There's a phenomenon which is occuring at my house that I'm beginning to find a little disturbing. Mom is the Poop Inspector.
When Deanna was an infant, we thought she had a blockage. She had great difficulty producing anything and we quite often had to use glycerin suppositories for her. Don would call routinely from work to see if a messy diaper had been produced. We were very focused on excretions.
Once, I told him I thought we should try giving Deanna some prune juice in a bottle. He picked some up at the grocery store and, while I was gone the next morning, decided to give it to her. He fed her bottle after bottle of straight prune juice. When I got home, I commented that I needed to start the prune juice.
"I already took care of it," Don stated proudly.
"What do you mean you 'took care of it'?" I asked.
"I already gave her the prune juice," he smiled, quite pleased with himself.
"How much did you cut it?" I asked.
"Cut it with what?" Don looked quizzically at me.
"Water, honey. You cut it half and half with water. You didn't give her full strength prune juice, did you?" I began getting worried. Don snickered.
Turns out, not only had he given it to her full strength, it was so sweet, she had sucked it right down, so he had followed with bottle after bottle. The jug of prune juice was almost empty. My eyes widened as the story unfolded. Don got more and more concerned as I got quieter and my eyes got bigger. He soon learned why you cut prune juice with water in infants.
If we were wanting stinky diapers, we got 'em - lots and lots of 'em. Deanna went for about 4 days before her system finally got down to normal. Don and I laugh about it now. He learned a valuable lesson - the hard way.
Earlier this summer, I was talking with a friend on the back deck when Dane ran up and began to cry. I got him in the house where he burst into tears and told me his head was killing him and he felt like he was going to throw up. I decided he was overheated. Don got him a glass of ice water and I ran him a cool bath. Before jumping in the tub, he tinkled. I was standing next to him and noticed that his urine looked bloody. I put him in the tub, then called Don. In the end, we pumped enough fluids in him to get him to tinkle again for us in a jar. Don and Uncle Ken decided it didn't look bloody, just concentrated.
Later that evening, I got called to the half-bath. Dane had produced another job, and Don thought I needed to look it over.
It seems that anytime the children have a bowel movement that is loose or a funny color (we've noticed that when we eat foods that have green food coloring - like green eggs and green milk on St. Patrick's Day - they have very green stools for a few days) or has anything else unusual about it, which is practically daily, I have to look at it. I'm constantly being called to commodes to inspect excretions.
On Monday, Daelyn called me into his room to look at a present Donovan had left. Donovan rarely goes potty indoors, but Don told me Sunday night that he had diarhea and he had left one little turd behind on the boy's floor. I did the plastic bag trick, turning it inside out and grabbing the offending item. It appeared to be covered in blood, so I scooped up the dog and the kids and headed for the vet.
Turns out, Donovan's stool was full of interesting things - red crayon, hard orange plastic, lots of plant material, and tons of other stuff, but no blood. The vet cautioned the children that we should not allow Donovan to eat anymore blue Cavalrymen or green Army men. He put Donovan on a stomach coat, an animal version of Kaopectate, and told us to withhold treats for a day or so. He told me I would need to carefully watch Donovan's stools to make sure he passed all the junk. Ah, me. Once again, it's my job to inspect the stools.
Last night, one of the children called to me, "Mama, I left something in the half-bath potty for you to look at." I rolled my eyes and glanced at Don.
"This is getting a little out of hand. I don't have to look at every bowel movement produced by a family member. Would you please go look and make sure everything's okay?" I pleaded.
"Nope. Sorry. It's a Mommy-thing."
I seriously doubt most Mommies have to inspect all excretions. Our family is way too obsessed with this. It's time for our children to realize that stinkies can look different each day based on what you've eaten and how your stomach handles it.
Last night, Donovan had an accident in Deanna's bedroom, a result, I believe, of the stomach coat. She decided to respond by moving out of her bedroom for the night. I sent her to clean it up instead. She returned to the kitchen gagging and said she just couldn't handled it. Don grinned and said, "See. Moomy-thing."
I'm doomed. I can see it already. I might as well just get used to potty inspections. It's not bad enough I have to inspect the children's jobbies and the dog's jobbies. I draw the line at neighbors and friends. Don't even ask.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
He's Predictable
Last night, I made a wonderful roast for dinner in the slow-cooker. I tossed in carrots a few hours before dinner, then boiled potatoes to add to the carrots and made gravy. The roast was lovely and amazingly tender. As we gathered around the table, getting ready to sit, Dane looked at the beautiful roast sitting on a pan and asked, "Is that meatloaf or chicken?" All of us yelled at the same time - Uncle Ken, Deanna, Don and me - "Chicken!" Then we looked at each other and cracked up. Dane had no idea what was so funny.
Our sweet boy - he just loves his chicken.
We finally broke the news to him, when he requested a second helping of "that yummy chicken", that it was a beef roast. He wanted seconds anyway and ate heartily.
Our sweet boy - he just loves his chicken.
We finally broke the news to him, when he requested a second helping of "that yummy chicken", that it was a beef roast. He wanted seconds anyway and ate heartily.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Refreshment
Don and I had a wonderful weekend. Our suite at the Bed and Breakfast was lovely and we chose an excellent bottle of wine from the restaurant's stock for our complimentary anniversary bottle. We took it, chilled, back to our room where two wine glasses and a stainless bucket were waiting for us. We iced it down, popped the cork to let it breathe a little, then I drank half a bottle while we putzied around getting ready for dinner. We went for a walk around the grounds and I had a nice swim before showering and doing my hair.
When we returned from dinner, I called the children, then piled the pillows on the foot of the King bed. We laid on our bellies, propped up, in front of the TV and watched one of our favorite shows on Sci-Fi (which we never get to see because we don't have cable). As a special anniversary present, the restaurant that's part of the estate had given us a platter with two desserts of our choice to take back to our room. Don had cheesecake drizzled with chocolate and raspberry sauce. Later, after my dinner wore off, I wanted my keylime pie with a cup of coffee, but couldn't find any decaf anywhere in the kitchen, so I settled for a lovely cup of peppermint tea. It was so good, I had a second, and was completely comfortable rambling around the manor house finding what I needed. It was a really fun evening.
The next morning, Don whispered gently in my ear that it was almost time for breakfast and I needed to get up. He had already showered and dressed and had been downstairs talking with the Innkeeper. He made sure they put on decaf coffee for me and hung out visiting for a while so as not to disturb my slumber. I dressed quickly and we had a wonderful meal on the verandah of the manor house, complete with a full carafe of decaf coffee. We lingered for quite some time, looking at the antiques and relaxing. Then we went back upstairs where I sprawled on the bed and read some magazines - something absolutely unheard of at home.
The night before, at dinner, the folks at the hotel told us that there was no check-out time if no on was coming into our room for the next night, which was the case. So we were in no hurry to get home. When we finally did leave, we stopped at a Christian bookstore and spent about two hours looking for a book on a particular subject, something we could never have done with the children in tow.
Even Don admitted that he had a wonderful time and recognized the need for us to escape every so often. Although it was amazing being alone with my husband, an even better benefit of getting away was having no chores to do. Even when we go out to dinner together, we get a 2 or 3-hour break but have to return to clean up the kitchen, get children in bed, do the dishes, and any number of other motherly responsibilities. To lay on a bed and read without any time pressures was an indulgence I never have.
I'm all the more convinced that Don is my soulmate. A friend of mine used to talk about women as "the gorilla his dreams". By that reasoning, Don must be "the man-o'-war my dreams". Life with him just keeps getting better, and this weekend proved that.
I feel refreshed. By Saturday afternoon, I couldn't wait to get home to the children. I didn't even mind cooking a nice meal and cleaning up afterwards. I feel closer to Don than I've felt in a while. Life is good and marriage to Don is exceptional.
Isn't it something what a little alone-time for do for a person and a marriage. We'll have to schedule a little more of it in the future.
When we returned from dinner, I called the children, then piled the pillows on the foot of the King bed. We laid on our bellies, propped up, in front of the TV and watched one of our favorite shows on Sci-Fi (which we never get to see because we don't have cable). As a special anniversary present, the restaurant that's part of the estate had given us a platter with two desserts of our choice to take back to our room. Don had cheesecake drizzled with chocolate and raspberry sauce. Later, after my dinner wore off, I wanted my keylime pie with a cup of coffee, but couldn't find any decaf anywhere in the kitchen, so I settled for a lovely cup of peppermint tea. It was so good, I had a second, and was completely comfortable rambling around the manor house finding what I needed. It was a really fun evening.
