After three days on steroids, Dane's legs and hand are finally looking a little better and he can sleep without scratching constantly. Two more days of the meds to go, then we'll see if he has a rebound to them. If so, he may have to go back on them and be tapered off.
Don's going back to England. His company won the contract that he helped write and was the reason we went over the first time. They found out the Thursday before we left for the beach that the contract had been awarded and Don got a call that day asking him to come over from Saturday to Saturday. We were thrilled - he'd be in England while we were at the beach so he wouldn't be home alone and I could send him with an empty suitcase that he could fill with all kinds of yummy English treats like crumpets, Hob-Nobs, white chocolate spread, PORRIDGE (oh, yes!), and Tate and Lyle's Golden Syrup. However, his boss said no. They were being audited last week by the DOE and Don was the point-person for the audit, so his boss said he just couldn't part with him.
Don was horribly disappointed and my dreams of warm crumpets with Belgian chocolate spread and a hot cup of tea on a cool winter morning were dashed. But then he called yesterday afternoon to say that they've called again and want him to come for three weeks. He's trying to negotiate not flying out until the afternoon of Daelyn's first day of Kindergarten so he can be there to see his last child march out of the gym in his uniform, just like the big kids. Today they broke the news to him, though, that there's some big meeting on Wednesday and they need him there in time to prepare.
The good news is that he'll be working in the same office with many of the same people. The good news from HIS perspective is cooler temperatures. My friend Monika told me last night on the phone (when I called to tell her and her other half, Chris, that Don's coming over) that she's already turned her heat on. I'm hoping he'll get to see all my friends and get to our church for Sunday services. I've called two of my friends and e-mailed a third. I'll miss him terribly, but I'm thrilled he's getting to go.
My latest news is that I have a Crafts Show lined up for my soaps. Our church has a Winter Bazaar each year that does VERY well. I'm signed up to have a booth there. I'm hoping to make at least $300 for the day. I've also been invited to set up a booth during our church's pumpkin patch each Saturday in October. I'm setting aside two Saturdays for that and the Bazaar is November 3. So I'm quite busy building up my stock. There won't be a lot of time between the Saturdays at the Pumpkin Patch and the Crafts Show the first weekend in November, so I have to have everything ready before October.
We're getting settled back in from the beach and I'm beginning to get the house a little better organized. And, lest you think I've forgotten about furniture, I've been watching on-line prices for the best possible sales.
That, in a nutshell, is the latest. Add to that all the preparations for the first day of school and life is very busy, as usual.
If you had told me a year ago that I'd be looking forward to the children being back in school, I would have laughed in your face. However, as the day approaches, I find that I'm ready for Daelyn to jump into Kindergarten - not because I want him out of the house, but because I can't wait to get the house REALLY, DEEPLY clean and I'm totally convinced that I'll be able to accomplish it once the kids are gone all day.
Of course, I'll be spending Mondays in Daelyn's class with him. I couldn't possibly go cold turkey.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
Human Touch
I got to see my niece last week - the one who's left town for Grad School. She came to the beach Friday morning, spent the day and night, and we followed her home on Saturday to see her apartment before heading home ourselves.
It was wonderful to see her, even though it's only been three weeks. I've prayed for her often, called her occasionally, and thought about her nearly constantly over the last three weeks. I had the opportunity to take her grocery shopping and put gas in her car - little things in the grand scheme, but every little bit helps.
During the day on Friday we were talking and I asked her if she was lonely and if she was hearing from her friends back home.
"Not too many people have called, but I'm too busy to talk even if they did," she explained. One of the five classes she's teaching has 200 students. She has to assign homework regularly and administer tests. The grading alone of the homework and tests for that many students times 5 is staggering, not to mention the three papers she's already had to do for her graduate courses, preparing lectures, having office hours, etc.
Then she continued.
"The thing that has struck me the most, though, is not being hugged."
"What do you mean," I asked, not quite getting her inference.
"Well, think about it, Aunt Pat," she said (using that nickname for me that I hate and only my nieces and nephews use - they're the only ones who can get away with such a masculine version of my given name), "for the last 28 years of my life I've been hugged daily, usually several times a day, between Mom and Dad, my aunts, grandparents, cousins, friends, and the people from my church. For the last two weeks, I haven't had any physical contact with another human being. I don't know anyone well enough to hug them and no one is hugging me. After 28 years of daily physical contact with people who care about me, for the last two weeks, I've not been touched. I had no idea how deeply that would affect me."
