Prayer Need

My family could use some prayer and I'm hoping each of you readers will take a few minutes and offer some up.

My brother-in-law, as many of you know, was diagnosed with Prostate Cancer several months ago. The type he has is very aggressive and his survival chances were less than 35%. He's actually doing quite well, which is a testament to the Lord's mercy.

Two family members are struggling with work situations. My brother-in-law, who has worked for the same company for 16 or so years, lost his job last week. The plant is shutting down and no one will be working there by the end of next month. But he's not a young man and has some medical concerns that are a result of job-related injuries, making him a little more of a challenge to employ. Another family member is dealing with some difficult job circumstances, as well.

My father's oldest sister was diagnosed a little while ago with terminal cancer. She's in her 80's and has decided not to fight it. My parents went to see her last month to say goodbye, but it's very difficult for my father to lose the first of his siblings.

Last week, my mother found out that her only brother has pancreatic cancer. She has lost 3 sisters and several brother-in-law's to cancer. Her brother's wife has terminal cancer and, additionally, got radiation sickness from treatments and is in very poor shape.

My mother, grieving for the loss of yet another family member, called her only remaining sister. Her sister broke the news to Mom that the doctors think she has colon cancer but can't confirm it until they do a colonoscopy, which they're having trouble scheduling.

My mother comes from a large family. seven children plus spouses, which is now reduced to 2 brother-in-law's (one who's estranged), one sister-in-law (with terminal cancer) one brother (with cancer) and one sister (with possible cancer). It appears that she might outlive her entire family.

My mother is struggling to deal with this. For years, she's called her sisters in Canada and visited on the phone as if they were in the same city and, now, there's no one left to visit with. It's tragic to lose so many family members in so short a time. My mother is only in her 70's and several of her siblings were younger than her.

Please pray for my mother and her family, my father and his family, and my siblings and their husbands. We seem to be under a tremendous spiritual attack right now and we can use all the support and prayer our friends have to offer.

The Lord bless your day.

Responsibility

In trying to sell Don on getting a dog, I told him that I thought it was a great way to teach children responsibility. Chores have a little more bite to them when they look at you with mournful eyes and their head cocked to the side.

We had many family conversations about getting a puppy. All the kids volunteered to give up their allowance for the next year if Daddy would get them one. Don explained that puppies make messes, both inside and out. He asked Deanna if she would be willing to clean up inside messes and Dane if he'd keep the yard clean and mine-free. They agreed. Nothing more was said about it.

Last week, after having the dog for 2 1/2 weeks, I was outside with him after school one day when he ran next to the shed. Dane got upset and told me that there were spiders in that area and I shouldn't let Donovan go back there. I explained that he was going potty and thought that was a good place. Next thing I knew, Dane appeared next to me with a shovel.

"What are you doing, son?" I asked.

"It's my job to clean up the yard. I have to get the poopies and get rid of them," he explained.

I was amazed. I never said a word to him. But he remembered his promise to his Daddy and was taking it very seriously. He then proceeded to run around the yard looking for piles that needed cleaning up and de-mining the yard.

I was very proud. Maybe this puppy-thing is going to accomplish something, after all. Dane - doing chores without being asked or even prompted - simply out of love for his pet.

A very good thing, indeed.

Three Vices

Each of my children seem to have come out of the womb with a different, nasty habit. Deanna was born a biter. I'm not just talking about the occasional nip for attention - I mean, all-out knawing. Once, when we were sitting in the recliner together snuggling, she reached over, took a hunk out of my arm, and hung on. I tried shaking her off like a lizard clamped on, but that didn't work. I shrieked at her to stop biting me, to no avail. Somehow, I finally managed to get the point across that this was torture, and she let loose. Afterwards, I asked her why she bit me.

"I just love you so much, Mommy, I had to take a bite." I love you too, honey, but THAT kind of love I can do without.

The truth is, she got her bad habit from me. I watch Donovan playing with the children. He'll lick them until he just can't quite express the depth of his love, then he'll take a nibble. I remember when Don and I were newlyweds. Once, while kissing, I bit his lip. Not hard. Just a little nibble, like Donovan. He shrieked and pulled away. Honestly, it was a small nibble. Didn't break the skin. But you would have thought I shot Don. I vowed never again to nibble while kissing, mainly because I feared I might never be kissed again by my husband, and he was the last chance at kissing I had. So, gone went the nibbling and just pure smooches remain.