The next morning, Don whispered gently in my ear that it was almost time for breakfast and I needed to get up. He had already showered and dressed and had been downstairs talking with the Innkeeper. He made sure they put on decaf coffee for me and hung out visiting for a while so as not to disturb my slumber. I dressed quickly and we had a wonderful meal on the verandah of the manor house, complete with a full carafe of decaf coffee. We lingered for quite some time, looking at the antiques and relaxing. Then we went back upstairs where I sprawled on the bed and read some magazines - something absolutely unheard of at home.
The night before, at dinner, the folks at the hotel told us that there was no check-out time if no on was coming into our room for the next night, which was the case. So we were in no hurry to get home. When we finally did leave, we stopped at a Christian bookstore and spent about two hours looking for a book on a particular subject, something we could never have done with the children in tow.
Even Don admitted that he had a wonderful time and recognized the need for us to escape every so often. Although it was amazing being alone with my husband, an even better benefit of getting away was having no chores to do. Even when we go out to dinner together, we get a 2 or 3-hour break but have to return to clean up the kitchen, get children in bed, do the dishes, and any number of other motherly responsibilities. To lay on a bed and read without any time pressures was an indulgence I never have.
I'm all the more convinced that Don is my soulmate. A friend of mine used to talk about women as "the gorilla his dreams". By that reasoning, Don must be "the man-o'-war my dreams". Life with him just keeps getting better, and this weekend proved that.
I feel refreshed. By Saturday afternoon, I couldn't wait to get home to the children. I didn't even mind cooking a nice meal and cleaning up afterwards. I feel closer to Don than I've felt in a while. Life is good and marriage to Don is exceptional.
Isn't it something what a little alone-time for do for a person and a marriage. We'll have to schedule a little more of it in the future.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Chicken Hat
We had invited some friends to go with us to the Outer Banks. We had three cars caravaning on the trip there. Don recharged our walkie-talkie's and gave one to the woman who was driving one of the cars with her son (her husband had to work and was unable to go with us) and we kept the other. The trip was very fun and I found that the walkie-talkies really came in handy. When someone needed to gas up or make a potty stop, we could let the lead car know and then we'd begin looking.
We had a wonderful time with our friends. Anne, the woman who we invited with her son, J.P. (one of Dane's best friends), had never been to the beach before, so this was new territory for her. She loves the mountains and is a Civil War expert, so they spend most of their vacations touring battlefields and towns that were significant in the War. But the beach is something that has eluded her. After our vacation, she's now a beach-lover, as well.
Anyway, we had planned on making the trip home in 2 days. We knew we wouldn't be ready to check out until very late morning and it's a long drive. Anne loaded up early, like 3 a.m. or so, and drove straight through. We got up, had breakfast, then started packing. When we were finally ready and had turned our keys back in, Don asked what I wanted to do. I suggested visiting the other lighthouses. Don commented that he'd like to visit the Kite Store. We turned left (home was to the right) and headed into town.
Don surprised me by turning into Jockey Ridge State Park, the place with the dunes. He said he thought we ought to at least check it out. We had seen hang-gliders all week long taking off from the dunes and knew they had lessons, but had no idea how high the dunes were, nor did we have any concept of the enormity of the Park. It was like a desert, nothing but drifting sand as far as you could see in every direction . . . until you got on the top of the dunes. Then you could see the ocean, the highway that ran along the bottom, separating the Park from the town, and all the businesses.
After climbing the dunes and the children sliding down them several times, we got drinks and loaded back up. Next stop was the Kite Store and, as I said yesterday, Don went inside to look around while I took the children under the awning in the parking lot to make kites.
When Deanna and I went inside looking for the guys, we decided to take a look at the store, as well. It was an interesting construction - 3 stories high with different levels in different sections. It's an L-shape, so the store turns and winds and there's lots of different, little rooms. Deanna and I wandered slowly from room to room, looking for anything worth spending Don's hard-earned money. We were standing in a small room full of circular stands of clothing when a man walked by with A CHICKEN ON HIS HEAD. Apparently, it was a stuffed chicken, but it looked like a hen roosting on his head. Deanna and I gawked in astonishment. When he finally disappeared from view, we turned to look at each other and I whispered to her, "Excuse me, sir, but you seem to have a chicken on your head!"
It was one of those rare moments (at least for me) when timing was perfect. Deanna erupted with laughter and actually roared. I got tickled with her AND with the memory of the chicken and started to laugh. Before long, we were both laughing so hard, we were concerned that we'd cause a disturbance in the store. We tried to sneak into a room by ourselves to have a good, long laugh, but everytime we began to get control, Deanna'd whisper again, "Excuse me, sir, but did you know you have a chicken on your head?" and we'd start all over. We probably laughed for 15 minutes - hard, belly laughs - the kind that bring cleansing and achy chests.
We've told this story over and over again and each time, we crack up. Unfortunately, the moment is long-passed and no one else quite appreciates the humor. I guess you had to be there. We also found out that it's a policy in this store that all the employees wear hats. We had seen someone in a ball cap and someone else in a cowboy hat, but the roosting chicken took the prize. The others were so common, we didn't even really notice that the employees were wearing hats until THE CHICKEN strode by.
For several weeks afterward, anytime we were in a group of people, Deanna'd whisper, "Tell them about the chicken!" I tried repeatedly, but nothing could quite match the moment in the Kite Store.
She and I will always have the memory - not only of the chicken hat but, also, of the bonding moment and the subsequent laughter. It will become a private joke that will always elicit laughter from the two of us as we remember the scene.
On another note, Don and I are leaving this afternoon to go away for our anniversary. We'll just be gone overnight to a neighboring town (staying at a Bed and Breakfast) but I'm really looking forward to a date with my favorite guy. We haven't had an opportunity to even go on a date since our anniversary last year. I'm talking, not even going to dinner or out to a movie, just the two of us. Nowhere without munchkins along. I had to secretly work the whole thing out before I sprung it on Don. He's a homebody and would much prefer to be at home than anywhere else - can you guess why we haven't been on a date in a year?
So I've got to pack and leave copious notes for my niece who'll be staying with the kids while we're gone. And I'm working hard to get the house as clean as possible in the next few hours. I don't want my niece staying in a place where she fears she'll "catch something" - she's a bit germophobic.
Don and I celebrate 11 years of wedded bliss on Saturday. We'll be returning by 4 p.m. so my niece can get home to dress for a wedding, which is the time our wedding began. The memories are very clear to me and, if I forget any, I've got the video to help me remember.
I can't imagine a better husband for me. Don is everything I could ever have dreamed of. The last year has been even more amazing than the first 10. We are more in unity and respect each other more than we could ever have imagined 11 years ago. We were "in love" 11 years ago. Now, we're deeply "in love" and more. Life with Don is just plain good. There's no other way to say it. He is truly God's greatest gift to me.
So goodbye for today. Have a great weekend. I know I will.
We had a wonderful time with our friends. Anne, the woman who we invited with her son, J.P. (one of Dane's best friends), had never been to the beach before, so this was new territory for her. She loves the mountains and is a Civil War expert, so they spend most of their vacations touring battlefields and towns that were significant in the War. But the beach is something that has eluded her. After our vacation, she's now a beach-lover, as well.
Anyway, we had planned on making the trip home in 2 days. We knew we wouldn't be ready to check out until very late morning and it's a long drive. Anne loaded up early, like 3 a.m. or so, and drove straight through. We got up, had breakfast, then started packing. When we were finally ready and had turned our keys back in, Don asked what I wanted to do. I suggested visiting the other lighthouses. Don commented that he'd like to visit the Kite Store. We turned left (home was to the right) and headed into town.
Don surprised me by turning into Jockey Ridge State Park, the place with the dunes. He said he thought we ought to at least check it out. We had seen hang-gliders all week long taking off from the dunes and knew they had lessons, but had no idea how high the dunes were, nor did we have any concept of the enormity of the Park. It was like a desert, nothing but drifting sand as far as you could see in every direction . . . until you got on the top of the dunes. Then you could see the ocean, the highway that ran along the bottom, separating the Park from the town, and all the businesses.
After climbing the dunes and the children sliding down them several times, we got drinks and loaded back up. Next stop was the Kite Store and, as I said yesterday, Don went inside to look around while I took the children under the awning in the parking lot to make kites.
When Deanna and I went inside looking for the guys, we decided to take a look at the store, as well. It was an interesting construction - 3 stories high with different levels in different sections. It's an L-shape, so the store turns and winds and there's lots of different, little rooms. Deanna and I wandered slowly from room to room, looking for anything worth spending Don's hard-earned money. We were standing in a small room full of circular stands of clothing when a man walked by with A CHICKEN ON HIS HEAD. Apparently, it was a stuffed chicken, but it looked like a hen roosting on his head. Deanna and I gawked in astonishment. When he finally disappeared from view, we turned to look at each other and I whispered to her, "Excuse me, sir, but you seem to have a chicken on your head!"