I'm sure she had no idea how deeply that would affect me, either. I cried. Then I called the children who all took turns hugging their cousin and making sure she had enough physical contact to, hopefully, make up for the last two weeks.
I know she will eventually build close relationships. But, in the meantime, she's missing out on such a simple gift that most of us take for granted - the gift of touch, the ability to reach out and physically connect with another human being.
Over the years I've visited nursing homes and been struck by how much the elderly need to be touched - their hands held, their arms rubbed, a tight squeeze around the shoulders - human contact. It's a basic human need. And scientists now are beginning to more fully understand the impact of the lack of human touch. Babies who aren't touched regularly and lovingly develop attachment disorder and are incapable of reciprocating love. It follows them into adulthood and has a tremendous impact on their future for the rest of their lives. The elderly crave the touch that they experienced routinely for so long and now are without. When I visit nursing homes, I make a special effort to TOUCH as many people as I can. Now my own niece, my beloved, precious niece, is suffering from the same lack in her life.
We all need to be reminded from time to time of the need for connecting with another human being and recognize that lots of people live their lives without that touch for years on end. We don't think about it because we have it. But there are many out there who don't.
And, apparently, my niece is one of those people.
It was wonderful to see her, even though it's only been three weeks. I've prayed for her often, called her occasionally, and thought about her nearly constantly over the last three weeks. I had the opportunity to take her grocery shopping and put gas in her car - little things in the grand scheme, but every little bit helps.
During the day on Friday we were talking and I asked her if she was lonely and if she was hearing from her friends back home.
"Not too many people have called, but I'm too busy to talk even if they did," she explained. One of the five classes she's teaching has 200 students. She has to assign homework regularly and administer tests. The grading alone of the homework and tests for that many students times 5 is staggering, not to mention the three papers she's already had to do for her graduate courses, preparing lectures, having office hours, etc.
Then she continued.
"The thing that has struck me the most, though, is not being hugged."
"What do you mean," I asked, not quite getting her inference.
"Well, think about it, Aunt Pat," she said (using that nickname for me that I hate and only my nieces and nephews use - they're the only ones who can get away with such a masculine version of my given name), "for the last 28 years of my life I've been hugged daily, usually several times a day, between Mom and Dad, my aunts, grandparents, cousins, friends, and the people from my church. For the last two weeks, I haven't had any physical contact with another human being. I don't know anyone well enough to hug them and no one is hugging me. After 28 years of daily physical contact with people who care about me, for the last two weeks, I've not been touched. I had no idea how deeply that would affect me."
I'm sure she had no idea how deeply that would affect me, either. I cried. Then I called the children who all took turns hugging their cousin and making sure she had enough physical contact to, hopefully, make up for the last two weeks.
I know she will eventually build close relationships. But, in the meantime, she's missing out on such a simple gift that most of us take for granted - the gift of touch, the ability to reach out and physically connect with another human being.
Over the years I've visited nursing homes and been struck by how much the elderly need to be touched - their hands held, their arms rubbed, a tight squeeze around the shoulders - human contact. It's a basic human need. And scientists now are beginning to more fully understand the impact of the lack of human touch. Babies who aren't touched regularly and lovingly develop attachment disorder and are incapable of reciprocating love. It follows them into adulthood and has a tremendous impact on their future for the rest of their lives. The elderly crave the touch that they experienced routinely for so long and now are without. When I visit nursing homes, I make a special effort to TOUCH as many people as I can. Now my own niece, my beloved, precious niece, is suffering from the same lack in her life.
We all need to be reminded from time to time of the need for connecting with another human being and recognize that lots of people live their lives without that touch for years on end. We don't think about it because we have it. But there are many out there who don't.
And, apparently, my niece is one of those people.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Jellyfish Infestation
We got home from the beach last night. The children reached a saturation point with the ocean. The much-reported jellyfish plaque was a little too much for them.
Deanna would come in when I drug her, kicking and screaming, off her boogey-board. Then she'd proceed to show us the dozens of jellyfish stings she had suffered silently. After all, if she had complained, I may have made her come out of the water.
