldn't nurse, which created a tremendous amount of stress, especially tacked onto the end of a nightmare pregnancy. He didn't act quite right, and I kept telling nurses and doctors (not mine, however, who would have believed me, but wasn't on call when I had Daelyn), only to be rebuffed and told that the baby was fine. It wasn't until the third night in the hospital, when my nurse was a close family friend, that I poured out my heart and concerns, and she listened. She immediately took the baby from me, took a blood sample from his still-bleeding heel (he had just had a blood test for jaundice), and called the pediatrician on call. Daelyn's blood sugar was dangerously low, thus the lethargy I had been noticing. The lethargy caused him to be too tired to nurse and the lack of nursing added to the low blood sugar - a vicious cycle. The pediatrician ordered the nurse to stay with me while I nursed and observe the baby, then to do another blood sugar test and call him back. BINGO!! Someone finally was able to observe what I had been telling them was happening. When the nurse entered the room, it would stimulate the baby, and he would nurse great for about 2 minutes. Then, it was back to sleep. The nurses never saw the "back-to-sleep" part - only the wide-awake 20-second nursing marathon.
When they finally released us from the hospital, five days after delivery, we went home on formula. No sooner did we settle into a routine than Daelyn started crying, well, shrieking, really, all the time. At two months, he was diagnosed with severe reflux and put on medication which was about as easy to get him to swallow as it is to force a fully inflated balloon down the sink drain. There was lots of spitting up, screaming (him as well as me), and crying (mostly from Don - ha!!). Thank goodness, he outgrew the reflux by his first birthday. But, somewhere along the line, I began to notice that I felt great upon waking in the morning but, by the afternoon, I just wasn't able to cope any longer. After Don and I talked about it several times, he encouraged me to call my doctor. The nurse laughed.
"Dr. Christie's been waiting for your call," she told me. "She says you're not suffering from depression - it's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - and she expected you'd call and need some help." She put me on some mild medication and, presto, in two days, I felt better. In 3 months, I was ready to get back to real life and get off the medication.
This thing this week, though, is different. I haven't wanted to eat, I'm exhausted all the time, snippy with Don, edgy with the children, am prone to cry at the drop of a hat, and have absolutely NO JOY. For those of you who know me, that's just NOT me. It finally occurred to me on Monday night that I was suffering from depression.
Tuesday morning, after Deanna's dental appointment, I took her back to school. Her teacher is an old family friend who lived with my family when I was a teenager. She asked me, very seriously, how I was doing, and I began to tell her. While I was talking, the truth became clear to me. I was struggling, still, with the death of my friend, Theresa, two months ago.
The funny thing is this. Theresa and I were not close. We knew each other, our children attended the same school, and played on the same soccer teams, and we bumped into each other a lot, but I had never been in her home and could count on one hand the conversations we had had. So why was I struggling so much with her death? I decided I needed to go and get prayer.
The answer finally came to me while I was being prayed with. I was angry with Theresa for dying and leaving her children and husband behind. While I didn't know Theresa well, her husband is a cherished friend. He and I grew up together, were in the same homeroom all the way through high school (in a small, Catholic high school where you knew every student by first name), his family lived just up the street, and his sister was my best friend. We even went on one date during high school - nothing romantic, just good friends. Later, when I moved out on my own, I lived in a duplex and Joey and his mom lived in the other half. We used to bang on the bedroom walls to let each other know in a friendly, we-grew-up-together way, that one of us was being too loud. Sometimes we banged and yelled greetings through the wall. I'd hear him practicing the guitar and applaud for him when he was done - things like that. Just friends living next door to each other.
A couple of years ago, we attended our high school reunion together with our spouses. I kidded with him about how many children he had and he joked right back with me. After all the years since high school, Joey and I could still talk like friends that saw each other every day. Without any preamble, we were able to jump right into the "big" topics, the important things. We were childhood friends that still respected and appreciated each other.
But I'm talking about Joey in the past tense. It wasn't him that died. It was his treasured wife. For the last 20 years or so, since Joey discovered Theresa and fell madly in love, he could hardly string a sentence together without her name in it. After her death, I took dinner over to the family one night. We walked outside to talk, and Joey asked me, without preamble or pretense, if Don and I talked regularly. He had no regrets about his relationship with Theresa and he wanted to pass his wisdom along to me. It was such a caring, loving thing to do.
So I grieved for Joey. Then, last week, I kept his and Theresa's two youngest children - Tessa, who's 3 and Michaela, who's 6 months. Tessa needed a lot of holding and mothering, and, somewhere in my heart, I decided I needed to be that for her. While I knew it wasn't possible, nor prudent, somehow I couldn't let go of the desire to take care of these little girls every day, to give them continuity in their lives, to put my own life on hold to serve them. And, thus, depression set in. I have my own family and their needs to tend to. While my heart is in the right place, I was taking on a false burden, which became very obvious to me when I got prayer.
The burden lifted almost immediately, and I began to smile and enjoy life again. While I'm still grieving the loss of Theresa to her husband and children, and would love to be able to reach out to those children, I know it's not what God is calling me to - at least not in this season. What He is calling me to is to pray. That is how I can support them the most while still taking care of the needs of my own family.
I turned on Christmas music today and began making cookies, a changed woman. The Season once again holds joy for me. While I'm still tired, my taste for food seems to have returned and the edginess is gone. I WILL pray for those children, and reach out to them whenever I see them. But I will not try to be their mother. I won't feel the need to be everything to someone else's children.
They don't need a replacement Mom right now. They need lots of loving aunts. That's what I want to be.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Where's the Joy in Joyous?
I got all my Christmas cards written and mailed out. We put up the tree on Saturday and got it decorated. After Church on Sunday, I started working on wrapping the gifts that needed to be shipped and boxing them up. I took them to the Post Office today and got them headed off.
Then I came home and did some baking. According to my "Master Schedule", I was supposed to start decorating the house today. But decorating didn't seem much fun and I love baking, so I made two batches of magic cookie bars and a double batch of fudge. Then I started working on the decorating. I got the dining room table cleared off and a Christmas tablecloth on it. Then I got the bureau cleaned off and the nativity scene put out. I made a fresh spray from some Frasier Fur clippings that I hand in the archway with a red velvet bow and a bell and hung a garland around the kitchen serving window.
After dinner, Don took Dane to a Scout meeting, so I started working on the outside decorations. I put the two light trees together and both the reindeer and got them all outside, only to discover that they didn't work when plugged in. I've decided Don needs to work on them. But, I'm moving along on my list, and, so far, I'm still on schedule.
The children are suffering a little. Yesterday, at Church, I discovered that the gifts for the Angel Tree were due by 4:00 p.m. I had taken two angels off the tree - one for a 1-yr. old girl and another for a 2-yr. old boy. Because everyone was feeling puny, we slept in and went to our 11:30 service, so it was 1:00 before we got home. While Deanna changed clothes, I gathered a variety of gift bags, tissue paper, and tape and well as the angels so I'd know what to get and for whom.
Deanna and I took off for Wal-Mart, did our shopping in record time, wrapped them in bags in the van, and headed to the church for the drop-off. Then I took her out to lunch. We had a wonderful time. Wonderful time only seem to last momentarily with Deanna, however. By today, she was surly again, fussing at me because she left a book at school that she needed tonight. By bedtime, she wasn't even speaking to me. What is this with her? I've been told that I shouldn't let her get away with being ugly to me. I do the best I can to stay on top of it, but it doesn't seem to matter what I do. Everything is always my fault. Don says it's that mother-daughter thing, to which I respond, then I must not have been a daughter, because I never treated my mother like this. I told Deanna that last night and she said, "But you and I have a different relationship that you had with your mother." Boy, ain't that the truth. I would have feared for my life if I had ever tried to pull some of the things Deanna attempts regularly.
After sending her to her room once today for disrespect, she came back into the kitchen, very repentent, and apologized for her attitude. She really is a sweet girl and I'm crazy about her, I just wish we could get through these hormones a little smoother.
Tomorrow morning, I've got to take her to the Dentist. I'm hoping she's over her attitude problems before then, or we may have a very uncomfortable morning. Then, it's back to decorating and baking and preparing the house and the family for this JOYOUS Season. Somebody please tell Deanna.
Then I came home and did some baking. According to my "Master Schedule", I was supposed to start decorating the house today. But decorating didn't seem much fun and I love baking, so I made two batches of magic cookie bars and a double batch of fudge. Then I started working on the decorating. I got the dining room table cleared off and a Christmas tablecloth on it. Then I got the bureau cleaned off and the nativity scene put out. I made a fresh spray from some Frasier Fur clippings that I hand in the archway with a red velvet bow and a bell and hung a garland around the kitchen serving window.
After dinner, Don took Dane to a Scout meeting, so I started working on the outside decorations. I put the two light trees together and both the reindeer and got them all outside, only to discover that they didn't work when plugged in. I've decided Don needs to work on them. But, I'm moving along on my list, and, so far, I'm still on schedule.
The children are suffering a little. Yesterday, at Church, I discovered that the gifts for the Angel Tree were due by 4:00 p.m. I had taken two angels off the tree - one for a 1-yr. old girl and another for a 2-yr. old boy. Because everyone was feeling puny, we slept in and went to our 11:30 service, so it was 1:00 before we got home. While Deanna changed clothes, I gathered a variety of gift bags, tissue paper, and tape and well as the angels so I'd know what to get and for whom.
Deanna and I took off for Wal-Mart, did our shopping in record time, wrapped them in bags in the van, and headed to the church for the drop-off. Then I took her out to lunch. We had a wonderful time. Wonderful time only seem to last momentarily with Deanna, however. By today, she was surly again, fussing at me because she left a book at school that she needed tonight. By bedtime, she wasn't even speaking to me. What is this with her? I've been told that I shouldn't let her get away with being ugly to me. I do the best I can to stay on top of it, but it doesn't seem to matter what I do. Everything is always my fault. Don says it's that mother-daughter thing, to which I respond, then I must not have been a daughter, because I never treated my mother like this. I told Deanna that last night and she said, "But you and I have a different relationship that you had with your mother." Boy, ain't that the truth. I would have feared for my life if I had ever tried to pull some of the things Deanna attempts regularly.
After sending her to her room once today for disrespect, she came back into the kitchen, very repentent, and apologized for her attitude. She really is a sweet girl and I'm crazy about her, I just wish we could get through these hormones a little smoother.
Tomorrow morning, I've got to take her to the Dentist. I'm hoping she's over her attitude problems before then, or we may have a very uncomfortable morning. Then, it's back to decorating and baking and preparing the house and the family for this JOYOUS Season. Somebody please tell Deanna.
Friday, December 09, 2005
Rearranging my Life
It started out as simply cleaning the Den. I took the large duster and ran it under the loveseat. After several attempts, I could tell there was something caught underneath against the wall, so I decided to pull the loveseat out. Even the wall behind it had a coat of dust.
I began wiping down the walls and the window sill. Don came in and commented that I should check for toys in the bottom of the loveseat, so he turned it over. We stood in amazement and watched as toy after toy fell out of the bottom of this piece of furniture. Unbeknownst to me, there is a tear in the fabric under the cushions and, periodically, items that fall behind the cushions keep falling until they're caught between the springs and the dustcover across the bottom of the loveseat. We discovered a metal toy airplane, toy soldiers, a whistle, legos, one of Deanna's rings, several toy cars, play money, more legos, pieces from Daelyn's Pirate Play Set, two screwdrivers, some snowflakes from a puzzle of Dane's, a puzzle book, popcorn, pencils, two or three crayons, more legos, and DUST, DUST, DUST.
I furiously cleaned and then got a brainstorm - why not rearrange the Den? To some people, this is an everyday occurrence, like my sister, Trina, who rearranges her entire house for every season. But me???? No, that's not how I do things. I put furniture where I want it, and there it stays until we replace the furniture, we move, I die, or we add onto the house again (which, according to Don, will occur about the time Hell gets struck with a blizzard). I put things where I want them, where they can best be used, and where the rooms looks the best. Why would I change that?
So, here I was, rearranging my Den, knowing that as soon as that was done, I had to do the same thing to the living room to make room for our tree, which we're scheduled to get this afternoon and decorate tomorrow.
I put the loveseat back on a different wall and had enough space to move another leather recliner into the Den for me. The children sprawl on the loveseat and Don has his leather recliner with matching footstool. I always end up either squooshed amongst the children or on the floor - neither of which thrill me at 44 (and are both somewhat dangerous at this age, as well). Now, the children can have the loveseat and Don and I both have our own recliners.
Next, I worked on the living room, attempting to prepare it for a very large tree surrounded by a speeding train that plays Christmas music and wall-to-wall presents. I've done the best job I can do in there for now, but I'm not happy with the outcome. However, some things have to be laid aside. I still have the remainder of my cards to get out, all my baking to do, presents to purchase and wrap, and decorating, decorating - far too much to spend an entire day fussing over the lay-out of the living room.