It was one of those rare moments (at least for me) when timing was perfect. Deanna erupted with laughter and actually roared. I got tickled with her AND with the memory of the chicken and started to laugh. Before long, we were both laughing so hard, we were concerned that we'd cause a disturbance in the store. We tried to sneak into a room by ourselves to have a good, long laugh, but everytime we began to get control, Deanna'd whisper again, "Excuse me, sir, but did you know you have a chicken on your head?" and we'd start all over. We probably laughed for 15 minutes - hard, belly laughs - the kind that bring cleansing and achy chests.
We've told this story over and over again and each time, we crack up. Unfortunately, the moment is long-passed and no one else quite appreciates the humor. I guess you had to be there. We also found out that it's a policy in this store that all the employees wear hats. We had seen someone in a ball cap and someone else in a cowboy hat, but the roosting chicken took the prize. The others were so common, we didn't even really notice that the employees were wearing hats until THE CHICKEN strode by.
For several weeks afterward, anytime we were in a group of people, Deanna'd whisper, "Tell them about the chicken!" I tried repeatedly, but nothing could quite match the moment in the Kite Store.
She and I will always have the memory - not only of the chicken hat but, also, of the bonding moment and the subsequent laughter. It will become a private joke that will always elicit laughter from the two of us as we remember the scene.
On another note, Don and I are leaving this afternoon to go away for our anniversary. We'll just be gone overnight to a neighboring town (staying at a Bed and Breakfast) but I'm really looking forward to a date with my favorite guy. We haven't had an opportunity to even go on a date since our anniversary last year. I'm talking, not even going to dinner or out to a movie, just the two of us. Nowhere without munchkins along. I had to secretly work the whole thing out before I sprung it on Don. He's a homebody and would much prefer to be at home than anywhere else - can you guess why we haven't been on a date in a year?
So I've got to pack and leave copious notes for my niece who'll be staying with the kids while we're gone. And I'm working hard to get the house as clean as possible in the next few hours. I don't want my niece staying in a place where she fears she'll "catch something" - she's a bit germophobic.
Don and I celebrate 11 years of wedded bliss on Saturday. We'll be returning by 4 p.m. so my niece can get home to dress for a wedding, which is the time our wedding began. The memories are very clear to me and, if I forget any, I've got the video to help me remember.
I can't imagine a better husband for me. Don is everything I could ever have dreamed of. The last year has been even more amazing than the first 10. We are more in unity and respect each other more than we could ever have imagined 11 years ago. We were "in love" 11 years ago. Now, we're deeply "in love" and more. Life with Don is just plain good. There's no other way to say it. He is truly God's greatest gift to me.
So goodbye for today. Have a great weekend. I know I will.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
More Pictures from our Vacation
As we were driving around Kill Devil Hills, NC (the Outer Banks), we kept seeing this sand castle. It was at the bottom of the Dunes that are part of a state park. We thought somewhat had made it, like in a contest or something, and it was so exquisite, they decided to save it and put a fence around it. However, the dunes drifted and covered it up. Turns out, it's all that's left of a putt-putt golf course. The dunes REALLY drifted and have covered ALL of the course except this sand castle. We loved it and wanted to have a picture since it may no longer be there next year (or the whole course could reappear again - you never know which).
The second picture is my fisherman. Dane was itching to go fishing. Don scoped out the area and found a great dock full of other fishermen. He planned an early morning trip with Dane. When the rest of us woke, Daddy and Daney were gone. When they returned, Don told us that an older gentleman had needed help reeling his fish in and asked if Dane would do it for him. Dane happily complied and this is him with the older gentleman's fish. He didn't catch anything, but he enjoyed himself all the same, and it was a wonderful time for him and his father together.
The last picture is Daelyn on top of the dunes flying a kite he made at the kite store. While Don shopped, I sat with the kids in the tent outside and we made our own kites and decorated them. Don came out of the store and disappeared with the boys while Deanna and I finished our kites. When we went looking for the guys, we finally discovered them up on the dunes (after thoroughly searching the store).
Incidentally, something very funny happened while Deanna and I were in the kite store looking for the guys. I'll tell you about it tomorrow.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Poor Bob
Daelyn was playing this morning with a Bob the Builder game. He brought it into the den and was sitting on the floor, hammering away at it. Donovan growled and then began barking.
Me: "Why is Donovan barking?"
Daelyn: "Because I want to play with this game."
Me: "I understand. But why is Donovan barking at you?"
Daelyn: "Oh. He doesn't like Bob the Builder."
Me: "Why is Donovan barking?"
Daelyn: "Because I want to play with this game."
Me: "I understand. But why is Donovan barking at you?"
Daelyn: "Oh. He doesn't like Bob the Builder."
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Cabbage for Many
Deanna started growing this cabbage in the Spring. Bonnie Bell, the seed company, has a program for third graders. They supply the cabbage plants to all third grade students in the state. The children are to grow the cabbages through the summer and turn in a picture of themselves with their cabbage to their teacher at the end of the summer. The weight of the cabbage is to entered on the form and each school submits the picture of their largest cabbage for consideration. The largest cabbage in the state wins its grower a $1,000 scholarship.
Deanna harvested her cabbage yesterday. We took pictures and triumphantly carried it into Kroger for our official weighing - 7.83 lbs. (it seemed much larger to me). We took the pictures to her teacher who said Deanna's was the only picture turned in. Most of the students' cabbages had died before the end of the summer. If there were any more turned in today, the largest would be sent to Bonnie Bell, but Deanna's had a good chance of taking first place from her school.
She was very excited. Apparently, before school got out, her classmates made fun of her cabbage and joked that it was still as small as when she had first planted it. Last night, at dinner, we were talking about humility. Deanna asked what it meant. I said, "Not making fun of other people's cabbages." Her eyes lit up. She got it.
Here's hoping Bonnie Bell thinks as highly of her cabbage as the Doughty family. In any case, she's very happy that she participated and thankful that her cabbage survived the drought and bugs. And the fried cabbage we had for dinner last night was great!
Monday, August 21, 2006
Cellphones and Lawnmowers
I was trying to get Daelyn down for his nap today. He seemed to think a commercial he saw recently was very funny. The commercial was for cell phones and involved two children, a boy and a girl. The boy is bragging to the girl about his new cellphone when hers rings. She answers the phone and says, "Just a minute." Then turns to the boy and says, "Your lawn mower's getting away from you!" In the background, it shows a lawnmower running through someone's backyard.
Daelyn thought this was absolutely hilarious and couldn't stop talking about it at naptime.
Daelyn: "Mama, do you remember that commercial with those children when the girl says, 'Your lawnmower's going without you!'? He cracks up and, just as his laughter is starting to wane, he repeats, " 'Your lawnmower's going without you!' "
I watched him for a few minutes and, as he began to quiet down, I whispered to him, " 'Your lawnmower's getting away from you?' "
He cracked up again and I roared, as well. He was laughing at the commercial, I was laughing at him.
I'm so thankful my children appreciate the funny things in life and don't find humor in making fun of other people or slandering some race or personality type. Good, clean, wholesome laughter warms the heart.
The next time you see a commercial for cellphones, check to see if there's a lawnmower in the background, and think of Daelyn. If he's watching, you can bet he'll be laughing.
Daelyn thought this was absolutely hilarious and couldn't stop talking about it at naptime.
Daelyn: "Mama, do you remember that commercial with those children when the girl says, 'Your lawnmower's going without you!'? He cracks up and, just as his laughter is starting to wane, he repeats, " 'Your lawnmower's going without you!' "
I watched him for a few minutes and, as he began to quiet down, I whispered to him, " 'Your lawnmower's getting away from you?' "
He cracked up again and I roared, as well. He was laughing at the commercial, I was laughing at him.
I'm so thankful my children appreciate the funny things in life and don't find humor in making fun of other people or slandering some race or personality type. Good, clean, wholesome laughter warms the heart.
The next time you see a commercial for cellphones, check to see if there's a lawnmower in the background, and think of Daelyn. If he's watching, you can bet he'll be laughing.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Chicken for All
Several years ago, a friend of mine brought this amazing chicken to a potluck dinner we attended. It was so good, I asked for the recipe and have been making it ever since. I've modified it somewhat, until it's sheer perfection.