Daelyn got quite a few stings, as well, and decided he didn't like the ocean after 5 days of swimming and getting stung.
But the worst, by far, was Dane. He got a Sea Wasp (a member of the Portuguese Man-of-War family) sting on the top of his foot, tons of stings all over his body, then a very large jelly attached itself to his leg. It left huge welts and red slash marks all down his leg and on his foot. The final insult was when a detached tentacle attached to his face above his top lip. He grabbed it off but it left a line of stings across his face and sting marks on his hand from pulling it off.
I gave him a dose of Benadryl when we came in that afternoon and propped him up on the couch to watch a movie. Then, yesterday, on the way home from Hilton Head, he began complaining of itching. I checked him over when we stopped and he had broken out into hives. Unbeknownst to us, he's allergic to jellyfish stings.
We stopped at a drugstore along the way, picked up more Benadryl and hydrocortisone cream, and gave him another dose. We repeated it again once we got home but, by then, his face, hand, leg and foot were fire-engine red and burning hot to the touch. The hives spread rapidly and things continued to get worse.
This morning we met one of the doctors in his pediatrician's practice in the lobby of one of the hospitals in town. She listened to his lungs, examined him quickly, and sent us home with a prescription for steroids, along with a warning that it wouldn't kick in until this evening.
Before bed tonight, the redness had dissipated considerably and the hives were going down. Although he's still very itchy, he seems to be on the mend.
The kids haven't asked if we're going back to the beach again next year. Maybe once the scars are gone, they'll forget the bad, remember the good, and want to go to the beach again.
But I'm checking the water thoroughly before letting Dane go in. He has always attracted animals, but jellyfish is pushing it just a little too far.
Deanna would come in when I drug her, kicking and screaming, off her boogey-board. Then she'd proceed to show us the dozens of jellyfish stings she had suffered silently. After all, if she had complained, I may have made her come out of the water.
Daelyn got quite a few stings, as well, and decided he didn't like the ocean after 5 days of swimming and getting stung.
But the worst, by far, was Dane. He got a Sea Wasp (a member of the Portuguese Man-of-War family) sting on the top of his foot, tons of stings all over his body, then a very large jelly attached itself to his leg. It left huge welts and red slash marks all down his leg and on his foot. The final insult was when a detached tentacle attached to his face above his top lip. He grabbed it off but it left a line of stings across his face and sting marks on his hand from pulling it off.
I gave him a dose of Benadryl when we came in that afternoon and propped him up on the couch to watch a movie. Then, yesterday, on the way home from Hilton Head, he began complaining of itching. I checked him over when we stopped and he had broken out into hives. Unbeknownst to us, he's allergic to jellyfish stings.
We stopped at a drugstore along the way, picked up more Benadryl and hydrocortisone cream, and gave him another dose. We repeated it again once we got home but, by then, his face, hand, leg and foot were fire-engine red and burning hot to the touch. The hives spread rapidly and things continued to get worse.
This morning we met one of the doctors in his pediatrician's practice in the lobby of one of the hospitals in town. She listened to his lungs, examined him quickly, and sent us home with a prescription for steroids, along with a warning that it wouldn't kick in until this evening.
Before bed tonight, the redness had dissipated considerably and the hives were going down. Although he's still very itchy, he seems to be on the mend.
The kids haven't asked if we're going back to the beach again next year. Maybe once the scars are gone, they'll forget the bad, remember the good, and want to go to the beach again.
But I'm checking the water thoroughly before letting Dane go in. He has always attracted animals, but jellyfish is pushing it just a little too far.
Friday, August 17, 2007
The Beach Beckons
No rain for weeks and weeks. Then, as soon as Don and I go outside to load the van for our beachtrip - monsoon!
Actually, it rained yesterday afternoon, too. I'm thankful for the rain. We certainly need it.
It made me realize that we might ought to pack a few extra things for the beach. What if it rains for hours while we're there. I asked Deanna earlier to pack a few fun things to do.
"Mom," she said, "all I plan on doing is boogey-boarding."