With all my babies, I've had to take nibbles from time to time - nibble their little fingertips or toes-eys, or a gentle bite of their nose (only when clean, though - no bugger noses for me). Just an expression of love. But Deanna's thing was out-and-out biting. She bit her friends. Once, she bit the cat. And she'd bite me. Now, nibbling is one thing, but biting is entirely another. Nibbling can be shocking, but it almost never hurts. Biting, however, can leave scars and, possibly, teeth behind.

It took a couple of years of working with Deanna to break the biting habit. Then we had Dane. Dane had a new and interesting habit of pinching. Not just light pinches, like you'd give somebody on the rear or on the arm on St. Patrick's Day if they weren't wearing green. He gave "dig into the skin, grab as much as you can, and twist it hard" pinches. And, he gave them often. To everyone. He'd make Deanna cry. She'd think her baby didn't love her and I'd remind her of many biting incidents. That usually helped and she'd end up laughing about all the times she bit me or her Daddy.

We finally had to start swatting Dane everytime he pinched. He didn't mean to hurt. I'm not sure what started the habit, but I suspect Don is a closet pincher and he inherited this tendency from his Daddy, just as Deanna inherited biting from me.

Daelyn arrived with a different vice - punching. I can't believe how early he leared to ball up his fist and - kaplowee!!! His target could be anybody. His brother and sister often serve as targets. Daddy and Mommy know the stance well. His friends have learned to duck or run when they see the fist. But he might just as easily display his punching ability on the mailman or the neighbor.

We've tried spanking, time-out's, being sent to his room, restriction from computer games ... nothing seems to work. Most recently, we've begun to say, "Daelyn, open up the fist. Open up your hand." If we catch him before the punch is thrown, we're usually successful. However, now punching has changed to hitting.

Long sigh. We've run out of parents. Where did he get this little trick from? I think it's time to begin blaming grandparents.

Horse Mania

When we went to the Horse Show last Saturday, Deanna and I took Daelyn along. Dane went over to a friend's house to play, so we decided to take the puppy. He wore us slap out chasing all the horses and smelling every square inch of grass/sod/manure.

Daelyn has no fear nor knowledge of horses. He kept walking behind them, coming up beside them, and trying to pet all their noses. I kept warning him that some horses bite and, if they raised their lips, to move his hand quickly so as not to get bitten.

Our friend, Ken's, sister and niece were there. His niece, Lindsay, was riding in the competition. Both Anne and Lindsay's horses were there, a friend of Lindsay's riding her mother's horse. I made an off-hand comment that perhaps sometime during the day, Daelyn would be able to sit on a horse. Huge mistake. Huge. He drove us crazy. There was not a moment's peace until Anne finally scooped him up and put him in the saddle. I've never seen such a big smile on a little boy's face. He grinned from ear to ear. Anne held him in the saddle from the side while I took a couple of pictures with her camera. I hope we can get copies.

Daelyn's decided he wants a cowboy party for his birthday this Saturday. I bought him a cowboy hat from the Party Supply Store yesterday and he's wearing it constantly. Today, while we were walking Donovan, Daelyn asked me to tell him a story about a horse.

It seems horse mania has hit the whole family.

Horse Family

I mentioned briefly last week that Deanna had gone horseback riding for the first time. When she was just a toddler, she got to ride a pony in a circle, being led by a teenager. I think it was back then that she got the horse bug.

Don says all little girls love horses. So why don't little boys? It must have to do with those feminine hormones. Boys like guns and swords, girls like horses.

Anyway, I took Deanna's little girls group to a local stable last Saturday for a Girl Scout Program. They each got to choose a horse, they learned basic commands such as go, stop, turn left, learned how to hold reins and mount, and then got to ride for about an hour. Next, they brushed down a horse (each clamoring for a particular brush - don't know why they all thought that one was the best) and then would have gotten to muck out a stable but they were already mucked, so they learned how to muck. They had a short class in tack and then we headed home, worn out and satisfied.