You start with chicken thighs. I've tried wings, legs, breasts, but thighs tenderize the best. You remove the skin but leave some of the fat. Put the thighs in a large ziploc and pour K.C. Masterpiece Honey Teriyaki sauce over them, diluted a little with water (this makes it penetrate the chicken better). Seal the bag, squoosh around the marinade, and refrigerate for several days, mixing periodically. You can limit the marinading to 24 hours, if needed.
Spray a 13"X 9" pan with cooking spray. Place the thighs in the pan carefully, making sure each is exposed. It's important none be covered up. Pour a little of the sauce in the bottom of the pan, then drizzle some fresh from the bottle over the chicken - just a drizzle - until they're a nice brown color. Dust with Cajun Seasoning. Bake at 325 for about 1 1/2 hours.
The chicken falls off the bone and is tasty all the way through. The cajun seasoning keeps it from being too sweet and adds some zing. We serve it with brown rice and a vegetable, and the children, even Daelyn, usually have two thighs each, an incredible amount of food for them.
Anyway, we were expecting guests for dinner last night, so I planned this menu. The grocery list I made asked for 5 lbs. of thighs. The package Don brought home had only 10 thighs, which he said was 4.8something pounds. I was a little concerned how they'd stretch to 4 adults and 3 children.
I woke yesterday morning with stomach problems and later got a bad headache. Deanna complained all day of a stomach ache and cramps. Mid-afternoon, we decided we had better cancel out on dinner - no sense passing along some bug to our guests.
I cooked the chicken anyway, since I had been marinading it. As Dane dug into his second piece, I looked at the pan - 2 tiny, little thighs left. I laughed and put on my most stern voice.
"Good thing we cancelled our guests. I would have had to tell them, 'SORRY! I realize you're our invited guests, but you're limited to only one little thigh each. You see, my children LOVE this chicken, and they must be allowed their fill. You'll just have to go hungry or fill your tummies on side dishes.' "
The children roared with laughter. Don looked down his nose unapprovingly and commented that if our guests had come, we would have practiced restraint to be certain they had their fill first. Of course we would have - of course ... However, I'm still not sure there would have been enough. I would have liked to be able to offer 3 thighs to each of our guests (some of them were small and they really are tasty), which would have left 4 to be split between our family of 5.
The long and short of this story is that next time we plan this meal for guests, I need to specify a number of thighs, not a pound weight. And 15 or so would be much more reasonable when we invite two adult guests.
I made it through dinner ( I ate lightly), but then felt so bad, I asked Don if I could be excused to veg on the loveseat in the den. He smiled and encouraged me to go rest. When the kids ran in a few minutes later, I asked them to all go and clear the entire table for me. Although they fussed a little, they did an excellent job. At bedtime, when I made it back into the kitchen to take my medicine, I discovered a clear table except for my drink, which they know enough to leave alone.
I decided to load the dishwasher quickly so I could run it, although I was tempted to leave it for today. The dishes were piled in the sink so I picked up the top one to rinse it. Underneath were each of the children's plates, full of bones. Instead of dumping their plates in the trash, they dumped in the sink, which had a frying pan full of water soaking. The result was bones floating in greasy water that I had to fish out to throw away.
It took a little longer than I expected, but I finally got the dishwasher loaded and made a mental note to tell the children to throw bones away before putting dishes in the sink.
It seems training never stops. I was so thrilled they cleared the table thoroughly. But no time to gloat - we're onto the next training issue. And, as I train them, Don trains me. And we all train the dog. And the dog trains us. We're just one big cycle of training, all learning together.
Just so we get to learn around a big pan full of K.C. Masterpiece chicken.
You start with chicken thighs. I've tried wings, legs, breasts, but thighs tenderize the best. You remove the skin but leave some of the fat. Put the thighs in a large ziploc and pour K.C. Masterpiece Honey Teriyaki sauce over them, diluted a little with water (this makes it penetrate the chicken better). Seal the bag, squoosh around the marinade, and refrigerate for several days, mixing periodically. You can limit the marinading to 24 hours, if needed.
Spray a 13"X 9" pan with cooking spray. Place the thighs in the pan carefully, making sure each is exposed. It's important none be covered up. Pour a little of the sauce in the bottom of the pan, then drizzle some fresh from the bottle over the chicken - just a drizzle - until they're a nice brown color. Dust with Cajun Seasoning. Bake at 325 for about 1 1/2 hours.
The chicken falls off the bone and is tasty all the way through. The cajun seasoning keeps it from being too sweet and adds some zing. We serve it with brown rice and a vegetable, and the children, even Daelyn, usually have two thighs each, an incredible amount of food for them.
Anyway, we were expecting guests for dinner last night, so I planned this menu. The grocery list I made asked for 5 lbs. of thighs. The package Don brought home had only 10 thighs, which he said was 4.8something pounds. I was a little concerned how they'd stretch to 4 adults and 3 children.
I woke yesterday morning with stomach problems and later got a bad headache. Deanna complained all day of a stomach ache and cramps. Mid-afternoon, we decided we had better cancel out on dinner - no sense passing along some bug to our guests.
I cooked the chicken anyway, since I had been marinading it. As Dane dug into his second piece, I looked at the pan - 2 tiny, little thighs left. I laughed and put on my most stern voice.
"Good thing we cancelled our guests. I would have had to tell them, 'SORRY! I realize you're our invited guests, but you're limited to only one little thigh each. You see, my children LOVE this chicken, and they must be allowed their fill. You'll just have to go hungry or fill your tummies on side dishes.' "
The children roared with laughter. Don looked down his nose unapprovingly and commented that if our guests had come, we would have practiced restraint to be certain they had their fill first. Of course we would have - of course ... However, I'm still not sure there would have been enough. I would have liked to be able to offer 3 thighs to each of our guests (some of them were small and they really are tasty), which would have left 4 to be split between our family of 5.
The long and short of this story is that next time we plan this meal for guests, I need to specify a number of thighs, not a pound weight. And 15 or so would be much more reasonable when we invite two adult guests.
I made it through dinner ( I ate lightly), but then felt so bad, I asked Don if I could be excused to veg on the loveseat in the den. He smiled and encouraged me to go rest. When the kids ran in a few minutes later, I asked them to all go and clear the entire table for me. Although they fussed a little, they did an excellent job. At bedtime, when I made it back into the kitchen to take my medicine, I discovered a clear table except for my drink, which they know enough to leave alone.
I decided to load the dishwasher quickly so I could run it, although I was tempted to leave it for today. The dishes were piled in the sink so I picked up the top one to rinse it. Underneath were each of the children's plates, full of bones. Instead of dumping their plates in the trash, they dumped in the sink, which had a frying pan full of water soaking. The result was bones floating in greasy water that I had to fish out to throw away.
It took a little longer than I expected, but I finally got the dishwasher loaded and made a mental note to tell the children to throw bones away before putting dishes in the sink.
It seems training never stops. I was so thrilled they cleared the table thoroughly. But no time to gloat - we're onto the next training issue. And, as I train them, Don trains me. And we all train the dog. And the dog trains us. We're just one big cycle of training, all learning together.
Just so we get to learn around a big pan full of K.C. Masterpiece chicken.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Desiring Desire
Last week, I attended a prayer meeting at which a man gave a sharing about attending the 25th anniversary of his brother becoming a Monk. At the Ceremony, his brother had shared that his goal in life is to become a Zero, to be nothing for Jesus. That was somewhat shocking to me. I can't imagine choosing to be nothing. But then, my friend shared with us something called "The Litany of Humility". He encouraged us to pray it with him. I was reluctant because I know what can result when you pray for humility. The Litany, however, asked the Lord to give us the DESIRE for humility, the desire to not be loved or accepted, the desire to not be recognized or honored. To desire only to be filled with the Lord.
Last night Don shared Psalm 34 with me. Verses 17 and 18 say, "The righteous cry out and the Lord hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles. The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."
I want the Lord to be close to me. I want Him to save me. According to this scripture, to get there, I must be brokenhearted and crushed in spirit. I want to desire to be empty, crushed. I want to have a heart to be nothing but what the Lord has for me. I want to decrease so that He can increase.
I'm not quite ready yet to pray specifically for those things, but I AM willing to pray for the desire to pray for those things.
And pray, I will, trusting God that the desire to desire is sufficient for now and that He will honor the very deepest desire of my heart, which only He truly can see.
Last night Don shared Psalm 34 with me. Verses 17 and 18 say, "The righteous cry out and the Lord hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles. The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."
I want the Lord to be close to me. I want Him to save me. According to this scripture, to get there, I must be brokenhearted and crushed in spirit. I want to desire to be empty, crushed. I want to have a heart to be nothing but what the Lord has for me. I want to decrease so that He can increase.
