Bedtime

Throat hurts. Tired - deep within my bones. Hot buttered rum - aaaaah! Legs limp, head woozy. Throat numb. Time for bed. Sleep. Sleep. Goodnight.

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.

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!!

"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?"

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.

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".

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?

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

Shopping with Mom

Today, my mother and I went shopping to try and come up with outfits for our Colonial Christmas Faire. She needs to dress herself and Daddy and I need to dress all three children, Don, myself and our friend, Ken. We started off at K-Mart looking over the left-over Halloween costumes. When we walked through the door, I approached the small crowd of employees gathered around Customer Service to ask which direction we should head but, instead of Halloween, I said Hallelujah! Boy, did that bring down the house. Three or four employees joined in the banter and commented that they much prefer Hallelujah to Halloween. One gentlemen said that his wife's church had a Hallelujah Festival instead of a Halloween Festival. Several other people indicated their appreciation of my mispoken word.

There really are many advantages to living in the Bible-belt. From that point forward, all those employees bent over backwards to help my mother and me. They checked on us as we looked over the remaining costumes and tried to ring up our purchases when we stood still to talk through what we thought we needed. We were greeted at every turn with smiles and friendly words.

From there, we went to the Salvation Army store. We were looking for white shirts, skirts, Colonial-style shoes, men's vests, and anything else that might add to our costumes. Again, we were treated with kindness and the salespeople were very friendly. We found a few shirts that we could use for various people and my mother bought a pair of very pointy shoes.

Although it was late and Daelyn needed a nap, we have a local store that has an electric train outside on the property that you can ride. He had begged me to take him on the train and, earlier, before I knew we were going to take 2 hours at K-Mart, I had promised a ride. So, off we took for Fat Man's (above-mentioned store) where we ran into my niece's best friend, who works there. After a brief visit, we ran upstairs to the costume shop where the Costume Manager followed us around, suggesting various options and helping us find the best prices on what we needed. We managed to escape having only purchased two cardboard tophats, one for Don and one for my father.

We didn't get near as much done as I had hoped and I still have lots of work to pull together costumes for my entire family, but it was a wonderful day. We stopped at Bojangles' on the way home for a bite to eat. Daelyn said he wanted "shiken" and voted for Bojangles' over McDonald's (yay!!). As my mother and I sat munching and talking, we reminisced about all the years past when we went Christmas shopping and met my sisters for lunch. "That was so much fun," my mother commented. "We should plan to do that again this year."

She's right. It is fun when all us Hunt girls get together for lunch amid a day of wild shopping. Somehow, it just seems more like the holiday season when you get to do special things with the people you love the most.

I am happy I live in the south but, most of all, I'm happy I live near my family. Today was wonderful, sharing it with my mother and Daelyn. And the thought of doing the same thing with my sisters during the holidays makes me even happier.

Sometimes it's a challenge living near family. But most of the time, it's just plain GOOD.

Each Day Holds Promise

Ah!! A new day, full of opportunity and promise. Maybe I can get the kitchen floor washed today and the laundry ALL done. Perhaps I'll even have a chance to iron some of Don's shirts.

I've always been a morning person. I wake up happy and with ideas brimming. When I was in college, I had a roommate who was not a morning person. I never understood why she was so grumpy for the first hour she was awake each day. Now that I'm older, and less bubbly in the mornings, I realize that I must have been obnoxious. I would wake up singing and absolutely bursting with wonderful things to talk about, and talk about, and talk about. Not even two cups of coffee in the morning could prepare her for me.

Although I'm somewhat more weathered now, I still wake up happy. Even when I'm sick and struggle to lift my feet out of bed in the morning, I'm filled with joy and excitement about the promise of the new day.

As I'm brushing my teeth, I come up with a plan - it always involves no interruptions and usually is at least three times more than I can really get done in any one day, but it's a plan, all the same. And it makes me happy to start my day with a plan of action and hope for what I think I might be able to get done.

Since the children started school, I've tried to reserve Wednesday's to be my play day. Monday's and Thursday's are wash day. I also have house cleaning to do both those days. On Tuesday, I try to wash all the towels and sheets and remake all the beds. Friday is my errand day. Don's usually off work and I have to get my allergy shot. Then it's off to the Crafts Store or to pick up a present or maybe just to the bank and video store. There's always the library beckoning to me and a list of other things I need to get done outside the home, including staying caught up on the children's wardrobes by perusing sales racks at the local stores and taking clothes they've outgrown to the second hand store.

So on Wednesday's, I work very hard to not plan anything other than time with Daelyn. We usually go to the Park with a friend and her 3-yr. old or do something fun together like Chuck E. Cheese. In any case, it's the one day I don't have a long list of chores and can devote to fun things.

But today is Monday and the laundry is calling to me. As usual, I have a long list of things I'd love to get done, so I'd better get started.

Hope your day is as promising as mine!!