My father rode in the Rodeo in Canada as a young man. He grew up on horses and always broke his own, so the Rodeo was an easy job for him. Once, while we were visiting my Grandpa, his horse, who was old and tired and not used to children, refused to move for us kids, who were all piled on her. Daddy got fed up and I vividly remember him cutting a switch from a birch tree, hopping on her, and putting her through the paces. I stood in the doorway of Grandpa's house and watched in excited horror. I must have been all of 6, but I'd never before seen anything that looked so scary - my Daddy, who seemed like such a normal, average man (albeit perfect), shouting "Yah" and kicking up this wild horse who tried to buck him off, rub him off on the barbed wire fence, and any other number of horse tricks before Daddy finally taught her a lesson and she galloped peacefully and obediently through the fields. My Daddy - the Cowboy!! From that point forward, when she got tired of us kids and stopped to eat, we'd call to Daddy. He'd only have to yell "Yah" from the front door for the horse to take off at a canter to squeals of laughter from us kids.

When I was a young girl, we had a close friend who became sort of an adopted grandpa to me. We called him Uncle Claude. He had been in the Army with my Father when Daddy was stationed in Germany before my parents married and then he and Aunt Hulene lived in the same housing building as Mom and Dad when she finally obtained her Passport and was able to travel to Germany to join my Daddy after they married while he was on leave. When we moved to Georgia, we ran into them accidentally, after all those years, and my parents re-established their relationship. Uncle Claude was my best friend and we dearly loved each other.

He had a Shetland Stallion that he had bought for his granddaughter who visited about once a year. Being a Stallion and being unridden for 11 3/4 months out of the year, he was quite wild. I was itching to ride him but Daddy explained that he would have to be broken first. He asked if I was willing and I agreed to try.

Daddy stood outside the fence and called directions to me. Red tried everything under the sun. He ran under a low branch and tried to knock me off. That worked only once. He took off at a gallop and ran so close to a tree trunk, he almost rubbed my leg right off. THAT only worked once, as well. After being bucked off for the third time, Daddy told me that when I felt like I was sure to fall, to wrap my arms around Red's neck. Then I'd just swing between his front legs and fall gently, rather than the hard falls I'd had. It took about 2 weeks of bruises, cuts, and falls but I broke Red. Finally, he learned I was the boss and, although very spirited, was a good horse and would call to me when he caught my scent on each visit to Uncle Claude's farm. I loved that mean, little horse.

One Wednesday, I called Uncle Claude at work and asked if he would pick me up on his way home so I could ride. We had an understanding and I did that about 2 - 3 times a week. He responded, for the first time ever, that maybe that night wasn't the best night. I said okay and hung up, surprised. That weekend, Daddy took me to the Farm and I ran from pasture to pasture looking for Red and calling to him. Finally, I ran up to Uncle Claude who was talking with Daddy and asked where Red was.

"You're gonna have to tell her," Daddy told Uncle Claude. "I'm sure as heck not going to. I told you your temper was going to get you into trouble some day."

"What, Uncle Claude," I asked. "What's happened?"

It seems Uncle Claude's granddaughter had come for a visit. They figured that since I had been riding Red, he'd be pretty tame, so they put Chrissy right up on him. Well, he was a Stallion and had an understanding with me, but he wasn't about to let Chrissy ride him. He had bucked her off immediately, she had gotten hurt, and Uncle Claude was so angry, he pulled out a shotgun and shot the horse between the eyes. On Wednesday, when I called to come out, the Dog Food Factory was sending a truck to pick up the carcass and Uncle Claude didn't think I needed to see that.

Sometime later, he decided I needed my own horse, and worked it out with Daddy. His name was Prince and he was a Welsh Gelding. We stabled him at Uncle Claude's farm and I became a "horsewoman". I had him for several years until he wasn't getting the attention he needed from me and I had moved on to other interests.

Last Saturday, as the girls stood outside the fence, fighting over who would get the smallest horse and scared to death of every horse the handlers brought out, I was thrilled to see Deanna's hand shoot up when the largest horse was brought out and the handler asked, "Who wants this one?" They brought out steps to help her mount him and she sat straight and tall in the saddle. She told me later that she was scared but nothing was going to keep her from this experience, not even her own fears.