I'm not quite ready yet to pray specifically for those things, but I AM willing to pray for the desire to pray for those things.
And pray, I will, trusting God that the desire to desire is sufficient for now and that He will honor the very deepest desire of my heart, which only He truly can see.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Pocket Knives and Bugs
Sometime over the last year, I can't quite remember when, the children and I took my mother to visit my brother. He lives in Alabama and works so much we almost never get to see him. Mom tries to get someone to take her to visit at least twice a year, but there are not always drivers available to go for a weekend. This was my chance to take my children to see their cousins, aunt and uncle.
We stayed at my brothers and, as we were preparing for bed the night we arrived, Chuck came into my bedroom.
"Is it okay for me to give Dane a pocket knife, Trish? You know, every little boy needs a good knife. He's old enough now to learn to handle one, but I wanted to check with you first."
The funny thing is that all reason flies out the window when I talk to my brother. He spoiled me rotten as a child. He wanted a little brother and I was his last chance. When I turned out to be a girl, he decided he'd take me, anyway. It helped that I was a tomboy and lived outside. I liked nothing better than to go with him on a long motorcycle ride (he's 7 years older than me) or to roll on a creeper under the car and hand him tools and talk his ears off while he worked on Dad's car. (He took over all the repairs for the family vehicles by the time he was about 14 - he's a mechanical genius.) His buddies would give him a little bit of a hard time when he showed up to meet them with me hanging onto the back of his bike. But he could silence them with a look and he always made me feel wanted. Later, after he left home and was living up north, he started racing motorcycles. He was #2 in the Nation in Amateur Road Racing. On his way to any races in the southeast, he'd stop and pick me up. I worked on his pit crew and got to spend time with him. I've joked for years that if he ever fell off the pedestal I have him on, he'd kill himself, it's so high.
To add to the confusion, I always had a pocket knife as a child - a Swiss Army knife. It had the spoon, fork, bottle opener, etc. on it and I kept it in my pocket at all times. And I used it, almost daily. It worked great at cutting the bad spots off an apple that had just fallen out of our tree so I could eat it while swinging on the tree swing Daddy made. I used the scissors to cut down dandelions in the yard. Even now, I have a small Swiss Army Knife on my keychain that I use FREQUENTLY. So, when Chuckie suggested giving a 6-yr. old a SHARP knife to be kept in his pocket at all times, of course I willingly agreed. I thought he'd wait until the next morning (maybe by then I'd regain my senses), but he went into the bedroom where Dane was curled up in a sleeping bag, asked him to join him in the hallway, and gave him a beautiful stainless pocket knife. Dane was so excited that he put it under his pillow while he slept.
It took less than 12 hours for him to get it taken away from him. We were getting ready to go out and I had loaded the children in the van. I found Dane with a pile of tiny strips of leaves in his lap that he had cut with his knife. His instructions were that he could only use the knife or scissors with permission, which he didn't have. It got taken away for 24 hours. By the time he got it back, we were on our way home.
Dane couldn't wait to show his Dad his new treasure. Daddy glanced at me with raised eyebrows. I looked sheepish and shrugged. He knows how I feel about my brother. But, the next day, when Dane left for school, Daelyn got ahold of his knife and we haven't seen it since. We've searched the house, torn it apart, looking for this special knife from Dane's uncle. But it's nowhere to be found. For Dane's birthday this year, his Daddy gave him a replacement. It's not near as nice as the one Uncle Chuckie gave him, but he was thrilled to have a new knife. (Don says this is not a two-word expression. He is constantly telling me "It's not a jack-knife. It's just a knife." He's wrong. You can't refer to this kind of a knife without two words - it's either a pocket knife or a jack-knife."
Last night, as I was tucking the boys in, I found one of Dane's nicer outfits folded neatly on the bottom of his bed. I quizzed him about it and he explained that he wanted to dress as soon as he woke up. This is very unusual for my children. They usually stay in their pajamas as long as possible, like their mother. When I explored further, he explained that he needed pockets so he could carry his POCKET KNIFE (see - two words!).
This morning, after breakfast, Dane asked permission to "cut some things" with his knife. I had visions of shredded pieces of paper all over the den or leaves all over the van. "Cut what and where?" I asked.
"You know, stuff," he replied, then added, "out in the woods."
We have a little stand of trees in the corner of our yard. It's about 6 trees and the area is full of underbrush and sticker bushes. The children call this "the forest" or "the woods". Thankfully, he was wanting to use his knife outside. I was thrilled. Not only would he make a mess someplace other than the house, but he might even cut down some of the underbrush. The added benefit is getting the boys outside, which they've barely seen since the thermometer hit 100.
"Yes, that's a great idea. Lets' review our safety rules."
Dane rattled them all off, then ran out to "cut", with Daelyn close behind. He was gone a whole five minutes when he came running in, screaming. My heart stopped a beat. I expected to see a finger hanging by a hunk of skin, nice outfit all bloodied. Instead, he appeared with red splotches and said he was getting eaten alive by mosquitoes and wanted bug spray. I gladly sprayed him and Daelyn and sent them back out.
Big sigh. It only lasted about 2 minutes the second time. The bugs are still biting, despite the bug spray. Suddenly, cutting doesn't seem to interest Dane so much.
I need to get better bug spray or come up with some other solution if I want to keep the house clean for our dinner guests on Wednesday. Until we can get to the store, I think the solution is to get the children involved CLEANING. Dane may decide he doesn't mind the bugs so much, after all.
We stayed at my brothers and, as we were preparing for bed the night we arrived, Chuck came into my bedroom.
"Is it okay for me to give Dane a pocket knife, Trish? You know, every little boy needs a good knife. He's old enough now to learn to handle one, but I wanted to check with you first."
The funny thing is that all reason flies out the window when I talk to my brother. He spoiled me rotten as a child. He wanted a little brother and I was his last chance. When I turned out to be a girl, he decided he'd take me, anyway. It helped that I was a tomboy and lived outside. I liked nothing better than to go with him on a long motorcycle ride (he's 7 years older than me) or to roll on a creeper under the car and hand him tools and talk his ears off while he worked on Dad's car. (He took over all the repairs for the family vehicles by the time he was about 14 - he's a mechanical genius.) His buddies would give him a little bit of a hard time when he showed up to meet them with me hanging onto the back of his bike. But he could silence them with a look and he always made me feel wanted. Later, after he left home and was living up north, he started racing motorcycles. He was #2 in the Nation in Amateur Road Racing. On his way to any races in the southeast, he'd stop and pick me up. I worked on his pit crew and got to spend time with him. I've joked for years that if he ever fell off the pedestal I have him on, he'd kill himself, it's so high.
To add to the confusion, I always had a pocket knife as a child - a Swiss Army knife. It had the spoon, fork, bottle opener, etc. on it and I kept it in my pocket at all times. And I used it, almost daily. It worked great at cutting the bad spots off an apple that had just fallen out of our tree so I could eat it while swinging on the tree swing Daddy made. I used the scissors to cut down dandelions in the yard. Even now, I have a small Swiss Army Knife on my keychain that I use FREQUENTLY. So, when Chuckie suggested giving a 6-yr. old a SHARP knife to be kept in his pocket at all times, of course I willingly agreed. I thought he'd wait until the next morning (maybe by then I'd regain my senses), but he went into the bedroom where Dane was curled up in a sleeping bag, asked him to join him in the hallway, and gave him a beautiful stainless pocket knife. Dane was so excited that he put it under his pillow while he slept.
It took less than 12 hours for him to get it taken away from him. We were getting ready to go out and I had loaded the children in the van. I found Dane with a pile of tiny strips of leaves in his lap that he had cut with his knife. His instructions were that he could only use the knife or scissors with permission, which he didn't have. It got taken away for 24 hours. By the time he got it back, we were on our way home.
Dane couldn't wait to show his Dad his new treasure. Daddy glanced at me with raised eyebrows. I looked sheepish and shrugged. He knows how I feel about my brother. But, the next day, when Dane left for school, Daelyn got ahold of his knife and we haven't seen it since. We've searched the house, torn it apart, looking for this special knife from Dane's uncle. But it's nowhere to be found. For Dane's birthday this year, his Daddy gave him a replacement. It's not near as nice as the one Uncle Chuckie gave him, but he was thrilled to have a new knife. (Don says this is not a two-word expression. He is constantly telling me "It's not a jack-knife. It's just a knife." He's wrong. You can't refer to this kind of a knife without two words - it's either a pocket knife or a jack-knife."