Sleep Success

Well, I'm home from my sleep study. Everybody ready for the outcome? Hold your breath - here it comes ... I feel GREAT!! In case I neglected to mention it, I had to go back in last night for a second study, this time wearing a CPAP, which is a breathing mask that forces air in your nose to keep you alive while you sleep. It was a scary experience, but only when I looked in the mirror. I had electrodes in my hair (14, to be exact), a fair number stuck on my face and covered in tape until I looked like a mummy, a pulse oxygenation monitor on my finger, two bands wrapped tightly around my torso - one high on my chest under my arms and the other around my belly, wires coming out of everywhere, some sort of device taped under my nose to monitor my breathing, and a face mask over all the rest of this junk with a huge hose coming off it. But I konked out around 10:00 p.m., trying to keep the mask tight around my nose.

It seemed like a restless night, waking about 15 times to change positions or scratch the paper tape on my face. They came in at 5:40 to officially wake me. The technician began removing electrodes, wires, and tape while I sat on the side of the bed, waiting for the fogginess to hit. IT NEVER DID. I'm not groggy, even after so little sleep, and I feel wonderful - energized. I can't wait to be able to get a machine like that at home and sleep with it without all the other "stuff", and see how good I feel after a normal night's sleep with the CPAP.

I felt so good, I drove halfway across town (after discovering they closed down our Bojangles') to buy cinnamon biscuits for the kids for breakfast and walked them to school. Then I ran to get my allergy shot.

The Nurses at the Allergy Clinic always have me check my vials to be sure they are mine and they haven't mixed me up with someone else. This morning, while checking mine, I commented that I'm not giving shots to two different people at home - Don and our friend, Ken. Before I had a chance to give the names of my victims, Daelyn spoke up and told the nurse, "Uncle Ken and Don Doughty".

There he goes again with that Don Doughty thing. I'm hoping it's just a stage. But I got a real kick out of him this morning, bein' that I was so well rested!!

Just an Ordinary, albeit busy, day

I'm not entirely sure how Dane's going to work out in the Handbell Choir. Last night, at practice, he sat down on the altar kneeler and rang his bell from a sitting position.

The kids got their report cards last night. Both of them got all E's. Dane's teacher commented that "Dane is a wonderful little boy. His behavior is excellent." Deanna's teacher said, "Wonderful report card."

I have to admit, I've gotten used to this. My children inherited their daddy's brains and they really are quite bright.

I'm slowly but surely working my way through an incredibly difficult week. On Tuesday, I was so stressed out, my hands shook all morning. But it's Thursday and I only have to get through Saturday before I can totally collapse.

I'm going in for my second sleep study tonight. They called and had a cancellation and I jumped at the chance. While it puts even more pressure on an already trying day, I'd like to get it out of the way before the holidays and, remember, we're praying for a miracle. I'm believing that tomorrow morning, I'll feel like a new person. I'll let you know.

So, off it is to make lunches, feed the troops, put report cards back in their backpacks after copying them (you get 15 free tokens from Chuck E. Cheese everytime you bring in a report card) and figure out what to do about Deanna, who's feeling quite puny, while I'm at the OB/GYN this morning. I suspect she won't be going to school today.

I'm attempting minimalism

I had a meltdown this weekend. We have a lovely home, but you can't appreciate its loveliness because it's always so-o-o-o dirty and cluttered. I'm an orderly, organized person by nature and I lowered my standards by agreement with my husband when we had children, but this is ridiculous. I lost it. I'm embarrassed when people stop by for a quick visit and I have to furiously clean before someone's expected.

I can't keep this house clean. I straighten, organize, encourage, discipline, cajole, train, neaten, put up, clean, teach, straighten, organize, neaten... but the house still is constantly messy. I'm too tired to keep this up any longer. The children know better, but they fall into this slovenly habit. The rules are that they hang up their coats and sweaters in the mudroom (on the specially-designed hooks I had installed low, so they could reach) upon entering the kitchen, remove their lunchboxes from their bookbags, put their lunchboxes on the bar counter, put their backpacks on the parson's bench, and then change clothes, putting their dirties in the laundry hamper and their school shoes and belts next to their closet for the next day. These directions are not that difficult, especially when you consider they've been the same for the last 2 years, since we moved back into our reconstructed house. But I find shoes in every room in the house, dirty school clothes in all the hallways and on the floor in the children's rooms and the bathroom, lunchboxes on the kitchen table, backpacks thrown on the floor in the middle of the dining room, etc.

Every counter in the kitchen is clogged with coupons, toys, sunglasses, papers... The dining room table is piled high with coats, scarfs, gloves, notes, school papers, toys... Anyway, I went on the warpath. I told Don that things would have to change. I needed his help and the children were going to have to start towing the line. I threatened to move out and get my own apartment so I had someplace to go to escape the clutter. In the past, when I've gotten frustrated, Don's been very solicitous for a day, then returned to old habits. This time, I think he got the picture. I started cleaning and thinking, pondering my problem.