I jumped on a big horse and trotted him around a little. They kept the girls pretty much in a line, one horse following another. I was on the Alpha Male, who had to be at the rear because he herded all the other horses, so I took advantage of the opportunity and rode all over the field on my own. At one point, something scared Deanna's horse and he bolted, rearing up on his back legs and galloping full-tilt away from the crowd. Deanna never lost her composure. She pulled back on the reins, yelled, "Whoa", and slowed him down. Then she talked gently to him and continued to pull back on the reins until he came to a full stop. She patted him on the neck and he calmed right down. The handlers all stopped what they were doing and watched. Two of them asked me later if that was my daughter and said that she was a natural. I couldn't have been more proud and Deanna couldn't have been more excited. Her first experience with a real horse was a smash hit.

So, this past weekend, we went to a horse show. She's decided to save up her money to attend horse camp this summer.

Some girls love horses their whole life but never have the opportunity to do anything with that love. Deanna's getting the chance to experience horsemanship and to learn more than she ever could have imagined about horses. The last two weeks have been a dream come true for her. I just hope she keeps dreaming.

It's the Puppy's fault

It's getting harder and harder to post these days. My schedule has gotten mixed up again with puppy on the scene. During my "posting time", I'm now walking Donovan. He needs at least 3 walks a day to contain his energy. And then there are visits to the Vet.

I thought we held the record for Pediatrician visits - now we're rivaling that score with Vet visits. Apparently, Donovan is allergic to something and is scratching and crying often. Last week, he had eaten his tail up so badly, he needed to be put on an antibiotic.

I'd line them up in the morning on the counter - Deanna's antibiotic - 2 tsps. 2X day, Dane's antibiotic - 1 tsp. 3X day, and Donavan's antibiotic - .5 cc's 2X day. Deanna's done with hers now and Dane just finished his yesterday, so Donovan is the only antibiotic in the mornings. Then you add in tinkle visits, play time, etc. and the day was quite full.

But he's now potty trained (this is in a whisper - don't let's tempt fate!!) and that means fewer visits outside and I don't have to watch him literally every second he's not in his crate (which seems to only be nighttime and family dinnertime).

The kids are still getting up at 6:00 a.m. to "see the puppy". They're wearing me out as much as he is. I wonder when the "new puppy syndrome" is going to wear off. They seem to be more excited about him now than when we first got him 2 1/2 weeks ago.

So my life is busy and even fuller, but we're all deliriously happy. We've wanted a dog for a long time and we can't believe he's really ours and will be for years to come. It's as if he's on loan to us and someone's going to spirit him away any day. We're living each second to its fullest.

Sorry, Blogger friends, but we have this darling puppy. I'll try and post some pictures soon and then you'll understand.

While Sissy and I were horseback riding ...

... Don took the boys bicycle riding to a place near us called the Greenway, that has a wonderfully flat, paved area specifically for biking or jogging. He did it with Deanna and Daelyn a couple of weeks ago and they went 6.6 miles.

The boys had a great time. At dinner Saturday night, Don was telling us where they went and all the "events" that occurred. He said Daelyn greeted every single person he saw. He was a little upset because one person didn't respond. Don thought it was pretty amazing that everyone except one had spoken in response. Truly a sign of Life in the South.

"We just had one problem," Don told us.

"What do you mean," I asked. "What problem?"

"We need to teach Daelyn some type of greeting other than 'Hey, Buddy!'"

Coming home from Church yesterday, I decided to demonstrate to Don just how much I've accomplished in preparation for Kindergarten in a year and a half, "Hey, Buddy" not withstanding.

"Daelyn, how many vowels are there?" I asked innocently.

"Five," he blurted out. I glanced at Don. His eyebrow went up as he glanced back at me. I grinned smugly.

"Remember 'A', son?" I asked. "What does it say?"

Daelyn, after some thought, yelled out, "Ay and ah".

"Good, son. What a good boy. Now, what does 'E' say?"

"Ee and eh," Daelyn responded promptly.

My smug grin widened into an out-and-out smile. Admittedly, I was quite pleased with myself.

Don's eyes began to twinkle, then narrowed and he said, "Son, count from 10 to 20 for Daddy."

"1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19 20 ... 21, 22, 23, 27 ..." Daelyn responded.

HA! Don thought he was going to wipe that smug smile off my face. When last he checked in on Daelyn's counting, he was still struggling with figuring out just where 17 went. We worked through that months ago.

"Okay," I conceded, "he's moved on to a problem with 27. But he knows about 17 now."

Don smiled openly. "You've done good, Mommy. Keep it up."

Smugness and a pat on the back from Daddy - what a day!!