Unfortunately, I moved the second leather recliner into the Den out of our bedroom, so now it must also be rearranged. I'm beginning to feel overwhelmed. I've decided that tonight, once the children are in bed, I'm sitting down with the calendar and planning out the remainder of the month. I'll set aside a day or two for decorating, a couple for baking, and lots for wrapping and shopping. If I can just stay on schedule, I may actually be able to pull off Christmas this year.
Here's hoping!!
I began wiping down the walls and the window sill. Don came in and commented that I should check for toys in the bottom of the loveseat, so he turned it over. We stood in amazement and watched as toy after toy fell out of the bottom of this piece of furniture. Unbeknownst to me, there is a tear in the fabric under the cushions and, periodically, items that fall behind the cushions keep falling until they're caught between the springs and the dustcover across the bottom of the loveseat. We discovered a metal toy airplane, toy soldiers, a whistle, legos, one of Deanna's rings, several toy cars, play money, more legos, pieces from Daelyn's Pirate Play Set, two screwdrivers, some snowflakes from a puzzle of Dane's, a puzzle book, popcorn, pencils, two or three crayons, more legos, and DUST, DUST, DUST.
I furiously cleaned and then got a brainstorm - why not rearrange the Den? To some people, this is an everyday occurrence, like my sister, Trina, who rearranges her entire house for every season. But me???? No, that's not how I do things. I put furniture where I want it, and there it stays until we replace the furniture, we move, I die, or we add onto the house again (which, according to Don, will occur about the time Hell gets struck with a blizzard). I put things where I want them, where they can best be used, and where the rooms looks the best. Why would I change that?
So, here I was, rearranging my Den, knowing that as soon as that was done, I had to do the same thing to the living room to make room for our tree, which we're scheduled to get this afternoon and decorate tomorrow.
I put the loveseat back on a different wall and had enough space to move another leather recliner into the Den for me. The children sprawl on the loveseat and Don has his leather recliner with matching footstool. I always end up either squooshed amongst the children or on the floor - neither of which thrill me at 44 (and are both somewhat dangerous at this age, as well). Now, the children can have the loveseat and Don and I both have our own recliners.
Next, I worked on the living room, attempting to prepare it for a very large tree surrounded by a speeding train that plays Christmas music and wall-to-wall presents. I've done the best job I can do in there for now, but I'm not happy with the outcome. However, some things have to be laid aside. I still have the remainder of my cards to get out, all my baking to do, presents to purchase and wrap, and decorating, decorating - far too much to spend an entire day fussing over the lay-out of the living room.
Unfortunately, I moved the second leather recliner into the Den out of our bedroom, so now it must also be rearranged. I'm beginning to feel overwhelmed. I've decided that tonight, once the children are in bed, I'm sitting down with the calendar and planning out the remainder of the month. I'll set aside a day or two for decorating, a couple for baking, and lots for wrapping and shopping. If I can just stay on schedule, I may actually be able to pull off Christmas this year.
Here's hoping!!
Thursday, December 08, 2005
A Baby to Love
Ooooh, having a baby in my arms again!! There's nothing as sweet as a happy, soft baby. They coo, snuggle against you, and smile into your face - a big package of pure love.
This morning, I sat holding the Kent baby, Michaela, and rocking her while feeding her a bottle. Her eyelids got heavy and began to droop. Soon, her breathing was deep and even. I held her close. It was so wonderful to have a baby to myself, if just for a few hours.
Gone are the days of infants for me. My baby is 3 1/2 and getting more independent every day. When Don and I were told by the doctors that another pregnancy would kill me, we reluctantly agreed to a surgical option to keep me alive to raise the three I already had. It was a hard choice. But all signs that we could see pointed to the truth of what the doctors were saying. And we already had three little miracles. Trying to push the envelope would have been extremely dangerous and could have left my three motherless.
In the days following our decision, I would see mothers nuzzling their babies and long for another chance. For a season, it was even difficult to hold other people's babies, knowing I had to return them. One hope stood out in my thoughts. I have a daughter. One day she'll give me grandbabies, and I'll have another chance to snuggle, hold, and cuddle a baby that's mine.
I don't expect too much from my sons. Although I pray every night that God will send them a godly wife who loves them, respects them, and honors them (and that they'll always live close to their Daddy and I), I know the reality of sons relationships to their mothers. Once they're married, they'll belong to someone else and her mother will be the main impact in her life and the lives of their children. Daughters naturally look to their mothers. The children of your daughters are always closer to you than the children on your sons.
Even though I know this to be the case (I've seen it evidenced in my siblings as well as in the lives of many close friends), I still hold out hope that my sons' children will always be close to me. I pray for that relationship daily. I believe they will marry young women who have a close relationship with me and, perhaps, their bond with me will be strong enough to stretch across normal human tendencies and they will be willing to selflessly share their babies with me.
So I wait for my children to mature and, in the meantime, I pray. Lord, send a baby into my arms, one that shares my blood, that I can hold, love, and nurture. Send many. Let my children be fruitful and their spouses be unselfish. And, in the meantime, let me hold this beautiful little baby who's lost her mother and snuggle her tight. We both need it.
This morning, I sat holding the Kent baby, Michaela, and rocking her while feeding her a bottle. Her eyelids got heavy and began to droop. Soon, her breathing was deep and even. I held her close. It was so wonderful to have a baby to myself, if just for a few hours.
Gone are the days of infants for me. My baby is 3 1/2 and getting more independent every day. When Don and I were told by the doctors that another pregnancy would kill me, we reluctantly agreed to a surgical option to keep me alive to raise the three I already had. It was a hard choice. But all signs that we could see pointed to the truth of what the doctors were saying. And we already had three little miracles. Trying to push the envelope would have been extremely dangerous and could have left my three motherless.
In the days following our decision, I would see mothers nuzzling their babies and long for another chance. For a season, it was even difficult to hold other people's babies, knowing I had to return them. One hope stood out in my thoughts. I have a daughter. One day she'll give me grandbabies, and I'll have another chance to snuggle, hold, and cuddle a baby that's mine.
I don't expect too much from my sons. Although I pray every night that God will send them a godly wife who loves them, respects them, and honors them (and that they'll always live close to their Daddy and I), I know the reality of sons relationships to their mothers. Once they're married, they'll belong to someone else and her mother will be the main impact in her life and the lives of their children. Daughters naturally look to their mothers. The children of your daughters are always closer to you than the children on your sons.
Even though I know this to be the case (I've seen it evidenced in my siblings as well as in the lives of many close friends), I still hold out hope that my sons' children will always be close to me. I pray for that relationship daily. I believe they will marry young women who have a close relationship with me and, perhaps, their bond with me will be strong enough to stretch across normal human tendencies and they will be willing to selflessly share their babies with me.
So I wait for my children to mature and, in the meantime, I pray. Lord, send a baby into my arms, one that shares my blood, that I can hold, love, and nurture. Send many. Let my children be fruitful and their spouses be unselfish. And, in the meantime, let me hold this beautiful little baby who's lost her mother and snuggle her tight. We both need it.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Nothing out of the Ordinary
Slowly, but surely, I'm getting the house clean. I find it impossible to decorate a house that's dirty, and I'm a week behind on my Christmas decorating.
I started on Tuesday working in the children's bathroom. You may remember the problem I had in the bathroom with the books from the bookshelf in the boy's room. Anyhow, I decided to seriously tackle the bathroom and get it thoroughly clean. I succeeded, and then headed into the boy's bedroom. I was running very late getting dinner on the table, but I finally managed to get the floor finished and closed the door on a clean, neat room at 5:30 p.m.
Today, I attacked the long hallway and the living room. I got both done, as well as some work on the kitchen. I still have the Den, which looks like a moose and a bear got into a battle in it, the dining room, and the kitchen. I'm hoping to get the decorations out of the attic tomorrow and begin to put up some things, like my Advent Calendar. If I wait very much longer, there won't be much use.
Tomorrow, I'll be keeping the two pre-school children of the woman who died a month ago. The older of the two is 3 years old and the baby is just 6 months. It will be interesting to have them and see how they do with Daelyn. I'm told that the 3-yr. old is having some difficulties adjusting and needs to be watched closely. I'm not planning on being able to get much work done with two extra children, who need a lot of watching, but you never know. Perhaps the two 3-yr. olds will play well together and the baby will take a nap, and I'll be able to do some decorating and cleaning.
I'm working on the laundry tonight so I won't have that hanging over my head. All-in-all, the house is feeling much neater. I stopped by my friend, Rachel's, house on Monday, when I was picking up her little guy, Auggie, and took quick mental notes. Rachel, as I've mentioned before, is a minimalist, and keeps her house neat as a pin (unlike mine). I noticed that she uses large laundry baskets for each of her children (or one per bedroom, perhaps) and has a big basket under the table on the floor full of shoes. All great ideas. I'm thinking about how I can further organize to be able to keep the house a little neater.
My next big chore is cleaning out the toy room to make room for the new things the children will get the Christmas. Rachel counsels to be brutal. I'm not sure I'm quite there yet. Maybe after Christmas.
I started on Tuesday working in the children's bathroom. You may remember the problem I had in the bathroom with the books from the bookshelf in the boy's room. Anyhow, I decided to seriously tackle the bathroom and get it thoroughly clean. I succeeded, and then headed into the boy's bedroom. I was running very late getting dinner on the table, but I finally managed to get the floor finished and closed the door on a clean, neat room at 5:30 p.m.
Today, I attacked the long hallway and the living room. I got both done, as well as some work on the kitchen. I still have the Den, which looks like a moose and a bear got into a battle in it, the dining room, and the kitchen. I'm hoping to get the decorations out of the attic tomorrow and begin to put up some things, like my Advent Calendar. If I wait very much longer, there won't be much use.
Tomorrow, I'll be keeping the two pre-school children of the woman who died a month ago. The older of the two is 3 years old and the baby is just 6 months. It will be interesting to have them and see how they do with Daelyn. I'm told that the 3-yr. old is having some difficulties adjusting and needs to be watched closely. I'm not planning on being able to get much work done with two extra children, who need a lot of watching, but you never know. Perhaps the two 3-yr. olds will play well together and the baby will take a nap, and I'll be able to do some decorating and cleaning.
I'm working on the laundry tonight so I won't have that hanging over my head. All-in-all, the house is feeling much neater. I stopped by my friend, Rachel's, house on Monday, when I was picking up her little guy, Auggie, and took quick mental notes. Rachel, as I've mentioned before, is a minimalist, and keeps her house neat as a pin (unlike mine). I noticed that she uses large laundry baskets for each of her children (or one per bedroom, perhaps) and has a big basket under the table on the floor full of shoes. All great ideas. I'm thinking about how I can further organize to be able to keep the house a little neater.
My next big chore is cleaning out the toy room to make room for the new things the children will get the Christmas. Rachel counsels to be brutal. I'm not sure I'm quite there yet. Maybe after Christmas.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
These Ones Are for Sale
Sunday afternoon was lovely. The weather was balmy, topping the charts at a whopping 79 degrees, and we were exhilarated, having made it through the weekend unscathed. We had a couple of single friends over for coffee in the morning and, in the afternoon, my Father called to suggest that Deanna set up her little stand in the front yard and try to sell pecans.
Deanna loves this. She takes the children's picnic table around to the front and puts it on the sidewalk, I give her a money box with some change, and we both set out bags of pecans. The last time she attempted this, she needed a sign. Dane and Daelyn love to stand on the top of the picnic table and yell, "Pecans for sale," at all passing motorists. I took a large Sharpie and some cardboard outside and held the sign for her, writing on it between cars, until I finally had it finished. Although shaped a little roughly, it clearly says, "$1.25/lb. Pecans $1.25/lb."
So, Sunday, we gathered our sign, our boys, our money box, our bags of pecans, and the picnic table, and Deanna set up shop. I don't like to leave the children in the front yard alone, so I went inside to get some pecans of my own to crack and shell, planning on sitting on the park bench we have in the front yard. While in the house, I heard a commotion outside. I ran to the front door, which I had left open, and looked out. A man in an SUV had stopped in the street and was talking with the children. I ran towards them, fear in my throat.
As I neared the SUV, I could see that it was full of children. When I say full, I mean FULL!! There must have been at least six kids crammed in it, in addition to the male driver. I reached the children's stand, and began assessing the situation. The driver saw me approach on the run and laughingly explained what was happening.
Apparently, he had pulled up and, jokingly, started offering money to the children in exchange for their sign. Deanna would have no part of this. She was highly offended at the thought of selling her sign. She knew, of course, that without her sign, there would be NO future sales. Dane, on the other hand, would sell his right arm to the highest bidder. He was passing the sign through the front passenger's window in exchange for $2.00 when I arrived on the scene. The man thought this whole situation was hilarious. The children in the back seat looked nervous. The two dollars had been donated, unwillingly, by a little girl in the back seat.