Last night, as I was tucking the boys in, I found one of Dane's nicer outfits folded neatly on the bottom of his bed. I quizzed him about it and he explained that he wanted to dress as soon as he woke up. This is very unusual for my children. They usually stay in their pajamas as long as possible, like their mother. When I explored further, he explained that he needed pockets so he could carry his POCKET KNIFE (see - two words!).
This morning, after breakfast, Dane asked permission to "cut some things" with his knife. I had visions of shredded pieces of paper all over the den or leaves all over the van. "Cut what and where?" I asked.
"You know, stuff," he replied, then added, "out in the woods."
We have a little stand of trees in the corner of our yard. It's about 6 trees and the area is full of underbrush and sticker bushes. The children call this "the forest" or "the woods". Thankfully, he was wanting to use his knife outside. I was thrilled. Not only would he make a mess someplace other than the house, but he might even cut down some of the underbrush. The added benefit is getting the boys outside, which they've barely seen since the thermometer hit 100.
"Yes, that's a great idea. Lets' review our safety rules."
Dane rattled them all off, then ran out to "cut", with Daelyn close behind. He was gone a whole five minutes when he came running in, screaming. My heart stopped a beat. I expected to see a finger hanging by a hunk of skin, nice outfit all bloodied. Instead, he appeared with red splotches and said he was getting eaten alive by mosquitoes and wanted bug spray. I gladly sprayed him and Daelyn and sent them back out.
Big sigh. It only lasted about 2 minutes the second time. The bugs are still biting, despite the bug spray. Suddenly, cutting doesn't seem to interest Dane so much.
I need to get better bug spray or come up with some other solution if I want to keep the house clean for our dinner guests on Wednesday. Until we can get to the store, I think the solution is to get the children involved CLEANING. Dane may decide he doesn't mind the bugs so much, after all.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Air Time
My son, the Pilot. You may remember from a year ago that my parents take each of their grandchildren for a flight in a small plane for their 7th birthday. Deanna's was a year late, due to bad weather conditions and some confusion. It didn't matter, however, when the pilot let her land the plane unaided. Dane's happened like clockwork, the day of his birthday. We took him to Chuck E. Cheese for lunch and went straight from there to the airport. On the way, Daelyn pointed out the airport and referred to it as "Sissy's airport". Dane corrected him and told him it would be "my airport soon". He had no sooner made that remark than we pulled up at the airport, Grandma and Grandpa pulled in next to us on one side and my niece on the other. It didn't take him too long to figure out that was his day.Here he is - at the controls, while the pilot did the pre-flight check. The legs in the back are Grandma and Grandpa. Dane got to try his hand flying the plane while in the air. Unfortunately, he didn't get to try a landing. I guess the pilot thought he was just a little too small. But he was undaunted. He had a wonderful time, as is evidenced by the look on his face.
Altered States
Donovan got altered yesterday. Our Contract with the Breeder stated that he would be neutered by 6 months of age. We got permission from her to wait until 7 months, per our Vet's request, so he'd develop more of his masculine traits before losing his masculinity. We later discovered one of his testicles had never descended and was imbedded in his thigh. The Vet explained that he would HAVE to be neutered, even if it hadn't been in the Contract, but the surgery would be much more extensive and require stitches and limitations of activity for 5 to 10 days afterward.
The day was at hand. We took him to the Clinic in the morning and stayed with him until after he had his pre-op sedative and was getting very drowsy. Then we kissed him, said goodbye, and let them take him to the back. Deanna cried. I gulped hard.
In the afternoon, I was missing him terribly and got to thinking about this keeping him overnight business. Everybody goes home at the Vet's at 5:30-ish, so who was going to be there to monitor my baby. If something happened to him, no one would even know until the next morning. I began to feel panic rising in me.
I called the Vet's office and asked for the Office Manager who's been with this doctor for about 20 years and is a very compassionate young woman. I explained that I realized I was hysterical but that in my altered mind, I couldn't quite figure out why he needed to be there alone overnight. She laughed and said that he didn't need monitoring - that was why they operated in the morning, giving him all afternoon to be monitored by the doctor - he just needed lots of good rest. She put me on hold and discussed it with the doctor. Within a half an hour, we were back at the Vet's, signing a release of liability so we could bring our baby home for the night.
Deanna was going to her Aunt's to spend the night but chose to have her Aunt wait, if necessary, so she could go with us and see the puppy before she left. He was pretty pitiful - very groggy, although excited to see us, and droopy-eyed, with big stitches and betadine on his underside. We promised the doctor to kennel him for the remainder of the evening and night. So much for my promise.
After listening to him crying and whining in the kennel for 3 hours and consoling Dane, who was crying because he couldn't stand listening to the puppy cry, I asked Don to tend to the children and I put Donovan on my lap in the Den. He curled up and fell fast asleep, and there he stayed for 3 hours. At bedtime, I gently laid him next to my bed, where he sleeps, then went down the hall to check on the children (my bedtime routine). I turned around to find him following slowly behind me. He stood outside the boy's room as I checked on them and straightened their covers. Then he padded along behind me to my bathroom and laid on the bathmat while I changed into jammies.
A little insecure still, he wanted to be on the bed with me. I carefully tucked him between my body and Don's, where he contentedly lay for a couple of hours. Then he got restless, so I put him back on the floor where he slept soundly until around 7:00, when I woke. I put him up on the bed with me and we snuggled a while, then each of the boys had some snuggle time with him. By the time we were up and about, he was stepping high and wagging his tail, obviously feeling better. All day today, Dane has talked gently to him and discussed his surgery with him. Deanna made it home from her Aunt's and, first thing, asked how the baby was doing. She proceeded to tuck him in her arms and talk baby-talk to him. At one point, I asked her why she was talking like that to him and she answered simply, "Because he's a baby."
I am thoroughly convinced that Daelyn has been replaced as the baby of the family. There's a line in the movie, "The Little Mermaid" where Ariel kids Flounder by telling him "You're such a guppy!" Everytime I look at Donovan dragging himself pitifully around, whimpering for someone to hand him his toy, or hear the children cooing gently at him, I think about this line. He may be a dog, but he's sure a guppy.
He's not allowed to climb stairs yet, so I have to carry him out into the yard to do his business. Neither Dane nor Daelyn can handle him without the chance of dropping him, so I attach his leash and carry him down the stairs. I leave him with one of the boys holding the leash, then return in a few minutes to carry him up the stairs. He doesn't even attempt them. He's perfectly happy with Mommy toting him about.
We've all been a little altered by this experience. Daelyn's position in the family has been altered, my good sense has been altered, Don's familiar spot in the bed has been altered, Dane's ability to take the puppy for walks and play with his best friend has been altered, Deanna's favorite doll has been altered, and Donovan, poor Donovan, has had his parts altered.
All in a day's work - with a little pain medicine to help the process.
The day was at hand. We took him to the Clinic in the morning and stayed with him until after he had his pre-op sedative and was getting very drowsy. Then we kissed him, said goodbye, and let them take him to the back. Deanna cried. I gulped hard.
In the afternoon, I was missing him terribly and got to thinking about this keeping him overnight business. Everybody goes home at the Vet's at 5:30-ish, so who was going to be there to monitor my baby. If something happened to him, no one would even know until the next morning. I began to feel panic rising in me.
I called the Vet's office and asked for the Office Manager who's been with this doctor for about 20 years and is a very compassionate young woman. I explained that I realized I was hysterical but that in my altered mind, I couldn't quite figure out why he needed to be there alone overnight. She laughed and said that he didn't need monitoring - that was why they operated in the morning, giving him all afternoon to be monitored by the doctor - he just needed lots of good rest. She put me on hold and discussed it with the doctor. Within a half an hour, we were back at the Vet's, signing a release of liability so we could bring our baby home for the night.
Deanna was going to her Aunt's to spend the night but chose to have her Aunt wait, if necessary, so she could go with us and see the puppy before she left. He was pretty pitiful - very groggy, although excited to see us, and droopy-eyed, with big stitches and betadine on his underside. We promised the doctor to kennel him for the remainder of the evening and night. So much for my promise.
After listening to him crying and whining in the kennel for 3 hours and consoling Dane, who was crying because he couldn't stand listening to the puppy cry, I asked Don to tend to the children and I put Donovan on my lap in the Den. He curled up and fell fast asleep, and there he stayed for 3 hours. At bedtime, I gently laid him next to my bed, where he sleeps, then went down the hall to check on the children (my bedtime routine). I turned around to find him following slowly behind me. He stood outside the boy's room as I checked on them and straightened their covers. Then he padded along behind me to my bathroom and laid on the bathmat while I changed into jammies.