Gifts

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME (AND AMANDA),

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME (AND AMANDA),

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO PATTI (AND AMANDA),

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!!!

When I drug myself out of bed this morning (at around 7:30 - my family considers that sleeping in), Dane, Deanna and Daelyn were all in the Den. Dane was wearing a Leprechaun hat, Deanna had on a headband with extended springs holding shamrocks on the end and with green and gold streamers coming out of the shamrocks, and Daelyn had a headband with a darling leprechaun hat attached to the top, so it perches on his head cockily.

While I was sitting, visiting with the children and the puppy, Don appeared with a wonderful ham and cheese omelette and raspberry tea for me. Then he and the children disappeared while I answered the phone and ate my omelette. When they reappeared, they were green. Don had bought, in addition to the head dresses for the children, green cake makeup and spray-on green hair coloring. He had done the children's arms and faces and attempted Daelyn's hair, but wanted me to touch them up, which I did. They are officially now green.

Then we all went to the kitchen so I could open my presents. The children excitedly handed me a small bag, picking it carefully out of a pile of gift bags sitting on the table. I pulled out a piece of tissue paper and shook it out. Nothing. I pulled out the second piece of tissue paper and shook it out, also. Still nothing. Deanna grabbed the now-empty bag and looked inside, then looked at me with an incredulous glance.

"DADDY!!!" she bellowed, "there's NOTHING in this bag."

Don looked at the bag, snickered, and said, "Oh, yeah. I was going to use that one, but the item wouldn't fit."

I profusely thanked Don for his thoughtfulness and gratefully accepted the non-gift. I had asked him to set aside two packages for me to open at dinner. After the first present, I decided I'd better open them all right here and now.

To cut to the chase, I got a cell phone - not one of those expensive, do-everything ones, just a run-on-the-mill, pay-as-you-go, use only for emergencies cell phone.

I'm thrilled. But I have to figure out how to use it now.

Thanks, family, for a wonderful birthday. I love you all (and Amanda).

Am I Training Him or is He Training Me?

We had our first VERY successful day yesterday - hopefully, the first of many. Donovan was accident-free in the house and demonstrated that he sits on command for my parents. I was thrilled.

Last night, as I was bragging about our success to Don, I decided I better take the little guy out one more time before kenneling him for the night. As I attached his leash and followed him to the back door and then across the deck and down the stairs, it occurred to me that I'm very careful to take him out about every 1/2 hour unless he's kennelled and immediately upon removing him from his kennel and after meals and, even, after he's had a big drink of water.

So, just who's training who? Have I taught Donovan to only tinkle outside or has he taught me to take him out so often that the opportunity for him to have an accident is almost non-existant? Good question. No clear answer.

Guess we'll just have to wait and see.

Nail Virus

Daelyn walked into the kitchen with my nail snippers in his hand (not to be confused with clippers, which are definately different).

"Mommy," he began, "I need you to cut this nail for me."

He held up his hand with the offending finger extended. This has been a frequent occurrence lately - enough so that he gets the snippers himself and brings them to me. I reached for his tiny little finger and, sure enough, the nail was torn and hanging by a piece below the quick. It needed to be "nipped" off.

"Son," I commented, "you've torn off another nail? This is the third one this week. What seems to be the problem, honey?"

"I dunno. I think I have a nail virus."

Old Men and Bright Lights

My routine has changed dramatically recently. Upon rising, I throw on a pair of shoes and take off for the kitchen, grab the leash and tell Donovan good morning while attaching his leash to his collar. Then it's outside so he can relieve himself in an appropriate location instead of on me or all over the tile floor in the kitchen.

This morning, he was busy giving kisses and it took a few minutes to get his leash attached and out the door. It was lightly sprinkling, so I encouraged him along. He did his business and then was busily smelling the ground when the sound outside changed and the rain began. We made a run for the house, only getting a LITTLE wet, but Donovan likes to go several times first thing in the morning, and we usually have several trips out back to back.

Not today. The rain held me off as I followed him around the kitchen, trying to make breakfast and lunches while assuring puppy didn't leave any puddles. I was fretting about the rain when Dane and Deanna started singing, "It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring ..."

Daelyn, in typical style, waited for his brother and sister to finish, then began his version.

"It's raining, it's pouring, an old man went to sleep and couldn't get up."