Deanna's protests finally won out and Dane handed back his hard-earned two dollars and re-collected his sign. The man insisted that the little girl give the $2.00 back since Dane was such a good sport. I passed a 1 lb. bag of pecans through the window to him. We all laughed, thanked each other, and they drove off, since a line of cars had piled up behind them.
Deanna still doesn't find this very funny - she and Dane have very different approaches to commerce. Deanna is always looking for the next sale, Dane will do whatever's necessary to make this one.
Variety - the spice of life. That, and pecans.
Deanna loves this. She takes the children's picnic table around to the front and puts it on the sidewalk, I give her a money box with some change, and we both set out bags of pecans. The last time she attempted this, she needed a sign. Dane and Daelyn love to stand on the top of the picnic table and yell, "Pecans for sale," at all passing motorists. I took a large Sharpie and some cardboard outside and held the sign for her, writing on it between cars, until I finally had it finished. Although shaped a little roughly, it clearly says, "$1.25/lb. Pecans $1.25/lb."
So, Sunday, we gathered our sign, our boys, our money box, our bags of pecans, and the picnic table, and Deanna set up shop. I don't like to leave the children in the front yard alone, so I went inside to get some pecans of my own to crack and shell, planning on sitting on the park bench we have in the front yard. While in the house, I heard a commotion outside. I ran to the front door, which I had left open, and looked out. A man in an SUV had stopped in the street and was talking with the children. I ran towards them, fear in my throat.
As I neared the SUV, I could see that it was full of children. When I say full, I mean FULL!! There must have been at least six kids crammed in it, in addition to the male driver. I reached the children's stand, and began assessing the situation. The driver saw me approach on the run and laughingly explained what was happening.
Apparently, he had pulled up and, jokingly, started offering money to the children in exchange for their sign. Deanna would have no part of this. She was highly offended at the thought of selling her sign. She knew, of course, that without her sign, there would be NO future sales. Dane, on the other hand, would sell his right arm to the highest bidder. He was passing the sign through the front passenger's window in exchange for $2.00 when I arrived on the scene. The man thought this whole situation was hilarious. The children in the back seat looked nervous. The two dollars had been donated, unwillingly, by a little girl in the back seat.
Deanna's protests finally won out and Dane handed back his hard-earned two dollars and re-collected his sign. The man insisted that the little girl give the $2.00 back since Dane was such a good sport. I passed a 1 lb. bag of pecans through the window to him. We all laughed, thanked each other, and they drove off, since a line of cars had piled up behind them.
Deanna still doesn't find this very funny - she and Dane have very different approaches to commerce. Deanna is always looking for the next sale, Dane will do whatever's necessary to make this one.
Variety - the spice of life. That, and pecans.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Daelyn's Visit to Santa
Now that the Christmas Faire's out of the way, Daelyn and I hit the Mall this morning with his friend, Auggie. I took the boys to look at the Christmas decorations (of which there were very few) and to see Santa. We got there early and I wasn't even sure the Santa Booth was open, but Santa stood up, waved to us, then came around and let down the barrier so we could walk up the ramp.
Daelyn talked non-stop (big surprise). Santa began to say, "Here, come sit on this knee", but before he got the words out, Daelyn had climbed into his lap and started rattling off questions and his gift list, etc. He talked on and on. Santa glanced up at me with a gentle smile. I encouraged Daelyn to finish up and let Auggie have a turn in Santa's lap.
I helped Daelyn down and took him by the hand. Auggie climbed up into Santa's lap and began his laundry list of weapons he wanted for Christmas, starting with a sword that made noise, like his brother's, moving on to a knife, then a Ninja mask and Ninja belt. When Santa's eyes glazed over, I grabbed Auggie and moved HIM off Santa's lap. By this time, two women and their children were waiting for their turn with Santa. I thanked him for listening, he reached down into a bowl and pulled out a coloring book for each of the boys, and Daelyn looked him straight in the eye.
"Are you the REAL Santa?" my little guy asked.
Santa moved forward to the edge of his seat. He leaned towards Daelyn and touched his beard. "Grab this," he told Daelyn. "Tug on it and see if it's real." Daelyn gave the obligatory tug. "Now," Santa responded, "pull my hair and see if it's real." Once again, Daelyn reached up and tugged on Santa. The very gray beard and hair were, obviously, real.
"Now, what do you think?" Santa asked Daelyn. "Are they real?"
"Yes," Daelyn responded, simply.
"So, am I the real Santa," he asked.
"No."
Santa's mouth dropped open. I stood staring at Daelyn. Before either of us could respond, Daelyn launched into his story about meeting Santa in Anaheim. Santa stood up and listened. He asked me a few questions. He seemed genuinely interested. In the end, Daelyn explained, "I've met the real Santa, and you're not him."
There wasn't much else to be said. We thanked him for his time and I ushered the boys off the stage.
Later, while shopping in Hallmark, Daelyn asked if he could go talk with Santa again.
"I really like him, Mommy, even if he isn't the REAL Santa. He's nice, and I bet he's one of Santa's friends."
I'm sure he is, son, I'm sure he is.
Daelyn talked non-stop (big surprise). Santa began to say, "Here, come sit on this knee", but before he got the words out, Daelyn had climbed into his lap and started rattling off questions and his gift list, etc. He talked on and on. Santa glanced up at me with a gentle smile. I encouraged Daelyn to finish up and let Auggie have a turn in Santa's lap.
I helped Daelyn down and took him by the hand. Auggie climbed up into Santa's lap and began his laundry list of weapons he wanted for Christmas, starting with a sword that made noise, like his brother's, moving on to a knife, then a Ninja mask and Ninja belt. When Santa's eyes glazed over, I grabbed Auggie and moved HIM off Santa's lap. By this time, two women and their children were waiting for their turn with Santa. I thanked him for listening, he reached down into a bowl and pulled out a coloring book for each of the boys, and Daelyn looked him straight in the eye.
"Are you the REAL Santa?" my little guy asked.
Santa moved forward to the edge of his seat. He leaned towards Daelyn and touched his beard. "Grab this," he told Daelyn. "Tug on it and see if it's real." Daelyn gave the obligatory tug. "Now," Santa responded, "pull my hair and see if it's real." Once again, Daelyn reached up and tugged on Santa. The very gray beard and hair were, obviously, real.
"Now, what do you think?" Santa asked Daelyn. "Are they real?"
"Yes," Daelyn responded, simply.
"So, am I the real Santa," he asked.
"No."
Santa's mouth dropped open. I stood staring at Daelyn. Before either of us could respond, Daelyn launched into his story about meeting Santa in Anaheim. Santa stood up and listened. He asked me a few questions. He seemed genuinely interested. In the end, Daelyn explained, "I've met the real Santa, and you're not him."
There wasn't much else to be said. We thanked him for his time and I ushered the boys off the stage.
Later, while shopping in Hallmark, Daelyn asked if he could go talk with Santa again.
"I really like him, Mommy, even if he isn't the REAL Santa. He's nice, and I bet he's one of Santa's friends."
I'm sure he is, son, I'm sure he is.
Friday, December 02, 2005
I'm toe tired!
It appears that I've broken my little toe. And, as usual, my timing is impeccable. Tomorrow is the Christmas Faire. I'll be on my feet from 9:00 a.m., when we start working to light and decorate our booth, to 9:00 p.m., when we finally call it a night and turn the whole mess over to the Take-down Crew.
It all started last week. Don was off work on Wednesday and again on Friday, due to the Thanksgiving Holiday. On Wednesday, he decided that he had had enough with the Toy Room and went to Sam's, returning home with a 6-ft. rolling shelf with pull-out bins. He put it together, starting on Wednesday and finishing on Friday, and then began the job of organizing the Toy Room. For nearly a week, all the large toys were lined up neatly all the way down the hall into our bedroom and around the side of our room. However, at night, after turning out the bathroom lights and heading to the bed, I inevitably tripped over something. Is that when you broke your toe, you might ask? No. Not then. But, after several days of this, I got frustrated enough to move all the toys back into the remnants of a Toy Room.
Don finally finished the job this past Sunday and threatened anyone who left it a mess ever again for the rest of their lives, including me. (The man's starting to sound more and more like me every day.) Then he decided it was time to work on the boy's room. While I vehemently agreed, I was secretly afraid to let him touch it. The truth is, the Boy's Room, while looking terrible, really isn't as bad as it seems. The biggest problem with their room is that they have a lovely, natural wood, 3-shelf bookshelf full of children's books, coloring books, Highlights, and puzzles. And it's impossible to keep them neat. I even find it a huge challenge. I can't blame the boys that the books are piled into little mounds and strewn across the floor. They have too many books, they're all too small, and far too hard to keep standing while you load more onto the shelf.
So I decided to take matters into my own hands and move their bookshelf into the now clean, neat, and spacious Toy Room. Okay, so you dropped the bookshelf on your toe, right? Wrong. While Dane was home sick with his asthma kicking up this week, I had him and Daelyn remove all the books from their bookshelf. Not wanting to block my path from their room, down the hall, and into the Toy Room, I gave some thought to where to stack the books. I finally decided the best place was the floor in the Children's Bathroom - out of the way, two others to use until I got all the books back on the shelf, etc. Dane obediently (now that he was caught up in the neatening craze) removed all the books and piled them in small bundles on the floor in the Bathroom. Then we ran out of the house to something or other. When we returned, it was time to get Daelyn down for his nap, and the bookshelf didn't get moved. Two days later, as I was attempting some laundry, I stuck my head into the Children's Bathroom to discover wall to wall books. Mixed in were dirty clothes and discarded shoes.
How can you live like this? Easy, I respond. I don't ever use this bathroom. Truthfully, I hadn't realized it was that bad because I hadn't been in it. I was ashamed and appauled when I saw the condition and, immediately, moved the bookshelf into the Toy Room. Then I began re-stacking the books, sorting a few of them, and taking them into the Toy Room and placing them on the shelves in neat stacks to be stood up later. Once again, I got called away from my task. By this morning, the floor in the Bathroom was again covered in books (they seem to multiply like rabbits - do books breed?) In frustration, I was determined to make a dent in the Bathroom books before we launched into the Christmas Faire and then preparations for Christmas itself. I grabbed a huge stack, which towered above my eyes, and headed out the Bathroom door when, bang, I ran smack-dab into the doorjam or, at least, my little toe did. I smacked it so hard, it hurt all the way down into the middle of my foot. After shrieking and dancing around on one foot like an Indian at a Pow-Wow for a few minutes, I bent down and tried to move it. I'm sure it's broken. And, the more I walk on it, the worse it feels.
Tonight, in 41 degrees, I was out at the school asking our Set-Up Crew to move a 12' X 20' screened room for me, because it was angled wrong. By the time I got home 2 1/2 hours later (they weren't really THAT slow - I had other things to do, as well), my foot throbbed just sitting still.
I'm drinking a cup of hot decaf Earl Grey tea with cream and sugar. Next, I'm going to take some pain medicine and try to get a good night's sleep. Lord knows, I need one more than most. I have to be prepared to hobble all day and into the night. I wonder if Colonial's wore clogs?
It all started last week. Don was off work on Wednesday and again on Friday, due to the Thanksgiving Holiday. On Wednesday, he decided that he had had enough with the Toy Room and went to Sam's, returning home with a 6-ft. rolling shelf with pull-out bins. He put it together, starting on Wednesday and finishing on Friday, and then began the job of organizing the Toy Room. For nearly a week, all the large toys were lined up neatly all the way down the hall into our bedroom and around the side of our room. However, at night, after turning out the bathroom lights and heading to the bed, I inevitably tripped over something. Is that when you broke your toe, you might ask? No. Not then. But, after several days of this, I got frustrated enough to move all the toys back into the remnants of a Toy Room.
Don finally finished the job this past Sunday and threatened anyone who left it a mess ever again for the rest of their lives, including me. (The man's starting to sound more and more like me every day.) Then he decided it was time to work on the boy's room. While I vehemently agreed, I was secretly afraid to let him touch it. The truth is, the Boy's Room, while looking terrible, really isn't as bad as it seems. The biggest problem with their room is that they have a lovely, natural wood, 3-shelf bookshelf full of children's books, coloring books, Highlights, and puzzles. And it's impossible to keep them neat. I even find it a huge challenge. I can't blame the boys that the books are piled into little mounds and strewn across the floor. They have too many books, they're all too small, and far too hard to keep standing while you load more onto the shelf.