A little insecure still, he wanted to be on the bed with me. I carefully tucked him between my body and Don's, where he contentedly lay for a couple of hours. Then he got restless, so I put him back on the floor where he slept soundly until around 7:00, when I woke. I put him up on the bed with me and we snuggled a while, then each of the boys had some snuggle time with him. By the time we were up and about, he was stepping high and wagging his tail, obviously feeling better. All day today, Dane has talked gently to him and discussed his surgery with him. Deanna made it home from her Aunt's and, first thing, asked how the baby was doing. She proceeded to tuck him in her arms and talk baby-talk to him. At one point, I asked her why she was talking like that to him and she answered simply, "Because he's a baby."
I am thoroughly convinced that Daelyn has been replaced as the baby of the family. There's a line in the movie, "The Little Mermaid" where Ariel kids Flounder by telling him "You're such a guppy!" Everytime I look at Donovan dragging himself pitifully around, whimpering for someone to hand him his toy, or hear the children cooing gently at him, I think about this line. He may be a dog, but he's sure a guppy.
He's not allowed to climb stairs yet, so I have to carry him out into the yard to do his business. Neither Dane nor Daelyn can handle him without the chance of dropping him, so I attach his leash and carry him down the stairs. I leave him with one of the boys holding the leash, then return in a few minutes to carry him up the stairs. He doesn't even attempt them. He's perfectly happy with Mommy toting him about.
We've all been a little altered by this experience. Daelyn's position in the family has been altered, my good sense has been altered, Don's familiar spot in the bed has been altered, Dane's ability to take the puppy for walks and play with his best friend has been altered, Deanna's favorite doll has been altered, and Donovan, poor Donovan, has had his parts altered.
All in a day's work - with a little pain medicine to help the process.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Motor-mouth
One of my nephews came home to visit this weekend. Well, really, to say goodbye. He's leaving Wednesday for a backpacking trip. He quit his job and is spending two to three months bumming around South America. He plans on staying at Hostels or in homes, if invited, and seeing that part of the world. I wish I had had the chance to do something like that, but the pressures of need (need food, need a car, need a roof over my head) far outweighed my desire for adventure. I commend him for his decision and am thrilled he's getting this opportunity.
He spent a good bit of time with my parents. We made plans to go out to dinner Saturday night as a family. Then Grandma told the children that he and his girlfriend were coming over around 2:00 Saturday afternoon to play cards. The children begged permission to join them. I called Grandma to check and see if it was okay, then sent them through the backyards.
I was doing some work later on the computer when Daelyn returned, red-faced and out of breath. He had run home in the heat from Grandma's house. He dropped at my feet for a short rest, then began talking. He finally paused, thought for a minute or two, then blurted out, "Grandma's so old she's almost dead."
I stifled a laugh. Pretending shock, I raised my voice, "Son! How could you say such a thing. She is getting older but she has a lot of life still left in her."
He continued. "Well, if she's gonna die anyway, let's just get it over with."
He should have stopped before he dug his hole deeper. This time, not needing to feign shock, I looked at him over the top of my glasses. I took a long breath myself before jumping into this one.
"Do you have any idea what that means?"
"No. It just sounded good."
"Then absolutely DON'T say it. Never say anything unless you understand what it means, son."
"What DOES it mean, then?"
"It means you want your Grandma to hurry up and die."
For the first time, possibly ever, he was stumped. The reality of his own words sunk in and as the thought of life without Grandma finally became clear, his eyes got big around and his mouth dropped open - - silently open. He was amazingly quiet for several minutes, then decided he wanted to go back to Grandma's house. He gently told me he was returning and took off out the door.
Life without Grandma will happen at some point in the future. It's not something we look for or even dare to think about. My little one had blundered into something that he probably heard on Gunsmoke or Magnum PI and repeated at the first opportunity. But even he realized it was a blunder.
There was nothing more said about this subject. Later, I repeated the first part of it to my Mom who told me he had also told on Grandpa. My father was diagnosed last week with Shingles and is in quite a bit of pain. Daelyn, while visiting on Saturday, told Grandpa to stop scratching, that he wasn't allowed to scratch, then ran to report to Grandma.
If he keeps this up, he may be on the plane to South America with James on Wednesday. I'm sure Grandma and Grandpa will pitch in on the fare.
He spent a good bit of time with my parents. We made plans to go out to dinner Saturday night as a family. Then Grandma told the children that he and his girlfriend were coming over around 2:00 Saturday afternoon to play cards. The children begged permission to join them. I called Grandma to check and see if it was okay, then sent them through the backyards.
I was doing some work later on the computer when Daelyn returned, red-faced and out of breath. He had run home in the heat from Grandma's house. He dropped at my feet for a short rest, then began talking. He finally paused, thought for a minute or two, then blurted out, "Grandma's so old she's almost dead."
I stifled a laugh. Pretending shock, I raised my voice, "Son! How could you say such a thing. She is getting older but she has a lot of life still left in her."
He continued. "Well, if she's gonna die anyway, let's just get it over with."
He should have stopped before he dug his hole deeper. This time, not needing to feign shock, I looked at him over the top of my glasses. I took a long breath myself before jumping into this one.
"Do you have any idea what that means?"
"No. It just sounded good."
"Then absolutely DON'T say it. Never say anything unless you understand what it means, son."
"What DOES it mean, then?"
"It means you want your Grandma to hurry up and die."
For the first time, possibly ever, he was stumped. The reality of his own words sunk in and as the thought of life without Grandma finally became clear, his eyes got big around and his mouth dropped open - - silently open. He was amazingly quiet for several minutes, then decided he wanted to go back to Grandma's house. He gently told me he was returning and took off out the door.
Life without Grandma will happen at some point in the future. It's not something we look for or even dare to think about. My little one had blundered into something that he probably heard on Gunsmoke or Magnum PI and repeated at the first opportunity. But even he realized it was a blunder.
There was nothing more said about this subject. Later, I repeated the first part of it to my Mom who told me he had also told on Grandpa. My father was diagnosed last week with Shingles and is in quite a bit of pain. Daelyn, while visiting on Saturday, told Grandpa to stop scratching, that he wasn't allowed to scratch, then ran to report to Grandma.
If he keeps this up, he may be on the plane to South America with James on Wednesday. I'm sure Grandma and Grandpa will pitch in on the fare.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
How "little" are they?
Last night, Don snuggled up to me in bed. I had already put on my CPAP breathing machine (for sleep apnea) and was lying on my side turned away from him. He put his mouth close to my ear and whispered, "What service are we going to tomorrow?" My husband, the romantic.
We decided to try the early service, which starts at 7:45 a.m. We used to attend this service regularly when Deanna was a baby, as she was always up early and it didn't interfere with morning or afternoon naps. But back then, the service was at 8:00. It got changed to 7:45 when they added a third service at 11:30 a.m.
We live 20 minutes from our church, so to arrive on time for a 7:45 service means getting up early-thirty, getting the children fed, dressed, Deanna's hair done, shoes on the boys feet, and ourselves bathed/showered and dressed. For years, we've considered it impossible and have not even attempted the early-morning ritual. But we went to the 8:00 service when visiting Don's parents last week in West Virginia and are having friends over this afternoon for a game of cards and an early dinner. The early service seemed to be the best option.
This morning, we dressed quickly, I threw on some make-up, and we headed out the door. We were about 3 minutes late getting out of the driveway. We had traveled only about 2 blocks when we realized one of the children had left a chocolate pop-tart on the edge of the kitchen table, well within Donovan's reach. As most of you know, chocolate is toxic to dogs, so we turned around and headed home. Pulling out of the driveway the second time, we were running about 10 minutes late. Don commented that we'd be lucky to arrive before the sermon. The early service has no hymns, no bells, no whistles. The Priest processes in with the cross in silence, the scriptures are read, the Psalm said, then the Sermon starts.
We were driving as quickly as the speed limit would allow.
Daelyn: "Wow, we're really flying!"
Daddy: "Well, we're not flying too fast. We have to be careful. There's usually two little police cars that sit right ahead on this road watching for people speeding."
Daelyn: "How little are the police cars?"
Dane: "A lot smaller than our van."
Daelyn: "Why don't we just run over them with the van, Daddy?"
Don and I glanced at each other and grinned. Great way to not draw attention to yourselves when we're late for church.
We arrived just at the end of the Gospel, in time for the sermon. No speeding tickets, no crushed "little" police cars. Just a slightly disheveled family smiling radiantly as we slipped into our pew.