It reminded me of my birthday card from my niece and nephew. My birthday's Thursday (yes, St. Patrick's Day), but our family celebrated several birthdays together on Sunday afternoon. Amanda and Russell's card said something like, "Yes, you're old, but look on the bright side ..."
Then you turned to the inside and it said, "Oh, yeah, there is no bright side. There's a bright LIGHT, but you best not go towards it. Happy Birthday, anyway!"

Today, we'll be avoiding the bright light and the old man who can't wake up. Hopefully, the rain will stop so Donovan will be more inclined to tinkle when I brave the weather instead of returning to the kitchen, dripping wet, only to choose a nice spot inside for his business.

We Considered Calling Him Moose

I haven't written in several days. Our house has been a little topsy-turvy.

WE HAVE A PUPPY!!! After years of discussion, prayer, discerning, querying, and researching, we finally took the plunge.

When Don and I were first married, we both wanted a dog but, because of my cat, we decided it would be best to wait until we no l0nger had Frolic. When he died 2 years ago, we again discussed a dog, but felt that it was best to wait until Daelyn was a little older. In October of 2003, Don and I made an agreement that we would get a dog in 2 years. When October of 2005 rolled around, he had miraculously forgotten about the whole conversation. But I hadn't.

A couple of months ago, I started researching dogs on the Internet. We wanted that perfect breed to fit in with our family. I narrowed my search down to 3 based on the introduction of allergens to the home, the size, the temperament, their ability to get along with children, and several other factors. My first choice was a Havanese, whose fur is hypoallergenic - the perfect dog for Dane with his allergies. However, they're a VERY small dog and they do shed, so I'd have to constantly be vacuuming up dog hair and there's always the fear with that small a dog of stepping on it and injuring it.

My second choice was a Border Terrier. These dogs are fairly small - they only reach an adult heighth of 16 inches and a maximum of 16 lbs. - and love children. They're sensitive, easy to train, and committed to their owners. They are playful, active dogs even into adulthood. They are bred as fox hunters and are extremely sturdy, despite their small stature, and have powerful jaws. All of that sounded great. Then I read that there are no inherent medical problems with them, they DO NOT shed, and (the clincher) they only eat one cup of dogfood a day. Don read this last item and threw his hat in the ring for a Border Terrier.

I found another web site with pictures and looked these beautiful dogs over. I was amazed. At one location, there was a picture of a female lying down and a male standing behind her, both gazing off into the same distant direction. In my mind's eye, I could see Dane standing with them, and was sold.

Then we began the arduous process of finding one. There aren't too many in the U.S. and most litters are pre-sold, so we came up empty time and again. I eventually made a list of breeders, wrote a letter, copied it to each of them, and got off e-mails explaining our situation. Many of them never responded, but one breeder in Arkansas wrote back that she had a 9-wk. old puppy.

Don and I began praying for the Lord to clearly open doors if this was the dog for us. After several more e-mail notes, the breeder mentioned that her neighbor and friend had a guest visiting from Georgia who would be returning home after the weekend, and he might be willing to bring the puppy.

We were ecstatic. We could actually obtain a puppy and wouldn't have to pay shipping costs!!! It almost seemed too good to be true. The bottom line, however, was that we had to make our final decision and be approved by the breeder as a home for her puppy in two days.

We began furiously making preparations and had numerous conversations, Don and I, the kids and me, Don and the kids ... every possible grouping, as we tried to make a decision. To add even a little more confusion, she had a special-needs puppy who was 5-mos. old but was only 1/6 the price. Deanna and I saw pictures of him and fell in love. Dane, however, decided he really wanted a young puppy.

So, we made our decision and told her we definately wanted the 9-wk. old. It was a very tense 2 days while we prepared for our puppy to make his way to Georgia and planned for me to drive wherever to pick him up. Again, we turned to the Lord. Depending on the time of day and the distance to the pick-up point, there were numerous potential problems. I have 3 children that have to be taken care of. I'm not just free to pick up whenever I want and head out of town for several hours.

Right around midnight on Tuesday, I picked the puppy up off the seat of a very kind man's truck and held him for the first time. I never wanted to put him down again. In Deanna's words, "He's everything we've always wanted in a puppy." My sister held him in her lap the entire 3+ hours home and we discovered he's a snuggler.