So I decided to take matters into my own hands and move their bookshelf into the now clean, neat, and spacious Toy Room. Okay, so you dropped the bookshelf on your toe, right? Wrong. While Dane was home sick with his asthma kicking up this week, I had him and Daelyn remove all the books from their bookshelf. Not wanting to block my path from their room, down the hall, and into the Toy Room, I gave some thought to where to stack the books. I finally decided the best place was the floor in the Children's Bathroom - out of the way, two others to use until I got all the books back on the shelf, etc. Dane obediently (now that he was caught up in the neatening craze) removed all the books and piled them in small bundles on the floor in the Bathroom. Then we ran out of the house to something or other. When we returned, it was time to get Daelyn down for his nap, and the bookshelf didn't get moved. Two days later, as I was attempting some laundry, I stuck my head into the Children's Bathroom to discover wall to wall books. Mixed in were dirty clothes and discarded shoes.
How can you live like this? Easy, I respond. I don't ever use this bathroom. Truthfully, I hadn't realized it was that bad because I hadn't been in it. I was ashamed and appauled when I saw the condition and, immediately, moved the bookshelf into the Toy Room. Then I began re-stacking the books, sorting a few of them, and taking them into the Toy Room and placing them on the shelves in neat stacks to be stood up later. Once again, I got called away from my task. By this morning, the floor in the Bathroom was again covered in books (they seem to multiply like rabbits - do books breed?) In frustration, I was determined to make a dent in the Bathroom books before we launched into the Christmas Faire and then preparations for Christmas itself. I grabbed a huge stack, which towered above my eyes, and headed out the Bathroom door when, bang, I ran smack-dab into the doorjam or, at least, my little toe did. I smacked it so hard, it hurt all the way down into the middle of my foot. After shrieking and dancing around on one foot like an Indian at a Pow-Wow for a few minutes, I bent down and tried to move it. I'm sure it's broken. And, the more I walk on it, the worse it feels.
Tonight, in 41 degrees, I was out at the school asking our Set-Up Crew to move a 12' X 20' screened room for me, because it was angled wrong. By the time I got home 2 1/2 hours later (they weren't really THAT slow - I had other things to do, as well), my foot throbbed just sitting still.
I'm drinking a cup of hot decaf Earl Grey tea with cream and sugar. Next, I'm going to take some pain medicine and try to get a good night's sleep. Lord knows, I need one more than most. I have to be prepared to hobble all day and into the night. I wonder if Colonial's wore clogs?
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Much to Do
The Christmas Faire is just two days away. Today I have to write Job Descriptions for about a dozen different jobs. Although I have people in headship of the Bakery, the Crafts, Decorating, Children's Activities, and Food, there are lots of other jobs and I don't think I'll have the time to explain to everyone what they need to do upon their arrival for their shift at 3:45 Saturday. In addition, I have to make sure everyone (all 87 people working) have costumes. Yesterday, the person in charge of decorating brought 5 unfinished aprons and 5 matching neckerchiefs over for me so I could make arrangements for someone to finish the aprons. According to my count, even when these are finished, we'll still be about 4 short. I had an old sheet that someone had donated that I had cut into the right size for aprons, but these pieces need to be finished on all four sides and a casing sewn into the top for a string. A friend of mine called yesterday morning and volunteered to help in any way she could. So, I called her around dinnertime and asked if she would be willing to work on these aprons.
When we returned from Church last night, about 8:30, there was a message on the answering machine asking if my friend could borrow my sewing machine. The one she was using ran into some problems and she had not yet gotten anything done. Don ran our sewing machine over to her and I'm hoping she'll be able to get the aprons done.
There are still lots of items to gather together, also. And still more phone calls to make. But, the Lord has been with us at every turn. I know he will continue to.
Don and I make sure we take the time to pray together every night and the Lord is returning the effort by working out all the details. It's amazing how I'll get a phone call from someone saying they'd like to work for us at the Faire and, within hours, I'll get a call from someone saying they're not able. The Lord's already set up the replacement for me.
I know I must just rely on Him and all the work will get done as long as I work my best at doing my part. And doing my part, I shall.
Goodbye for today, and probably until Sunday. Pray for us, especially Friday night and Saturday morning as we set up. The Faire is a fund-raiser for our school, but it is also an Evangelistic activity. I'm sure the Lord has much in store for us.
When we returned from Church last night, about 8:30, there was a message on the answering machine asking if my friend could borrow my sewing machine. The one she was using ran into some problems and she had not yet gotten anything done. Don ran our sewing machine over to her and I'm hoping she'll be able to get the aprons done.
There are still lots of items to gather together, also. And still more phone calls to make. But, the Lord has been with us at every turn. I know he will continue to.
Don and I make sure we take the time to pray together every night and the Lord is returning the effort by working out all the details. It's amazing how I'll get a phone call from someone saying they'd like to work for us at the Faire and, within hours, I'll get a call from someone saying they're not able. The Lord's already set up the replacement for me.
I know I must just rely on Him and all the work will get done as long as I work my best at doing my part. And doing my part, I shall.
Goodbye for today, and probably until Sunday. Pray for us, especially Friday night and Saturday morning as we set up. The Faire is a fund-raiser for our school, but it is also an Evangelistic activity. I'm sure the Lord has much in store for us.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Bedtime
Throat hurts. Tired - deep within my bones. Hot buttered rum - aaaaah! Legs limp, head woozy. Throat numb. Time for bed. Sleep. Sleep. Goodnight.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Lots More to Do
The Holidays have struck!!! We're already into the throes of it. One day, we're normal people, enjoying a life that's a little crazy, but do-able, and the next, we're farm animals headed for the slaughter house. We run around in circles, dabbling in a little bit here and a little bit there - not really accomplishing anything. Or, at least, that's how it feels.
I spent the weekend trying to get my costume finished for the Colonial American Faire Don and I are in charge of this weekend. I still have part of it to finish, despite working for several hours and being determined that I wasn't going to bed until it was finished. Don enticed me. He's just too sweet, smiling at me and saying, "Don't you want to come to bed now?" I certainly didn't need the reminder of how tired I was. It's all his fault. Of course, I'm sure he had alterior motives. He wanted the lights turned out so he could sleep. It may turn out to be a problem that the sewing machine is in our room.
In addition to my costume, I worked on our annual Christmas Letter. This is a review of our year that I send out with our Christmas Cards. Several of the people I send cards to have no other contact with us and this is the only opportunity they have to get caught up on family news (like some of the relatives in Colorado and Canada). I got tired of it taking me four weeks to get all the cards out each year because I wrote a book in each one, so I decided a letter was the best way to go. I started this about 6 years ago, and have been very happy with the outcome. Having the letter to do keeps me focused on getting the cards out. And, once the letter is done, the cards are easy. This year I added yet another shortcut and printed address labels to match the stationery I put the letter on.
So, between working on my costume, doing laundry, trying to finish and print our Christmas letter, making candy for the Bakery at the Christmas Faire, trying to keep the house clean, helping Don with his projects, as well as fielding tons of calls about the Faire, I don't seem to be able to accomplish anything. And Dane got sick last week and worsened over the weekend. Yesterday, Deanna had an 11:30 appointment with the dermatologist (a recheck on her foot where she had the plantar's wart removed 4 1/2 weeks ago and still isn't healed) and we got Dane scheduled at the Pediatrician at 12:45. Inbetween, I had to take all three of the kids for lunch. Needless to say, we flew through the McDonald's Drive-Thru and pulled into the Pediatrician's office 5 minutes late (which they told me when I made the appointment would be alright).
Hard to finish your work at home when you're ferrying children from one doctor's office to another. But I did manage to finish my letter and get it started printing while I was tearing through the Den on the way to the doctor and, later, printed the flip side while doing laundry. When Dane and I headed out to the Emergency Room last night, after he spiked a fever and worsened, I took my stack of letters and Christmas cards with me.
It's amazing how much work you can get done while sitting in a treatment room at the Emergency Room with a sick child who feels too bad to do anything but lay there watching a movie about Knights. We raised the head of his bed and put the TV speaker near his ear. I plopped in the chair next to him and finished the paperwork I needed to get done for the Faire, then started on my cards. All the cards to the relatives in Canada are done, which is good because it takes three weeks for the mail to get to some of them who live in remote areas. I finished up the baking on Sunday evening and, yesterday morning prior to the first appointment, cleaned up my baking mess and put all the candy in tins to transport to the Bakery Friday night. And, all the laundry got done including all three children's sheets. I still have Don's and my sheets to wash and the towels, but things are definately looking up.
I'm afraid what suffered the most was my Blog. No time to Post during this very busy weekend. In fact, Posts may be scanty from now through Christmas as I struggle to complete all my shopping, shipping, wrapping, decorating, and baking. So much to do, so little time.
On Sunday, while I was sitting at the computer working on my Christmas letter, Daelyn and Don walked into the Den. Don stood at my shoulder and Daelyn climbed into my lap.
"Are you working on your Blog, Mommy? You are, aren't you. You're working on your Blog," he rattled on over and over again. I looked up at Don. He rolled his eyes. There was no sense trying to explain to Daelyn that I was trying desperately to finish a letter to send to all our friends and I didn't have time to do my Blog. Besides, he was convinced I was Posting.
"I have something you need to tell them, Mommy." I looked at Don again. We exchanged quizzical glances.
"Tell them I 'spect to noorse now." I stared at Daelyn for a moment, not quite grasping what he was saying. "Tell them I love to noorse," he added. Up at Don again. He nodded once, crisply, with one eyebrow raised as if to say, "Well, there you have it."
Not typical posting material, but, hey. In an emergency, I'll use just about anything.
I spent the weekend trying to get my costume finished for the Colonial American Faire Don and I are in charge of this weekend. I still have part of it to finish, despite working for several hours and being determined that I wasn't going to bed until it was finished. Don enticed me. He's just too sweet, smiling at me and saying, "Don't you want to come to bed now?" I certainly didn't need the reminder of how tired I was. It's all his fault. Of course, I'm sure he had alterior motives. He wanted the lights turned out so he could sleep. It may turn out to be a problem that the sewing machine is in our room.
In addition to my costume, I worked on our annual Christmas Letter. This is a review of our year that I send out with our Christmas Cards. Several of the people I send cards to have no other contact with us and this is the only opportunity they have to get caught up on family news (like some of the relatives in Colorado and Canada). I got tired of it taking me four weeks to get all the cards out each year because I wrote a book in each one, so I decided a letter was the best way to go. I started this about 6 years ago, and have been very happy with the outcome. Having the letter to do keeps me focused on getting the cards out. And, once the letter is done, the cards are easy. This year I added yet another shortcut and printed address labels to match the stationery I put the letter on.
So, between working on my costume, doing laundry, trying to finish and print our Christmas letter, making candy for the Bakery at the Christmas Faire, trying to keep the house clean, helping Don with his projects, as well as fielding tons of calls about the Faire, I don't seem to be able to accomplish anything. And Dane got sick last week and worsened over the weekend. Yesterday, Deanna had an 11:30 appointment with the dermatologist (a recheck on her foot where she had the plantar's wart removed 4 1/2 weeks ago and still isn't healed) and we got Dane scheduled at the Pediatrician at 12:45. Inbetween, I had to take all three of the kids for lunch. Needless to say, we flew through the McDonald's Drive-Thru and pulled into the Pediatrician's office 5 minutes late (which they told me when I made the appointment would be alright).
Hard to finish your work at home when you're ferrying children from one doctor's office to another. But I did manage to finish my letter and get it started printing while I was tearing through the Den on the way to the doctor and, later, printed the flip side while doing laundry. When Dane and I headed out to the Emergency Room last night, after he spiked a fever and worsened, I took my stack of letters and Christmas cards with me.
It's amazing how much work you can get done while sitting in a treatment room at the Emergency Room with a sick child who feels too bad to do anything but lay there watching a movie about Knights. We raised the head of his bed and put the TV speaker near his ear. I plopped in the chair next to him and finished the paperwork I needed to get done for the Faire, then started on my cards. All the cards to the relatives in Canada are done, which is good because it takes three weeks for the mail to get to some of them who live in remote areas. I finished up the baking on Sunday evening and, yesterday morning prior to the first appointment, cleaned up my baking mess and put all the candy in tins to transport to the Bakery Friday night. And, all the laundry got done including all three children's sheets. I still have Don's and my sheets to wash and the towels, but things are definately looking up.
I'm afraid what suffered the most was my Blog. No time to Post during this very busy weekend. In fact, Posts may be scanty from now through Christmas as I struggle to complete all my shopping, shipping, wrapping, decorating, and baking. So much to do, so little time.
On Sunday, while I was sitting at the computer working on my Christmas letter, Daelyn and Don walked into the Den. Don stood at my shoulder and Daelyn climbed into my lap.
"Are you working on your Blog, Mommy? You are, aren't you. You're working on your Blog," he rattled on over and over again. I looked up at Don. He rolled his eyes. There was no sense trying to explain to Daelyn that I was trying desperately to finish a letter to send to all our friends and I didn't have time to do my Blog. Besides, he was convinced I was Posting.
"I have something you need to tell them, Mommy." I looked at Don again. We exchanged quizzical glances.