By Monday, I had reached the point of wondering why other women with much larger houses and much less time seem to keep their houses neat and clean. This thought was key. I finally made the connection and realized that the problem with my house is not that it's too large and I have too little time, but that we have TOO MUCH STUFF!!! I spend all my valuable cleaning time just neatening, and very little cleaning gets done. If we had less stuff, I wouldn't have to spend all my time putting it up and I could spend my time actually cleaning.

So, I talked with my friend, Rachel, the minimalist, Monday afternoon. I asked her how she does it. She gave me lots of pointers but, mostly, she said, "Throw away, throw away, throw away." I got right to work. By yesterday afternoon, I had a whole garbage can full of "stuff" and the recycle bins were full, as well.

It's a start. But, just a start. I'm going to have to do the same thing with every closet and cabinet in every room. Don came home and saw the condition of the kitchen counters and the dining room table, and nodded.

"Rachel said that I should think about how much other children that can't afford to buy them new will enjoy these toys and our stuff if I donate them," I told him.

"Just keep good records," Don said, "and it wouldn't hurt to take pictures. Then we can claim our donations on our taxes."

No complaints, No digging through the trash can and pulling out items he thinks we should keep. I'm going to throw the bag out before he has a chance!!

I Only Got 4 Minutes!!!

I've been complaining to my primary care physician for the past year that I've been struggling with chronic fatigue for the last two to three years. His first thought was that, perhaps, I had low blood iron and was anemic, a problem I've battled since my teen years. But I've been taking pre-natal vitamins since my preganancy with Daelyn (who's now 3 1/2) because they have many of the vitamins I need for my blood clotting disorders while still being fairly inexpensive. They also contain large amounts of iron, so my hemoglobin turned up normal.

His next avenue was to check my thyroid. Low and behold, I have an underactive (hypoactive) thyroid. He started me on a synthetic thyroid hormone and, for two weeks, I felt great and had boundless energy. Then the bottom dropped out and I was worse than before the synthroid. After a couple of months of treatment, he sent me back in for more bloodwork and a follow-up appointment with him. I was sure he was going to see that my body was compensating for the thyroid hormone and my numbers were low again, thus the fatigue. Instead, my blood work (again) looked great - my thyroid levels were perfect.

Then he suggested sending me for a sleep study. I finally got in one day last week. I had a terrible night, remembered waking 9 times, but the technician told me in the morning that everything looked pretty good. Based on the questions they asked me before the study, I was pretty certain I didn't suffer from sleep apnea, but thought perhaps I didn't get enough NREM (or deep) sleep, for some reason. The technician that had wired me up when I went in explained that some people, for no explanable reason, just don't get into NREM or stay in it for long enough and that they have medications to help with this problem. I was convinced my issue was a disproportionate amount of REM sleep versus NREM.

Yesterday, I got a call from the Sleep Study Secretary will the incredible news that I DO have sleep apnea - in fact, I stopped breathing 14 times per hour each and every hour of the night-long study. This means I am actually sleeping for a little over 4 minutes before being woken by my brain to force me to breathe.

NO WONDER I'M TIRED ALL THE TIME!! I'm only getting 4 minutes of sleep a night. Can you even imagine this? I can't. It's mind-boggling.

The pre-study questions they asked me forced me to think back over my life and re-trace sleep patterns. The truth is, I've NEVER slept well. Even as a young child, sleep was not only elusive but I woke up tired in the morning. I think it's begun having such a detrimental effect on me within the last 3 years because I'm older and less able to cope with lack of sleep. My brain and body require more rest and I can no longer compensate for not getting any.

They're scheduling me for another study using a device that forces you to breathe. They have to try the device as part of a study to adjust the amount of air pressure needed for my particular case. The device is a mask that fits over your mouth and nose and shoots air into your nose, forcing you to take a breath. They don't want so much pressure that the shock of the air wakes you, but enough to keep you breathing during the night.

I went back to see my primary care doctor today. He said that some people with sleep apnea get fitted with these masks and sleep so well, it's like a miraculous recovery. He says after a single night of sleep without apnea, they feel like a new person. We agreed to pray that my results will be as dramatic.

I took Daelyn with me to my visit this morning. He packed a backpack with toys and books, including his brother's book on bait fish that we bought in Hilton Head this summer after our crabbing trips. While we were in the waiting room, Daelyn asked me to look through the "fish book" with him. They listed 5 or 6 different types of crabs, all of which fascinated my little fisherman. Reaching up to rub my ear and discovering an earring in his way, he began fussing at me about wearing earring.

"I like to wear earrings when I go out so I look nice," I told him.

He thought about that for a minute and then asked, "Mama, do crabs wear earrings?"

I tried explaining to him that crabs don't have ears, which he completely rejected because, "then, how do they hear?" In frustration, I glanced up from the book, rolled my eyes, and happen to catch the eye of a person sitting across from me. I glanced around and the entire waiting room was watching, most people laughing, and waiting for my answer.

I would have totally ignored the response if it wasn't for all these people expecting more from me. "Well, son," I started, "crabs don't go out much."

What more can you expect on 4 minutes' sleep?