We decided to try the early service, which starts at 7:45 a.m. We used to attend this service regularly when Deanna was a baby, as she was always up early and it didn't interfere with morning or afternoon naps. But back then, the service was at 8:00. It got changed to 7:45 when they added a third service at 11:30 a.m.
We live 20 minutes from our church, so to arrive on time for a 7:45 service means getting up early-thirty, getting the children fed, dressed, Deanna's hair done, shoes on the boys feet, and ourselves bathed/showered and dressed. For years, we've considered it impossible and have not even attempted the early-morning ritual. But we went to the 8:00 service when visiting Don's parents last week in West Virginia and are having friends over this afternoon for a game of cards and an early dinner. The early service seemed to be the best option.
This morning, we dressed quickly, I threw on some make-up, and we headed out the door. We were about 3 minutes late getting out of the driveway. We had traveled only about 2 blocks when we realized one of the children had left a chocolate pop-tart on the edge of the kitchen table, well within Donovan's reach. As most of you know, chocolate is toxic to dogs, so we turned around and headed home. Pulling out of the driveway the second time, we were running about 10 minutes late. Don commented that we'd be lucky to arrive before the sermon. The early service has no hymns, no bells, no whistles. The Priest processes in with the cross in silence, the scriptures are read, the Psalm said, then the Sermon starts.
We were driving as quickly as the speed limit would allow.
Daelyn: "Wow, we're really flying!"
Daddy: "Well, we're not flying too fast. We have to be careful. There's usually two little police cars that sit right ahead on this road watching for people speeding."
Daelyn: "How little are the police cars?"
Dane: "A lot smaller than our van."
Daelyn: "Why don't we just run over them with the van, Daddy?"
Don and I glanced at each other and grinned. Great way to not draw attention to yourselves when we're late for church.
We arrived just at the end of the Gospel, in time for the sermon. No speeding tickets, no crushed "little" police cars. Just a slightly disheveled family smiling radiantly as we slipped into our pew.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Order Restored
We picked Deanna up yesterday near the border of Virginia and West Virginia. It was a 4-hr. drive each way, so I rented movies for the children to watch in the van. We took pecans for Grandma and Grandpa, they brought bell peppers from their garden for me.
Last night, she was determined to bring peace back into our home. She was very frustrated with her brothers. The problem was, she thought the best way to do that was to be a second mama. She bossed, fussed at, and tried to discipline. Don and I finally talked with her and explained that the boys didn't need another mother, they needed their sissy.
This morning, she slept in, then got up and encouraged the boys to get their Saturday chores done. Don and I had been encouraging, but it didn't matter. Sissy dangled in front of their noses that they could do something fun once their chores were done. The idea of doing something fun with their sissy was enough to motivate them.
Deanna's laying on the floor in the Den now. The boys are also prone and, in the middle, is a huge pile of Geomags. Dane got them for Christmas last year and they've never piqued his interest - until this morning. Daelyn wants Deanna to make the Leaning Tower of Pizza (except I explained that a recent engineering study indicated that the tower in Pisa is actually leaning more each year, so the children have decided to change its name to the Falling Tower of Pizza). They've made amphitheaters, pyramids, wheels, and lots of other interesting things this morning. No one has asked to watch morning cartoons. No one has complained that there's nothing to do. No one's destroying the Play Room.
As I type and Donovan sleeps under my chair, Don clips coupons on the loveseat and we listen to the children chattering happily.
Sissy is home. All is well with the world.
Last night, she was determined to bring peace back into our home. She was very frustrated with her brothers. The problem was, she thought the best way to do that was to be a second mama. She bossed, fussed at, and tried to discipline. Don and I finally talked with her and explained that the boys didn't need another mother, they needed their sissy.
This morning, she slept in, then got up and encouraged the boys to get their Saturday chores done. Don and I had been encouraging, but it didn't matter. Sissy dangled in front of their noses that they could do something fun once their chores were done. The idea of doing something fun with their sissy was enough to motivate them.
Deanna's laying on the floor in the Den now. The boys are also prone and, in the middle, is a huge pile of Geomags. Dane got them for Christmas last year and they've never piqued his interest - until this morning. Daelyn wants Deanna to make the Leaning Tower of Pizza (except I explained that a recent engineering study indicated that the tower in Pisa is actually leaning more each year, so the children have decided to change its name to the Falling Tower of Pizza). They've made amphitheaters, pyramids, wheels, and lots of other interesting things this morning. No one has asked to watch morning cartoons. No one has complained that there's nothing to do. No one's destroying the Play Room.
As I type and Donovan sleeps under my chair, Don clips coupons on the loveseat and we listen to the children chattering happily.
Sissy is home. All is well with the world.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Non-Stop Commentary
I was just checking out my Post from earlier to make sure the picture downloaded correctly. Daelyn is standing at my shoulder looking at the picture of me parasailing.
Daelyn: "Oh, look, a hot air balloon."
Me: "That's not a hot air balloon. It's me, when I was parasailing. See that little spot at the bottom of the parachute. That's me."
Daelyn: "Turn the picture around so I can see the boat." (He's been watching over my shoulder as I do 3-D photo tours of hotels - we're shopping for a place to stay for our anniversary.)
Me: "You can't turn the picture around, son. That's the picture, just like that."
Daelyn: "Why did the sign say 'Alligator Crossing'? There was no water there."
Me: ? No need to respond. I have no idea what he's talking about. Does the child ever follow a single train of thought? I wonder.
Daelyn, completely undeterred by my lack of response: "See this little thing on my finger? It hurts." He presses one thumb up against the other until it turns white and jams it so close to my face I can touch it with my tongue."
Me, laughing: "I can't see anything. It's way too small."
Daelyn: "I have to go to the bathroom."
He's down the hall in the halfbath now, talking non-stop. But he doesn't seem to expect a response from me, which is just fine since I'm busily typing. NONSTOP!! He's talked the entire time I've been writing. Don's concerned about Kindergarten. Thankfully, we have one more year to try to curb the constant chatter.
Ah, the boys too much like his mother.
Daelyn: "Oh, look, a hot air balloon."
Me: "That's not a hot air balloon. It's me, when I was parasailing. See that little spot at the bottom of the parachute. That's me."
Daelyn: "Turn the picture around so I can see the boat." (He's been watching over my shoulder as I do 3-D photo tours of hotels - we're shopping for a place to stay for our anniversary.)
Me: "You can't turn the picture around, son. That's the picture, just like that."
Daelyn: "Why did the sign say 'Alligator Crossing'? There was no water there."
Me: ? No need to respond. I have no idea what he's talking about. Does the child ever follow a single train of thought? I wonder.
Daelyn, completely undeterred by my lack of response: "See this little thing on my finger? It hurts." He presses one thumb up against the other until it turns white and jams it so close to my face I can touch it with my tongue."
Me, laughing: "I can't see anything. It's way too small."
Daelyn: "I have to go to the bathroom."
He's down the hall in the halfbath now, talking non-stop. But he doesn't seem to expect a response from me, which is just fine since I'm busily typing. NONSTOP!! He's talked the entire time I've been writing. Don's concerned about Kindergarten. Thankfully, we have one more year to try to curb the constant chatter.
Ah, the boys too much like his mother.
Close to God
This is me - can't you tell? I was parasailing at the time. At this point, I was high enough up that you can barely see the parachute, let alone me.
Deanna took this picture from the boat. I was taking pictures from the air with a waterproof disposable camera Don bought for me. My pictures show the boat progressively getting smaller and smaller. While I was in the air, the only way I could tell how high I had gotten was by the size of the boat. At this point, I was probably around 800 feet up.
If I had known then what I know now, I would have taken Deanna up with me. She loves to go high on swings and this would be the ultimate high swing ride. Hopefully, there'll be other opportunities.
On another note, my precious baby girl has almost finished her week with Grandma and Grandpa and I can't wait for her to get home. We're picking her up tomorrow at a half-way point.
When Deanna was born, people kept telling me that since my first child was a girl, I would always have peace in my home. I didn't quite get that, but I heard it from, literally, dozens of people. As Deanna gets older and becomes the big sister in practical ways, I notice it more and more. Often, by her absence, like this week. The boys have been intolerable - disobedient, belligerent, basically stinkers. Yesterday, Daelyn called me a "dumb Mommy" and Dane threw a toy car at me when I told him it was bathtime (for which they were both disciplined - I exercised amazing restraint by only sending them to their rooms). They never act like this when Sissy's home. She has a way of weaving them into her activities without them even realizing. She keeps them occupied and entertained in ways they can't think of on their own.
Come home, Sis, while you still have brothers. If we have to wait too much longer, their health may be in danger!
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
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