"Tell them I 'spect to noorse now." I stared at Daelyn for a moment, not quite grasping what he was saying. "Tell them I love to noorse," he added. Up at Don again. He nodded once, crisply, with one eyebrow raised as if to say, "Well, there you have it."
Not typical posting material, but, hey. In an emergency, I'll use just about anything.
Friday, November 25, 2005
After-Thanksgiving Sales
I never really been a part of the after-Thanksgiving shopping crowd. But, for many years, my mother and I hit the sales at 7 a.m. the day after Christmas, what Canadians call Boxing Day. We'd look through all the sales papers on Christmas afternoon, decide what stores we wanted to hit, and plan out our route. I'd pick her up early and we'd head for the first stop. We'd get lots of gifts at half price for the next year. We were quite the veterans.
One year, my mother was taking care of her sister who was dying of cancer and she was living in Canada for an extended period of time. She told my Daddy that he should go shopping with me the day after Christmas. He told me to develop the plan and he'd ride along.
We hit Macy's first, joining the crowd of determined women. Dad and I split up - I was looking for ornaments, he was looking at the wooden nutcrackers. About 20 minutes into the shopping, Daddy reappeared at my elbow.
"Honey," he asked, "where did you get that basket you're using?"
"Here, Dad," I offered, and dumped the 6 or 7 ornaments in one basket sitting around the base of the tree I was near into another and gave him the newly emptied one. "You just use one of these."
"Wow! Are you sure this is okay?" As he asked the question, he glanced around and caught sight of several women indiscriminately dumping to claim a basket for their own shopping. He smiled at me and began unloading his arms into the basket.
A few minutes later, he said, "Sweetheart, these items aren't priced, but I really like them. How do you know the price?"
"You just ask the question outloud, Papa," I responded.
"What do you mean, 'outloud'?"
"Ask the question loud enough that the people around you can hear."
He looked at me with a raised eyebrow, but decided to try it. In a much louder voice, he said, "I wonder how much these are."
The woman kneeling next to him going through a basket of ornaments popped her head up and said, "Oh, those. I asked about them a few minutes ago and the Sales Clerk said they were $2.50 each."
Another woman on the other side of the tree commented, "Really? I asked and they told me $2.75. I guess that was before the discount."
Daddy looked at me and, once again, smiled. "It worked," he commented happily as he loaded the ornaments into his basket.
Two hours into our shopping, we were tired and had all the ornaments we needed, so we headed out for a cup of coffee and some breakfast.
"I'm amazed at all the tricks I learned," Papa said. "I never knew I could have so much fun shopping."
It was fun. And it was especially fun doing it with Daddy. That's the only time my father's hit the after-Christmas sales with me, but it was a memory I'll always have.
Two years ago, we were re-doing our house and living in a small cottage. We moved back into our much larger, restored home on October 25. I had not yet purchased a single Christmas present, unlike my usual routine, and we were in dire straits. I spent the first month unpacking and then we left to spend Thanksgiving with Don's parents in West Virginia.
When we arrived, my mother-in-law and I were discussing the situation with my shopping. She said, "Well, we'll just have to do something about that. It sounds to me like first thing on our Agenda is Christmas shopping."
We had rented a U-Haul truck for our return trip because we were bringing a piano home with us. Since we had all the extra space, we decided we could do all the shopping we needed. My mother-in-law started perusing the sales ads and we shopped, shopped, and shopped. For the first time ever, I hit the after-Thanksgiving sales and was amazed at the deals I found. I got a leather recliner for Don, a lovely glider with footrest for my mother, several leather jackets for my godson and nephews, etc. It opened up a whole new world of opportunity for me.
Last year, we were at the Doughty's again and hit the sales again, but not quite as hard as the previous year when we had a U-Haul to transport our finds home. Today was the first time I've shopped at home the day after Thanksgiving. And it wasn't too bad. I found Tommy Hillfiger long-sleeved dress shirts for $6.83 each at Macy's. I also found several other great buys and had fun with my mother, sister, niece, and daughter. The only disadvantage was having to rise at 4:30 to be at Goody's at 5:00 when it opened.
But having the bulk of my Christmas shopping out of the way is a tremendous relief. Now, for the wrapping!!
One year, my mother was taking care of her sister who was dying of cancer and she was living in Canada for an extended period of time. She told my Daddy that he should go shopping with me the day after Christmas. He told me to develop the plan and he'd ride along.
We hit Macy's first, joining the crowd of determined women. Dad and I split up - I was looking for ornaments, he was looking at the wooden nutcrackers. About 20 minutes into the shopping, Daddy reappeared at my elbow.
"Honey," he asked, "where did you get that basket you're using?"
"Here, Dad," I offered, and dumped the 6 or 7 ornaments in one basket sitting around the base of the tree I was near into another and gave him the newly emptied one. "You just use one of these."
"Wow! Are you sure this is okay?" As he asked the question, he glanced around and caught sight of several women indiscriminately dumping to claim a basket for their own shopping. He smiled at me and began unloading his arms into the basket.
A few minutes later, he said, "Sweetheart, these items aren't priced, but I really like them. How do you know the price?"
"You just ask the question outloud, Papa," I responded.
"What do you mean, 'outloud'?"
"Ask the question loud enough that the people around you can hear."
He looked at me with a raised eyebrow, but decided to try it. In a much louder voice, he said, "I wonder how much these are."
The woman kneeling next to him going through a basket of ornaments popped her head up and said, "Oh, those. I asked about them a few minutes ago and the Sales Clerk said they were $2.50 each."
Another woman on the other side of the tree commented, "Really? I asked and they told me $2.75. I guess that was before the discount."
Daddy looked at me and, once again, smiled. "It worked," he commented happily as he loaded the ornaments into his basket.
Two hours into our shopping, we were tired and had all the ornaments we needed, so we headed out for a cup of coffee and some breakfast.
"I'm amazed at all the tricks I learned," Papa said. "I never knew I could have so much fun shopping."
It was fun. And it was especially fun doing it with Daddy. That's the only time my father's hit the after-Christmas sales with me, but it was a memory I'll always have.
Two years ago, we were re-doing our house and living in a small cottage. We moved back into our much larger, restored home on October 25. I had not yet purchased a single Christmas present, unlike my usual routine, and we were in dire straits. I spent the first month unpacking and then we left to spend Thanksgiving with Don's parents in West Virginia.
When we arrived, my mother-in-law and I were discussing the situation with my shopping. She said, "Well, we'll just have to do something about that. It sounds to me like first thing on our Agenda is Christmas shopping."
We had rented a U-Haul truck for our return trip because we were bringing a piano home with us. Since we had all the extra space, we decided we could do all the shopping we needed. My mother-in-law started perusing the sales ads and we shopped, shopped, and shopped. For the first time ever, I hit the after-Thanksgiving sales and was amazed at the deals I found. I got a leather recliner for Don, a lovely glider with footrest for my mother, several leather jackets for my godson and nephews, etc. It opened up a whole new world of opportunity for me.
Last year, we were at the Doughty's again and hit the sales again, but not quite as hard as the previous year when we had a U-Haul to transport our finds home. Today was the first time I've shopped at home the day after Thanksgiving. And it wasn't too bad. I found Tommy Hillfiger long-sleeved dress shirts for $6.83 each at Macy's. I also found several other great buys and had fun with my mother, sister, niece, and daughter. The only disadvantage was having to rise at 4:30 to be at Goody's at 5:00 when it opened.
But having the bulk of my Christmas shopping out of the way is a tremendous relief. Now, for the wrapping!!
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
"Does God Kick?"
The children had a half-day of school today and Applebee's has Children's Meals for $.99 on Wednesday's, so we decided to celebrate lunch today at Applebee's.
The children's Menus were from the movie, "Casper" and all the games and pictures were of ghosts and ghostly things. After they colored for a while, Deanna asked, "Mama, are there ghosts?"
"What do you think, Deanna," I asked. "People say that ghosts are dead people, but what happens to our souls when we die?"
"We either go to Heaven or Hell," Deanna responded, emphatically.
"Right. So how can there be ghosts?" I asked.
On the way home in the van, we struck up the same conversation. Deanna commented that, maybe, ghosts were demons, since they weren't people. I agreed and told her that was what I thought.
"What's a demon, Mommy," Daelyn asked. Deanna quickly responded with an explanation from scripture of how Lucifer and all the angels in Heaven that chose to follow him were thrown out of Heaven. "Lucifer's name was changed to Satan, baby, and he's very evil."
"What happened to him, again," Daelyn asked.
"God kicked him out of Heaven, along with all the angels that wanted to follow him, " I explained again.
Daelyn was silent for a minute and then asked, "Did God do it with His own leg?"
The children's Menus were from the movie, "Casper" and all the games and pictures were of ghosts and ghostly things. After they colored for a while, Deanna asked, "Mama, are there ghosts?"
"What do you think, Deanna," I asked. "People say that ghosts are dead people, but what happens to our souls when we die?"
"We either go to Heaven or Hell," Deanna responded, emphatically.
"Right. So how can there be ghosts?" I asked.
On the way home in the van, we struck up the same conversation. Deanna commented that, maybe, ghosts were demons, since they weren't people. I agreed and told her that was what I thought.
"What's a demon, Mommy," Daelyn asked. Deanna quickly responded with an explanation from scripture of how Lucifer and all the angels in Heaven that chose to follow him were thrown out of Heaven. "Lucifer's name was changed to Satan, baby, and he's very evil."
"What happened to him, again," Daelyn asked.
"God kicked him out of Heaven, along with all the angels that wanted to follow him, " I explained again.
Daelyn was silent for a minute and then asked, "Did God do it with His own leg?"
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Substitute Teacher
I substituted in my son, Dane's, First Grade class today. The teacher has gone out of town for Thanksgiving. I've never done a full day before - last year I sub'd for about 2 hours for Deanna's teacher. It was mostly fluff last year. This year was REAL teaching.
I was very nervous going into it, although I've tutored since I was a teenager, taught college for a year, and am always teaching my own children. I was teaching someone else's class, using her notes and techniques, and following her curriculum. I was unfamiliar with the classroom and the way she goes about her day.
Yesterday afternoon, I swung by the school and picked up the file folder with today's notes and work in it. I reviewed it last night and was completely convinced that I had no idea what I was doing.
All that said, the day went amazingly well, other than the fact that I had to lead the children in a roaring game of Simon Says to invigorate them enough that they could do their Math, and I forgot about their last recess, which was the one for which I was the Duty Teacher.
We somehow managed to accomplish everything we needed to do. The children were obedient and helpful (with a few minor exceptions) and fun to work with. By mid-morning, I had found my stride and was writing on the blackboard like an old pro. It just overtook me. One minute, I was Patti Doughty, stay-at-home Mom, the next I was Mrs. Doughty, First Grade Teacher.
Dane was quite proud (although, I also had to speak to him several times). But what a good day!! I was thankful to be able to do it.
I was very nervous going into it, although I've tutored since I was a teenager, taught college for a year, and am always teaching my own children. I was teaching someone else's class, using her notes and techniques, and following her curriculum. I was unfamiliar with the classroom and the way she goes about her day.
Yesterday afternoon, I swung by the school and picked up the file folder with today's notes and work in it. I reviewed it last night and was completely convinced that I had no idea what I was doing.
All that said, the day went amazingly well, other than the fact that I had to lead the children in a roaring game of Simon Says to invigorate them enough that they could do their Math, and I forgot about their last recess, which was the one for which I was the Duty Teacher.
We somehow managed to accomplish everything we needed to do. The children were obedient and helpful (with a few minor exceptions) and fun to work with. By mid-morning, I had found my stride and was writing on the blackboard like an old pro. It just overtook me. One minute, I was Patti Doughty, stay-at-home Mom, the next I was Mrs. Doughty, First Grade Teacher.
Dane was quite proud (although, I also had to speak to him several times). But what a good day!! I was thankful to be able to do it.
Monday, November 21, 2005
Holiday Confusion
Daelyn's a little confused about the timing of Christmas. And no wonder. The Salvation Army is already out at every store with their bowls and bells. The Seasonal aisle at Kroger has both Thanksgiving and Christmas decorations, plates and napkins out. When did this start happening before Thanksgiving?
I'm a diehard. I'm determined to celebrate each season separately. I will not put up Christmas decorations until after Thanksgiving. I will not donate to the Salvation Army until after Thanksgiving.
When you start this early, the season is impossibly long. I kind of understand retailers starting early - the earlier they get out Christmas stuff, the more money they make. It's simple economics. But it seems ludicrous to me that the Christmas season is now 6 - 8 weeks long.
And then there's dealing with the excitement of a child. How do you explain to Daelyn that, even though the Christmas commercials with Santa buying jewelry for Mrs. Clause and a string of about 80 reindeer fly across the top of the screen to advertise cell phones began airing weeks ago, Christmas IS NOT imminent. Every night, he asks if Christmas is the next day. It must be incredibly difficult for him to surpress his anticipation as he waits weeks and weeks for the appointed day.
