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.
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