Our lives have changed dramatically. Dane says our house will never be the same again. Suddenly, none of us want to go anywhere. We hang out in the kitchen, usually sitting on the floor and cooing like lunatics. We've learned more than any human being ever ought to know about dog treats and are working very hard at potty training (my fourth baby). All of us are getting huge amounts of exercise.

Right now, Donovan, our 5.8 lb. lovebug, is asleep on the loveseat behind me. Deanna's next to him, humming a lullabye. Dane and Daelyn run in from playing with a friend periodically to kiss him or rub his ears. And we all sigh a long sigh of contentment.

There's nothing like a dog to make a house a home.

They're for Wearing

Dane got glasses yesterday. We got him a wire frame in blue that pulls out the color of his eyes. They actually look pretty good on him, although he looks very studeous and way too old.

I got a phone call about 2 weeks ago from his teacher. She said that, for the second day in a row, Dane had quietly gotten up from his desk, while all the other children were busily working, walked to the board, read the assignment several times under his breath, then sat back down and quickly wrote the assignment on his paper. It was pretty obvious he needed glasses. Then she added, "I'll move him up to the front row but, Patti, he's only in the second row now."

I hung up and started getting emotional. My sweet little boy had been complaining of bad headaches for several weeks and we just thought it was allergy-related. It broke my heart to think about him having to wear glasses for the rest of his life - he's so young and small and frail. And it was upsetting to think that he had been having problems with his eyes and the teacher had to tell me. I wasn't observant enough to pick it up on my own. My little boy had been suffering and I was oblivious.

I called Don crying. As compassionate as he is, he just doesn't get this emotion stuff. He's, like, "So he needs glasses. Did you expect any different? We both wear glasses. You should have know at least one of our children would have a genetic eye weakness."

Yeah, but that doesn't change the emotions. So I called our Pediatrician to see if he wanted to see Dane or if I should just take him to our Optometrist. The whole process of getting an appointment took about 5 days and then, the earliest he could be seen for a scheduled appointment was next Monday at 9:30. The receptionist, however, said that I could try a walk-in yesterday morning and, if I cot there at 8:30, we'd have a good chance of getting in and out early.

We managed to get him seen, fitted, the glasses made and on his face and still got him to school before lunchtime. When the technician put his adjusted, cleaned lenses on his face and told him that they were all done and he could go, Dane thanked him, took them off, and put them in the case. He didn't quite understand that glasses are for wearing. We had to explain to him that he needs to wear them ALL the time, except for bathtime and bedtime. Then, later, he took them off and laid them on the counter, glass side down. I explained to him how important it is to NEVER put the glass part down on any surface.

I didn't realize wearing glasses required so much explanation. I expected that he'd lose them several times and I anticipated scratches and breaks (that's why I bought the free replacement insurance) but it never occurred to me I'd have to tell him to WEAR them.

He was the buzz of school when I got him there yesterday. Everyone was fascinated with his glasses. I stood and watched him proudly show them off to all his friends while the girls oohed and ahhed around him. At least there's no stigma to wearing glasses at this age. I didn't hear a single "4-eyes" remark. He also had his eyes dilated, so he had to wear these slip-in insert sunglasses for the remainder of the day. One of Deanna's friends had dinner with us last night and was commenting how "cool Dane looked in his shades" at school.

When Don came home from work last night, he asked how bad Dane's eyes are. I repeated that the doctor had said he needed a "little" help. But the technician, after grinding his lenses, commented that it was a pretty hefty prescription, especially for a first-time glasses wearer.

No wonder my baby was having headaches. I'm glad to know it wasn't because of me. And I'm even happier to know the girls think the glasses make him hunkier. My Mr. Cool - with glasses.

Just Who's Wild, Here?

"At that time Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. As Jesus was coming up out of the water, he saw heaven being torn open and the Spirit descending on him like a dove. And a voice came from heaven: 'You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.' At once the Spirit sent him out into the desert, and he was in the desert forty days, being tempted by Satan. He was with the wild animals and the angels attended him." Mark 1:9-13


Don: "Daelyn, what was that scripture about?"

Daelyn: "Jesus was out in the desert with the Wild Angels!!"

The Evaluation

Daelyn had his appointment with the Speech Therapist on Thursday for an Evaluation. We were in some type of a storage room that contained a small round table and a few chairs. The Therapist was a delightful young woman who cautioned Deanna and Dane (who had to go with me because school got cancelled for the day) not to give Daelyn any hints or clues.