Last night, he was asking me, yet again, when it would be Christmas. "First, son," I tried to explain, "we have Thanksgiving."
He looked at me skeptically. "Okay," he responded, "when is Thanksgiving?"
"This week. It will be this Thursday. Brother and Sissy will get out of school half day on Wednesday, Thanksgiving is on Thursday, and then they have Friday off."
He smiled and I caught a glimpse of excitement returning to his eyes. "Mommy," he asked, "can we go to Thanksgiving?"
I'm not quite sure what he thinks we're "going" to. I hope it's not another disappointment for him. Just chock it up to "Holiday Confusion".
I'm a diehard. I'm determined to celebrate each season separately. I will not put up Christmas decorations until after Thanksgiving. I will not donate to the Salvation Army until after Thanksgiving.
When you start this early, the season is impossibly long. I kind of understand retailers starting early - the earlier they get out Christmas stuff, the more money they make. It's simple economics. But it seems ludicrous to me that the Christmas season is now 6 - 8 weeks long.
And then there's dealing with the excitement of a child. How do you explain to Daelyn that, even though the Christmas commercials with Santa buying jewelry for Mrs. Clause and a string of about 80 reindeer fly across the top of the screen to advertise cell phones began airing weeks ago, Christmas IS NOT imminent. Every night, he asks if Christmas is the next day. It must be incredibly difficult for him to surpress his anticipation as he waits weeks and weeks for the appointed day.
Last night, he was asking me, yet again, when it would be Christmas. "First, son," I tried to explain, "we have Thanksgiving."
He looked at me skeptically. "Okay," he responded, "when is Thanksgiving?"
"This week. It will be this Thursday. Brother and Sissy will get out of school half day on Wednesday, Thanksgiving is on Thursday, and then they have Friday off."
He smiled and I caught a glimpse of excitement returning to his eyes. "Mommy," he asked, "can we go to Thanksgiving?"
I'm not quite sure what he thinks we're "going" to. I hope it's not another disappointment for him. Just chock it up to "Holiday Confusion".
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Gumby Rules
My nephew was visiting from Atlanta for a couple of days. He wanted to see his grandparents who, coincidentally, live five houses up the road from me. My sister couldn't find my parents, so she called me to see if I knew where they were. Of course. On the walk to school every morning, Mom and Dad usually run through their schedule for the day, so I knew where Mama was, anyway. She was at her weekly appointment at the Beauty Shop getting her hair "set". (Does anyone younger than 60 do this? Is there anyone over 60 who doesn't?)
My sister said that her son wanted to go to lunch with Grandma and Grandpa at a restaurant near our house. I invited myself, and then gave Toni the phone number for Mom's hair dresser. She called back a few minutes later to tell me we were on for 1:00.
Oh, my. I had agreed to keep my friend, Kelly's, son, Kolbe, at 1:00. He and Daelyn are buddies and Kelly had a commitment, so I was delighted at the opportunity of getting the boys together. I quickly called Kelly and left a message asking if I could pick Kolbe up at 12:45 and if it was alright to take him with me to the restaurant. She had agreed to pick my children up from school so Daelyn could take a late nap if I kept Kolbe, so it seemed to be a good plan.
What I didn't count on was that Kolbe is going through that stage where he talks very loud and non-stop. It was quite funny, the adults trying to compete with Kolbe to be able to visit. At one point, he overheard my nephew saying that it was nice spending time with his Grandma. Kolbe cracked up laughing and said, "She's not your Grandma, silly. She's Daelyn's Grandma."
Kolbe didn't quite seem to get the connection between Daelyn and James. But we all had a good laugh over it. Later, while the adults were trying to finish their lunch, Kolbe got up from the table and disappeared. When I realized he was gone, I found him standing at a table behind us, entertaining an elderly couple. They seemed to really appreciate the company and were smiling and laughing. When I called him back to the table, he sat down next to me and commented, "That's MY Grandma and Grandpa."
My mother looked surprised and said, "Oh, my goodness. Are those really his grandparents?" I don't believe so since both sets of his grandparents live in Michigan. But it was sweet that Kolbe was enjoying himself and adding a little sunshine to some other people's lives.
All the same, we were ready for lunch to end and to get the boys home to a quieter environment. I put a Veggie Tales movie on for Kolbe and took Daelyn to get him down for his nap. When I returned to the den, Kolbe's eyes were droopy and he looked like he was about 5 minutes away from sleep. In an effort to stimulate himself and ward off sleep, he asked me to put on a different movie. "I don't like Veggie Tales. Will you put on something different for me?" Of course he doesn't like Veggie Tales. It was lulling him to sleep. Not to mention the fact that the movie was almost over. So, I let him look through the cabinet and pull out something else. He chose, of all things, Gumby.
If any of you have ever seen a Gumby movie, you'll understand what I'm talking about. For those of you who haven't, Gumby movies are very disjointed and are quite distracting with all the clay creatures and people. But my kids absolutely LOVE Gumby. Deanna thinks he's cool (the way he sits and walks! - he's so cool, Mom.) He's a hunk of clay in an animated movie. I sure don't get this "cool" thing.
I put the movie on for Kolbe who sat back down on the loveseat to watch. Ten minutes into the movie, he commented, "This sure is a strange Veggie Tales movie." Later, he continued with, "Aunt Patti, I don't understand this Veggie Tales movie" and "Anytime now, they're going to play the Veggie Tales music." I kept telling him the movie wasn't Veggie Tales, but he couldn't quite get it.
Kelly arrived before the movie ended. Kolbe didn't want to go - he kept complaining that the movie wasn't over. This movie must last an hour. It goes on forever. The first 20 times the children watched it, I didn't see the whole thing. I just couldn't sit for that long watching an animated children's movie. I have too much to do. Not to mention the fact that Gumby is a little strange.
Yesterday, I was out shopping and, as I returned home, Kelly was in the driveway getting Kolbe out of the van. She said that she had called and talked to Don who had agreed to keep Kolbe so she could take another child to the doctor's. As Kolbe walked in the house, he said, "Aunt Patti, can I watch that funny Veggie Tales movie again? I really like it."
Gumby. Slaying children everywhere. Who would've thunk?
My sister said that her son wanted to go to lunch with Grandma and Grandpa at a restaurant near our house. I invited myself, and then gave Toni the phone number for Mom's hair dresser. She called back a few minutes later to tell me we were on for 1:00.
Oh, my. I had agreed to keep my friend, Kelly's, son, Kolbe, at 1:00. He and Daelyn are buddies and Kelly had a commitment, so I was delighted at the opportunity of getting the boys together. I quickly called Kelly and left a message asking if I could pick Kolbe up at 12:45 and if it was alright to take him with me to the restaurant. She had agreed to pick my children up from school so Daelyn could take a late nap if I kept Kolbe, so it seemed to be a good plan.
What I didn't count on was that Kolbe is going through that stage where he talks very loud and non-stop. It was quite funny, the adults trying to compete with Kolbe to be able to visit. At one point, he overheard my nephew saying that it was nice spending time with his Grandma. Kolbe cracked up laughing and said, "She's not your Grandma, silly. She's Daelyn's Grandma."
Kolbe didn't quite seem to get the connection between Daelyn and James. But we all had a good laugh over it. Later, while the adults were trying to finish their lunch, Kolbe got up from the table and disappeared. When I realized he was gone, I found him standing at a table behind us, entertaining an elderly couple. They seemed to really appreciate the company and were smiling and laughing. When I called him back to the table, he sat down next to me and commented, "That's MY Grandma and Grandpa."
My mother looked surprised and said, "Oh, my goodness. Are those really his grandparents?" I don't believe so since both sets of his grandparents live in Michigan. But it was sweet that Kolbe was enjoying himself and adding a little sunshine to some other people's lives.
All the same, we were ready for lunch to end and to get the boys home to a quieter environment. I put a Veggie Tales movie on for Kolbe and took Daelyn to get him down for his nap. When I returned to the den, Kolbe's eyes were droopy and he looked like he was about 5 minutes away from sleep. In an effort to stimulate himself and ward off sleep, he asked me to put on a different movie. "I don't like Veggie Tales. Will you put on something different for me?" Of course he doesn't like Veggie Tales. It was lulling him to sleep. Not to mention the fact that the movie was almost over. So, I let him look through the cabinet and pull out something else. He chose, of all things, Gumby.
If any of you have ever seen a Gumby movie, you'll understand what I'm talking about. For those of you who haven't, Gumby movies are very disjointed and are quite distracting with all the clay creatures and people. But my kids absolutely LOVE Gumby. Deanna thinks he's cool (the way he sits and walks! - he's so cool, Mom.) He's a hunk of clay in an animated movie. I sure don't get this "cool" thing.
I put the movie on for Kolbe who sat back down on the loveseat to watch. Ten minutes into the movie, he commented, "This sure is a strange Veggie Tales movie." Later, he continued with, "Aunt Patti, I don't understand this Veggie Tales movie" and "Anytime now, they're going to play the Veggie Tales music." I kept telling him the movie wasn't Veggie Tales, but he couldn't quite get it.
Kelly arrived before the movie ended. Kolbe didn't want to go - he kept complaining that the movie wasn't over. This movie must last an hour. It goes on forever. The first 20 times the children watched it, I didn't see the whole thing. I just couldn't sit for that long watching an animated children's movie. I have too much to do. Not to mention the fact that Gumby is a little strange.
Yesterday, I was out shopping and, as I returned home, Kelly was in the driveway getting Kolbe out of the van. She said that she had called and talked to Don who had agreed to keep Kolbe so she could take another child to the doctor's. As Kolbe walked in the house, he said, "Aunt Patti, can I watch that funny Veggie Tales movie again? I really like it."
Gumby. Slaying children everywhere. Who would've thunk?
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Pecans - Not for Sale
Yesterday, the wind was blowing as the temperatures began to drop. We even had a little rain. All this added up to pecans falling wildly from the trees.
We live in a pecan orchard. Our neighborhood was built around the trees. I'm sure some were cut down to make way for the homes, but pecan trees are in most front and back yards. We have a neighborhood agreement that anyone who lives in the neighborhood can pick the pecans under any of the trees at any time. We all know each other quite well, and those of us who regularly pick pecans know who does and who doesn't, and we generally leave the trees alone of the folks who usually pick their own.
For several years now, my children have picked pecans every year and sold them for Christmas money. I made an agreement with them that I would match every dollar they made picking and selling their own pecans. That is, until two years ago.
Deanna made so much money that I found myself, on several occasions when I ran low on cash, borrowing from my 8 year old daughter. My shame was endless. But I decided that, if she had more money than me, it was unnecessary for me to match her earnings.
That same year, we went to Don's parent's house in West Virginia for Thanksgiving. In our city, there are lots of pecan orchards and nuts are cheap. West Virginia is a different story, however. So the kids picked right up until time to leave and we took their nuts with us. We sorted, weighed and bagged them on my mother-in-law's sunporch, and went door-to-door in their neighborhood selling pecans for $1.50/lb. My in-law's found this a little shocking, but Don thought it was just fine and he and I both went with the children on different trips.
We sold all we had except about 15 pounds that we had set aside for Grandma and Grandpa and some of their friends. Over the week, we received several knocks on the door from neighbors wanting more. Apparently, they had shelled and eaten the ones they bought and were so impressed with the sweetness and freshness of the nuts, they wanted more. We sold all the ones we had set aside and laughed about the fact that we could have charged $2.00/lb. and still sold out.
The kids made a good bit of Christmas money and got a great lesson in sales and commerce. So, when the pecans begin dropping wildly, I get a little crazy, too. Dollar signs appear before my eyes and it's hard to concentrate on anything except wanting to pick pecans.
Unfortunately, I'm starting some Christmas baking (pralines, which last a very long time), and I pulled my last bag of shelled pecans out of the freezer this week. I'm completely OUT. Four years ago, before I was even pregnant with Daelyn, we shelled about 50 pounds and have been using them ever since. It's time to replenish my supply.
I pick this year with the knowledge that none of these will make me any money. But at least I'll save the $6.00/lb. that I would have to pay if I bought them instead of picking and shelling myself.
Maybe next year I'll have a chance to sell some nuts and make a little mad money. This year, I shell and freeze.
We live in a pecan orchard. Our neighborhood was built around the trees. I'm sure some were cut down to make way for the homes, but pecan trees are in most front and back yards. We have a neighborhood agreement that anyone who lives in the neighborhood can pick the pecans under any of the trees at any time. We all know each other quite well, and those of us who regularly pick pecans know who does and who doesn't, and we generally leave the trees alone of the folks who usually pick their own.
For several years now, my children have picked pecans every year and sold them for Christmas money. I made an agreement with them that I would match every dollar they made picking and selling their own pecans. That is, until two years ago.
Deanna made so much money that I found myself, on several occasions when I ran low on cash, borrowing from my 8 year old daughter. My shame was endless. But I decided that, if she had more money than me, it was unnecessary for me to match her earnings.
That same year, we went to Don's parent's house in West Virginia for Thanksgiving. In our city, there are lots of pecan orchards and nuts are cheap. West Virginia is a different story, however. So the kids picked right up until time to leave and we took their nuts with us. We sorted, weighed and bagged them on my mother-in-law's sunporch, and went door-to-door in their neighborhood selling pecans for $1.50/lb. My in-law's found this a little shocking, but Don thought it was just fine and he and I both went with the children on different trips.
We sold all we had except about 15 pounds that we had set aside for Grandma and Grandpa and some of their friends. Over the week, we received several knocks on the door from neighbors wanting more. Apparently, they had shelled and eaten the ones they bought and were so impressed with the sweetness and freshness of the nuts, they wanted more. We sold all the ones we had set aside and laughed about the fact that we could have charged $2.00/lb. and still sold out.
The kids made a good bit of Christmas money and got a great lesson in sales and commerce. So, when the pecans begin dropping wildly, I get a little crazy, too. Dollar signs appear before my eyes and it's hard to concentrate on anything except wanting to pick pecans.
Unfortunately, I'm starting some Christmas baking (pralines, which last a very long time), and I pulled my last bag of shelled pecans out of the freezer this week. I'm completely OUT. Four years ago, before I was even pregnant with Daelyn, we shelled about 50 pounds and have been using them ever since. It's time to replenish my supply.
I pick this year with the knowledge that none of these will make me any money. But at least I'll save the $6.00/lb. that I would have to pay if I bought them instead of picking and shelling myself.
Maybe next year I'll have a chance to sell some nuts and make a little mad money. This year, I shell and freeze.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
My Father's Practice
I was reminded the other day of something my father used to do. He had four daughters in six years, not counting his son who is one year older than his oldest daughter, and he wanted each of his daughters to grow up feeling special and wanted, unlike his childhood. When we were fairly young, he began a practice of telling each of his daughters that they were his favorite. He always did this privately out of the hearing of any of his other daughters. But he often told us that we were his favorite.
For years, I was convinced I was his little princess, his favorite, and had a very special relationship with my daddy. It wasn't until much later, when we were all older, that one of my sisters commented about the fact that she was Daddy's favorite. This opened the floodgate and each of us poured out our stories of how we were Daddy's favorite. When it was all done, we sat staring at each other. Finally, one of my sisters began to snicker.
"Well, he pulled it off," she commented. "He succeeded in making each of us think we were the most special prize in the world."
And he had. By the time we discovered the truth, that each of us were his favorite, our formation and character were already developed and, despite the fact that we all knew he had told the others the same thing, we all secretly still believed that WE were really his favorite.
Into adulthood, when we all gathered for family functions, one of us would say, "You know, I'm Daddy's favorite," which would immediately be followed by arguments from the remaining daughters about how they were the favorite.
Each of us have a strong, loving, caring, understanding relationship with our Daddy. It certainly couldn't have been a bad thing, this plan of his. It resulted in secure women who love each other and their parents above everything but the Lord and their own families - something my father never experienced.
I started a couple of weeks ago talking privately with my children. While snuggling Deanna at bedtime, in the quiet of the darkness, I would whisper gently in her ear that she was my favorite. At nap time, Daelyn received the word. Last night at bedtime was Dane's turn.
My prayer is that each of my children will grow up with that deep sense of belonging and being loved like no other. I pray that they will love each other and Don and I as much as my family does each other and my parents. I pray that they will mature into secure, bold young people who are not afraid to stand up for what they believe because they know they will always be supported by their siblings and parents. I pray for a peaceful, happy life grounded in the Lord and surrounded by people who respect them. I pray that they will always be able to ride out the storms and not fear what lies ahead. I pray that they will not run from conflict or hard times but will embrace it with the knowledge that God's grace is sufficient for everything and it is only through fire that we burn off the dross and purify our hearts.
And, for now, I tell each of them that they are my favorite.
For years, I was convinced I was his little princess, his favorite, and had a very special relationship with my daddy. It wasn't until much later, when we were all older, that one of my sisters commented about the fact that she was Daddy's favorite. This opened the floodgate and each of us poured out our stories of how we were Daddy's favorite. When it was all done, we sat staring at each other. Finally, one of my sisters began to snicker.
"Well, he pulled it off," she commented. "He succeeded in making each of us think we were the most special prize in the world."
And he had. By the time we discovered the truth, that each of us were his favorite, our formation and character were already developed and, despite the fact that we all knew he had told the others the same thing, we all secretly still believed that WE were really his favorite.
Into adulthood, when we all gathered for family functions, one of us would say, "You know, I'm Daddy's favorite," which would immediately be followed by arguments from the remaining daughters about how they were the favorite.
Each of us have a strong, loving, caring, understanding relationship with our Daddy. It certainly couldn't have been a bad thing, this plan of his. It resulted in secure women who love each other and their parents above everything but the Lord and their own families - something my father never experienced.
I started a couple of weeks ago talking privately with my children. While snuggling Deanna at bedtime, in the quiet of the darkness, I would whisper gently in her ear that she was my favorite. At nap time, Daelyn received the word. Last night at bedtime was Dane's turn.
My prayer is that each of my children will grow up with that deep sense of belonging and being loved like no other. I pray that they will love each other and Don and I as much as my family does each other and my parents. I pray that they will mature into secure, bold young people who are not afraid to stand up for what they believe because they know they will always be supported by their siblings and parents. I pray for a peaceful, happy life grounded in the Lord and surrounded by people who respect them. I pray that they will always be able to ride out the storms and not fear what lies ahead. I pray that they will not run from conflict or hard times but will embrace it with the knowledge that God's grace is sufficient for everything and it is only through fire that we burn off the dross and purify our hearts.
And, for now, I tell each of them that they are my favorite.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
A Need for Sissy
Deanna had a friend, Faith, come over to play after school one day this week. Daelyn was taking a late nap and the girls went into Deanna's room to change clothes and play. Faith is a quiet, inside-kind of girl, so Deanna planned on them playing with her new Polly Pocket's that she got from her aunt for her birthday. They closed the door to discourage Dane from barging in and began getting out the playset.
It wasn't long before I heard Dane yelling and Deanna screaming back. Apparently, Dane had decided he wanted to play with the girls and Deanna was having no part of it. Pretty soon, Dane appeared at my elbow. "Mommy, the girls won't let me play with them and Deanna yelled at me."
Uh, oh. No playmate for Dane. I smelled trouble in the air.
"I know, son, I heard. But Sissy has a friend over and they want to play girl things. It's okay. You just need to find something to do on your own."
As if the bugle of the Calvary was blowing, the phone rang. It was Grandpa, asking Dane to run up to his house and pick up some things he had for the kids. Dane gladly responded and returned with puzzles - ranging in size from 500 pieces to 1,000.
"I'm going to do one of these puzzles," he announced. Thankful for the distraction, I suggested he set it up in the den.
It wasn't ten minutes later when a whiny voice greeted me, "I can't do this puzzle alone. The pieces are so SMALL. Can you help me, Mama?" I snickered. Dane loves puzzles and works them often - but his have 50 pieces or less and most of them have thick, large pieces that fit onto a board that has the outline of each piece cut into it. I knew he needed help but all I could think about was the list of things I had to accomplish in the next few minutes so I could start dinner in ten. I really didn't have time to work a puzzle with my little, lonely guy.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I just don't have time. I've got to get these chores done before I cook dinner. Just sort out all the pieces, find all the edges, and then try putting the edges together by matching colors."
It wasn't ten minutes before I heard Dane whining again. I went into the den to check on him. He was sitting on the floor, surrounded by puzzle pieces, and was getting very upset. "I can't do it, Mama. I need Sissy to help. There are too many pieces and I just CAN'T do it alone."
"Son, we already had this conversation. Sissy has a friend over and they want to play with each other. You're just going to have to do the best you can."
To my amazement, Dane started to cry. He's a real sensitive little guy, but not unusually emotional, and I was shocked to see him crying over this puzzle.
"Son, it's not that bad. If the puzzle's going to make you cry, let's just put it away."
"It's not the puzzle, Mommy. I just MISS Sissy."
I choked on a laugh. I didn't want Dane to think I was mocking him, but this seemed a little over the top. She had been in her room playing for all of 45 minutes.
"What do you mean, honey," I aked. "Why do you miss Sissy? She's only been playing with Faith for a little while."
"I didn't get to see her at school today. I always see Sissy, but not today. I MISS HER. I just need some time with my sissy," he complained softly. Then he began crying harder.
Oh, my goodness. What do I do now? I decided dinner could wait and began working the puzzle with Dane, cooing at him in a effort to calm him down. I showed him how to sort the pieces by type and color and we began piecing together the frame.
About 20 minutes later, Deanna wandered into the den. I told her that her brother was struggling because he hadn't seen her at school. "He did so see me," she retorted. "He was playing soccer at recess and ran right in front of me to get the ball."
Dane spoke up. "I didn't see you, sis. Are you sure I ran by you?"
"Yes, Dane, you ran right in front of me chasing the ball."
"I never saw you. I must have been watching the ball too hard."
"I wondered why you didn't hug me," Deanna commented. My ears perked up. I had no idea what she was talking about.
"Deanna, what do you mean he 'didn't hug' you?" I asked.
"Whenever Dane sees me at school, on the playground or at lunch, he always runs to me and hugs me,"she explained. "When he ran by me, he didn't stop and hug me. That's not like him. I wondered about it."
Hmh, I thought. I should have known. Dane and Deanna are very affectionate with each other. But I never had any idea they were affectionate at school, as well. I was very surprised to hear that this little boy who won't kiss me goodbye in the mornings in front of his friends hugs his sister everytime he sees her. I'm thankful they have such a close relationship. We have worked very hard to develop this kind of a relationship between our children. I just didn't know we had succeeded.
Before bed that night, Don encouraged Dane to snuggle me. I was sprawled on the couch, struggling with a bad cold. "No," Dane said, "I want to snuggle Sissy."
Deanna was sitting on the floor in front of the loveseat. She giggled. "Come here, baby. Sissy will snuggle you."
I laid on the couch, watching my two oldest children wrap their arms around each other. They giggled, smiled, and hugged. Dane was content to lay his head on his sister's shoulder and sit close to her. They sat quietly for about five minutes, just hanging onto each other. Then I shooed them off to bed. Dane was happier than I had seen him all day and Deanna was pleased that she had been able to "mother" her little brother.
It appears that, in addition to making sure Dane gets enough time with me, I'm going to have to make sure he gets adequate time with his sister and baby brother. His emotional needs reach beyond his parents. I knew he was close to Deanna and Daelyn, I just didn't realize how close and how much he needs them. I'm very pleased to see him growing closer to them, not away from them as his life becomes more independent and involves more people and activities than previously. I just hope I can handle making sure his needs are met.
It wasn't long before I heard Dane yelling and Deanna screaming back. Apparently, Dane had decided he wanted to play with the girls and Deanna was having no part of it. Pretty soon, Dane appeared at my elbow. "Mommy, the girls won't let me play with them and Deanna yelled at me."
Uh, oh. No playmate for Dane. I smelled trouble in the air.
"I know, son, I heard. But Sissy has a friend over and they want to play girl things. It's okay. You just need to find something to do on your own."
As if the bugle of the Calvary was blowing, the phone rang. It was Grandpa, asking Dane to run up to his house and pick up some things he had for the kids. Dane gladly responded and returned with puzzles - ranging in size from 500 pieces to 1,000.
"I'm going to do one of these puzzles," he announced. Thankful for the distraction, I suggested he set it up in the den.
It wasn't ten minutes later when a whiny voice greeted me, "I can't do this puzzle alone. The pieces are so SMALL. Can you help me, Mama?" I snickered. Dane loves puzzles and works them often - but his have 50 pieces or less and most of them have thick, large pieces that fit onto a board that has the outline of each piece cut into it. I knew he needed help but all I could think about was the list of things I had to accomplish in the next few minutes so I could start dinner in ten. I really didn't have time to work a puzzle with my little, lonely guy.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I just don't have time. I've got to get these chores done before I cook dinner. Just sort out all the pieces, find all the edges, and then try putting the edges together by matching colors."
It wasn't ten minutes before I heard Dane whining again. I went into the den to check on him. He was sitting on the floor, surrounded by puzzle pieces, and was getting very upset. "I can't do it, Mama. I need Sissy to help. There are too many pieces and I just CAN'T do it alone."
"Son, we already had this conversation. Sissy has a friend over and they want to play with each other. You're just going to have to do the best you can."
To my amazement, Dane started to cry. He's a real sensitive little guy, but not unusually emotional, and I was shocked to see him crying over this puzzle.