She opened a book that had an easel built into it. It stood up and on the heavy cardboard pages were pictures, one per page. She asked Daelyn to tell her what was in the picture.

We started out just fine with a house and a tree. I was shocked at how clearly and articulately Daelyn spoke. I'm not sure he's ever spoken quite that clearly before. Then the pictures got simpler and Daelyn got more detailed. Before long he was making up stories about the pictures.

"That's a picture of a little boy crying because his Mommy told him 'No'!"

"That's a little girl swimming in the McAdam's Pool in the summer."

Then the Therapist made a fatal mistake. She asked him what color the duck on one of the pages was.

"Yellow, orange and black," Daelyn responded. She got a funny look at her face and then laughed.

"That's a new one," she commented. "I've never heard anything but yellow or versions of yellow before." She turned the easel around to look at the picture herself. Sure enough, the duck was yellow, his beak was a bright orange and his eyes were black.

But the Therapist didn't stop there. "What sound does a duck make?" she asked. Daelyn couldn't remember and I asked her if she could tell him.

"I can, but then I have to be certain to put a whole nother sentence between my prompt and his answer, so he's not just repeating." She did that, and Daelyn began quacking.

Then there was the pages of watches. Daelyn didn't respond for several seconds.

"What are those, Daelyn," she asked.

Daelyn looked puzzled. I didn't quite get what the problem was. It was 4 wristwatches. He knows what watches are. Finally, he responded.

"It's hard to say. They're sort of gray and black, but some are white ..." He trailed off as we all realized that his hesitancy wasn't identifying the object, but identifying the color, which he hadn't been asked to do. At least he didn't say, "Tick, tick, tick."

"I don't need to know the colors. Just tell me what those things in the picture are," the Therapist prompted.

"But I'm pretty sure they're black and - what's that color, Mom, like Daddy's car? - and white and a kind of gray ... " He meant silver but still didn't GET that she was looking for the item name, not the color. It took quite sometime for him to say, "Well, they're watches, of course."

The funniest one was a picture of a dark pink, almost red, slimline phone with the receiver off the cradle. Daelyn said, "That's two pink phones." The Therapist's eyebrows went up. She turned the easel around again and snickered.

"I've never had anyone say THAT," she said. "He is SO cute."

"He IS cute," I commented, a fact that we often discuss around our home. "We all agree - it's hard for anybody to get really mad at him, he's so cute. By the way, he's never seen a slimline phone. We only have cordless phones at our house, so to him, that does look like two phones."

She shook her head. "Well, he certainly doesn't lack in the "bright" department."

By the time the Evaluation was over, the Therapist was suitably impressed, as was I, and she determined that Daelyn doesn't qualify for speech therapy. She was able to identify several problem areas for his speech, but all of them are sounds that children are not expected to make until ages 6 or 8. All the 4-yr. old sounds he could clearly say.

Interestingly, though, at one point, he began chatting and the Therapist had to ask me for an interpretation of what he said. This happened twice. I asked her about it.

"How come he speaks so clearly during the testing but slurs his words so badly that you can't even understand him in conversation?"

"That's fairly common," she said. "When children are having to say a single word, they often can articulate it very clearly. However, in conversation, they tend to rush and not work as hard at pronouncing each word separately, so it comes out slurred."

The trick, it seems, is to teach Daelyn to say words one at a time. And to minimize the details.

Fashion Faux-pas

I had to take Dane to the doctor Wednesday afternoon after school. He's been complaining of stomachaches for 2 1/2 weeks now. We were running a little behind after getting the children from school and, when we needed to go, Daelyn had no shoes or socks on.

I called to him, "Son, we've got to go NOW. Put on a pair of sandals, if you need to, but we've got to go."

I didn't get a good look at him until we were sitting in the doctor's office. He was wearing a shorts outfit in olive drab - not a bad choice. The outfit was attractive and both pieces matched. However, he had chosen turquoise socks, pulled up to his knees, and was sporting his cowboy boots, which are on their last leg. The sewing at the tips has come undone, strings are hanging, and the uppers are no longer attached to the soles for about 3 inches across the front, flapping in the breeze like a couple of clams in the surf.

Note to Self: Make sure to lay out clothes, including SHOES and SOCKS for Daelyn in the future - at least, if we plan on going anywhere outside of our yard.