"Son, it's not that bad. If the puzzle's going to make you cry, let's just put it away."
"It's not the puzzle, Mommy. I just MISS Sissy."
I choked on a laugh. I didn't want Dane to think I was mocking him, but this seemed a little over the top. She had been in her room playing for all of 45 minutes.
"What do you mean, honey," I aked. "Why do you miss Sissy? She's only been playing with Faith for a little while."
"I didn't get to see her at school today. I always see Sissy, but not today. I MISS HER. I just need some time with my sissy," he complained softly. Then he began crying harder.
Oh, my goodness. What do I do now? I decided dinner could wait and began working the puzzle with Dane, cooing at him in a effort to calm him down. I showed him how to sort the pieces by type and color and we began piecing together the frame.
About 20 minutes later, Deanna wandered into the den. I told her that her brother was struggling because he hadn't seen her at school. "He did so see me," she retorted. "He was playing soccer at recess and ran right in front of me to get the ball."
Dane spoke up. "I didn't see you, sis. Are you sure I ran by you?"
"Yes, Dane, you ran right in front of me chasing the ball."
"I never saw you. I must have been watching the ball too hard."
"I wondered why you didn't hug me," Deanna commented. My ears perked up. I had no idea what she was talking about.
"Deanna, what do you mean he 'didn't hug' you?" I asked.
"Whenever Dane sees me at school, on the playground or at lunch, he always runs to me and hugs me,"she explained. "When he ran by me, he didn't stop and hug me. That's not like him. I wondered about it."
Hmh, I thought. I should have known. Dane and Deanna are very affectionate with each other. But I never had any idea they were affectionate at school, as well. I was very surprised to hear that this little boy who won't kiss me goodbye in the mornings in front of his friends hugs his sister everytime he sees her. I'm thankful they have such a close relationship. We have worked very hard to develop this kind of a relationship between our children. I just didn't know we had succeeded.
Before bed that night, Don encouraged Dane to snuggle me. I was sprawled on the couch, struggling with a bad cold. "No," Dane said, "I want to snuggle Sissy."
Deanna was sitting on the floor in front of the loveseat. She giggled. "Come here, baby. Sissy will snuggle you."
I laid on the couch, watching my two oldest children wrap their arms around each other. They giggled, smiled, and hugged. Dane was content to lay his head on his sister's shoulder and sit close to her. They sat quietly for about five minutes, just hanging onto each other. Then I shooed them off to bed. Dane was happier than I had seen him all day and Deanna was pleased that she had been able to "mother" her little brother.
It appears that, in addition to making sure Dane gets enough time with me, I'm going to have to make sure he gets adequate time with his sister and baby brother. His emotional needs reach beyond his parents. I knew he was close to Deanna and Daelyn, I just didn't realize how close and how much he needs them. I'm very pleased to see him growing closer to them, not away from them as his life becomes more independent and involves more people and activities than previously. I just hope I can handle making sure his needs are met.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
My Tag
Daniel at Mirror of Justice tagged me. This tag is a little longer and more involved. I’ll do the best I can, Daniel.
Three names I go by:
Patti, Trish (to my siblings and parents - Tricia or Trishy to some, as well), and Mommy
Three screen names I have had:
Sorry, folks, the only one I’ve ever had is Patti Doughty.
Three physical things I like about myself:
My eyes, that my nose isn’t too big, and my long fingers (from playing the piano since childhood, I think)
Three physical things I don’t like about myself:
My weight, spider veins that appeared after my children, and the scars I have on my body from multiple surgeries.
Three parts of my heritage:
Irish, English, Ukranian - all of which I strongly identify with.
Three things that scare me:
Snakes (the only animal I’m really frightened of), something terrible happening to my children, losing my spouse early.
Three of my everyday essentials:
Snuggling my children, at least one kiss from Don, and a nice bath.
Three of my favorite musical artists:
Michael Card, Edvard Grieg, James Taylor
Three of my favorite songs:
“The Music of the Night” from Phantom of the Opera, “The Hallelujah Chorus”, “Ode to Joy” by Beethoven.
Three things I want/have in a relationship:
Unconditional love, understanding or, at least, an attempt at understanding, and deep sharing.
Three lies and three truths in no particular order:
I hate traveling, I’ve never had a pet, I want a dog, I once was in a beauty pageant, I enjoy watching baseball on TV, I wear a gold chain around my neck that I never remove.
Three physical things about the opposite sex that appeal to me:
Nice smiles, beautiful eyes, dark looks (hair and eyes).
Three of my favorite hobbies:
Making soap, baking, crafts in general.
Three things I want to do really badly right now:
Take Deanna snow skiing, spend time alone with Don, get my house uncluttered.
Three careers I’ve considered:
Office management, Corporate Law, Chef.
Three Places I want to vacation:
The Holy Land (with Don - I’ve been there as a single), Bermuda, and I want to take my children to Hawaii (where Don and I honeymooned).
Three Kid’s Names I Like:
April, Dane, Savannah.
Three things I want to do before I die:
Parachute out of a plane, go para-sailing, see my grandchildren.
Three ways that I am stereotypically a girl:
I love to dress up, put on makeup, and do my hair; I tend to get very emotional and, at times, can be brought to tears by commercials; when I get together with my sisters, I tend to get giddy and silly.
Three ways that I am stereotypically a boy:
I don’t think this applies
Three celeb crushes:
Tom Selleck, Donny Osmond (a very long time ago), and Robert Redford, Robert Redford, Robert Redford!!!
Three people I would like to tag:
Gail at Munford Chaos
Tallahassee Lassie
Can’t think of a third
Three names I go by:
Patti, Trish (to my siblings and parents - Tricia or Trishy to some, as well), and Mommy
Three screen names I have had:
Sorry, folks, the only one I’ve ever had is Patti Doughty.
Three physical things I like about myself:
My eyes, that my nose isn’t too big, and my long fingers (from playing the piano since childhood, I think)
Three physical things I don’t like about myself:
My weight, spider veins that appeared after my children, and the scars I have on my body from multiple surgeries.
Three parts of my heritage:
Irish, English, Ukranian - all of which I strongly identify with.
Three things that scare me:
Snakes (the only animal I’m really frightened of), something terrible happening to my children, losing my spouse early.
Three of my everyday essentials:
Snuggling my children, at least one kiss from Don, and a nice bath.
Three of my favorite musical artists:
Michael Card, Edvard Grieg, James Taylor
Three of my favorite songs:
“The Music of the Night” from Phantom of the Opera, “The Hallelujah Chorus”, “Ode to Joy” by Beethoven.
Three things I want/have in a relationship:
Unconditional love, understanding or, at least, an attempt at understanding, and deep sharing.
Three lies and three truths in no particular order:
I hate traveling, I’ve never had a pet, I want a dog, I once was in a beauty pageant, I enjoy watching baseball on TV, I wear a gold chain around my neck that I never remove.
Three physical things about the opposite sex that appeal to me:
Nice smiles, beautiful eyes, dark looks (hair and eyes).
Three of my favorite hobbies:
Making soap, baking, crafts in general.
Three things I want to do really badly right now:
Take Deanna snow skiing, spend time alone with Don, get my house uncluttered.
Three careers I’ve considered:
Office management, Corporate Law, Chef.
Three Places I want to vacation:
The Holy Land (with Don - I’ve been there as a single), Bermuda, and I want to take my children to Hawaii (where Don and I honeymooned).
Three Kid’s Names I Like:
April, Dane, Savannah.
Three things I want to do before I die:
Parachute out of a plane, go para-sailing, see my grandchildren.
Three ways that I am stereotypically a girl:
I love to dress up, put on makeup, and do my hair; I tend to get very emotional and, at times, can be brought to tears by commercials; when I get together with my sisters, I tend to get giddy and silly.
Three ways that I am stereotypically a boy:
I don’t think this applies
Three celeb crushes:
Tom Selleck, Donny Osmond (a very long time ago), and Robert Redford, Robert Redford, Robert Redford!!!
Three people I would like to tag:
Gail at Munford Chaos
Tallahassee Lassie
Can’t think of a third
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Counting Difficulties
Last night at dinner, I was talking with Deanna when she suddenly snickered. I stopped talking and listened. Daelyn was counting, under the watchful eye of his father.
“Ten, weeweven, twelvwe, sevwenteen ...”
“No, son,” Don said, “what comes after twelve?”
“Sevwenteen,” Daelyn started again.
“No, son,” Daddy patiently commented. “Thirteen comes next.”
“Oh.” Daelyn continued, “Thirwteen, sevwenteen, six ...”
“No, son,” long-suffering Daddy said, yet again. “After thirteen comes fourteen.”
“And you already said six,” threw in Dane, standing at my right shoulder.
"Say eleven again, baby," Deanna giggled. "I just love the way you say eleven."
“Okay, okay,” Daelyn seemed to be getting frustrated. “ Weeweven, twelvwe, thirwteen, fourteen, sevwenteen.”
One corner of Don’s mouth moved into a half-grin, looking more frustrated than boisterous. I watched for any twitching veins in his neck or on his forehead. Deanna’s eyes were twinkling with merriment and the kitchen table had become deadly silent except for the Daffy Duck imitation.
“Let’s try this again. Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen ... then, son, then you get to seventeen.”
Daelyn looked a little perplexed. I was amazed he had stood up this long under the pressure. I expected a geyser of emotion to erupt any moment.
“Try again, Daelyn. Ten, eleven ...”
Daelyn caught my eye from across the table, lowered his chin, and grinned at me, as if to say, “See, Mom, I’ve got this tiger by the tail.” I was floored. Here, I thought he was frustrated, but it was all just a great, big, family game to him.
“One, two, three ...” Daelyn started. By the time he reached thirteen, Dane was prompting him before every number. Don glanced up at me and our eyes met above Dane’s head. He had that “I’m never going to survive this last child” look. I smiled reassuringly at him. The first two managed to learn to count to 100 without throwing in seventeen after every second number - Daelyn will, too.
“Mommy,” Don began, “I think you’re going to have to work with this little guy.”
I sighed. Yes, of course I do. Just like I taught the other two - during the 23 hours a day Daddy’s gone (or at least it seems like that long). It’s not enough he knows his full name, the names of his parents, his siblings’ names and ages, his address, and his phone number - all two years before he starts kindergarten. Mommy has to get sevwenteen in the proper place.
Regardless of how smart and well-drilled our children are, there’s always more to learn, always more for MOMMY to teach, as I frantically try to accomplish my other duties.
Mercy, Lord. Lots of it. Falling like raindrops from Heaven.
“Ten, weeweven, twelvwe, sevwenteen ...”
“No, son,” Don said, “what comes after twelve?”
“Sevwenteen,” Daelyn started again.
“No, son,” Daddy patiently commented. “Thirteen comes next.”
“Oh.” Daelyn continued, “Thirwteen, sevwenteen, six ...”
“No, son,” long-suffering Daddy said, yet again. “After thirteen comes fourteen.”
“And you already said six,” threw in Dane, standing at my right shoulder.
"Say eleven again, baby," Deanna giggled. "I just love the way you say eleven."
“Okay, okay,” Daelyn seemed to be getting frustrated. “ Weeweven, twelvwe, thirwteen, fourteen, sevwenteen.”
One corner of Don’s mouth moved into a half-grin, looking more frustrated than boisterous. I watched for any twitching veins in his neck or on his forehead. Deanna’s eyes were twinkling with merriment and the kitchen table had become deadly silent except for the Daffy Duck imitation.
“Let’s try this again. Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen ... then, son, then you get to seventeen.”
Daelyn looked a little perplexed. I was amazed he had stood up this long under the pressure. I expected a geyser of emotion to erupt any moment.
“Try again, Daelyn. Ten, eleven ...”
Daelyn caught my eye from across the table, lowered his chin, and grinned at me, as if to say, “See, Mom, I’ve got this tiger by the tail.” I was floored. Here, I thought he was frustrated, but it was all just a great, big, family game to him.
“One, two, three ...” Daelyn started. By the time he reached thirteen, Dane was prompting him before every number. Don glanced up at me and our eyes met above Dane’s head. He had that “I’m never going to survive this last child” look. I smiled reassuringly at him. The first two managed to learn to count to 100 without throwing in seventeen after every second number - Daelyn will, too.
“Mommy,” Don began, “I think you’re going to have to work with this little guy.”
I sighed. Yes, of course I do. Just like I taught the other two - during the 23 hours a day Daddy’s gone (or at least it seems like that long). It’s not enough he knows his full name, the names of his parents, his siblings’ names and ages, his address, and his phone number - all two years before he starts kindergarten. Mommy has to get sevwenteen in the proper place.
Regardless of how smart and well-drilled our children are, there’s always more to learn, always more for MOMMY to teach, as I frantically try to accomplish my other duties.
Mercy, Lord. Lots of it. Falling like raindrops from Heaven.
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