That's all fine and wonderful, but we can't spend 12 hours/day on the beach without looking like an over-cooked McDonald's french fry. We have to have some other things to do. And what if it DOES rain? Then, of course, there's the issue of the jellyfish. A friend of mine who lives on Tybee Island told me that the jellyfish only seem to be bad during one tide. He couldn't remember if it was high tide or low tide, but that eliminates half of the day if we're avoiding one tide.
We got the bikes loaded and the children's suitcases, boogey-boards and two beach chairs. The van is full. We still have all the food, the beach umbrella, the beach bag, my clothes, the playing cards, the beach towels, the . . . And no space left.
The packing is always the worst part of this process. But, by this time tomorrow, I'll be smelling salt air and hearing the surf. It's definately worth it all.
I'll be signing off for the next week while I enjoy our final vacation before school starts in September. And maybe, just maybe, I'll get some much-needed rest before the ratrace starts all over again.
Actually, it rained yesterday afternoon, too. I'm thankful for the rain. We certainly need it.
It made me realize that we might ought to pack a few extra things for the beach. What if it rains for hours while we're there. I asked Deanna earlier to pack a few fun things to do.
"Mom," she said, "all I plan on doing is boogey-boarding."
That's all fine and wonderful, but we can't spend 12 hours/day on the beach without looking like an over-cooked McDonald's french fry. We have to have some other things to do. And what if it DOES rain? Then, of course, there's the issue of the jellyfish. A friend of mine who lives on Tybee Island told me that the jellyfish only seem to be bad during one tide. He couldn't remember if it was high tide or low tide, but that eliminates half of the day if we're avoiding one tide.
We got the bikes loaded and the children's suitcases, boogey-boards and two beach chairs. The van is full. We still have all the food, the beach umbrella, the beach bag, my clothes, the playing cards, the beach towels, the . . . And no space left.
The packing is always the worst part of this process. But, by this time tomorrow, I'll be smelling salt air and hearing the surf. It's definately worth it all.
I'll be signing off for the next week while I enjoy our final vacation before school starts in September. And maybe, just maybe, I'll get some much-needed rest before the ratrace starts all over again.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Word Games
Deanna is trying to finish up her school work so she can turn it all in before we leave for the beach on Saturday. I did two pages of Math Speed Drills with her, then we sat down to eat lunch yesterday.
"Okay, Daelyn, it's your turn," I said. "Let's practice saying words."
We've been working on Daelyn's speech patterns in preparation for the start of school. I've been teaching him to say t-rain for train instead of shrain, which is how he says every blend. He always reverts back to an "sh" sound if he can't pronounce the sound correctly.
"Say 't-rain' for me," I prompted.
"T-rain," he said, perfectly. One of Deanna's eyebrows went up.
"Say 'barbecue'."
"Barbecue."
"Say 'b-read'."
"B-read."
Perfect everytime. No difficulty with blends, just perfectly clear words.
Deanna snickered and began giving him impossible words to pronounce that she can't even say correctly. Daelyn smiled. He knew he had done well. Then he began rattling off all her hard words after her.
Dane, meanwhile, was sitting quietly at his place at the table listening.
"Mom," he said with a worried tone.
"Yes, son?" I responded.
"I'm not sure I can say those words."
Don't worry, son. At least you can spell them and Deanna can't.
Each of us have our gifts. Deanna is definitely her wit. But Dane runs circles around her in spelling. We're not yet sure what gifts Daelyn possesses, but cuteness has got to be one of them.
"Okay, Daelyn, it's your turn," I said. "Let's practice saying words."
We've been working on Daelyn's speech patterns in preparation for the start of school. I've been teaching him to say t-rain for train instead of shrain, which is how he says every blend. He always reverts back to an "sh" sound if he can't pronounce the sound correctly.
"Say 't-rain' for me," I prompted.
"T-rain," he said, perfectly. One of Deanna's eyebrows went up.
"Say 'barbecue'."
"Barbecue."
"Say 'b-read'."
"B-read."
Perfect everytime. No difficulty with blends, just perfectly clear words.
Deanna snickered and began giving him impossible words to pronounce that she can't even say correctly. Daelyn smiled. He knew he had done well. Then he began rattling off all her hard words after her.
Dane, meanwhile, was sitting quietly at his place at the table listening.
"Mom," he said with a worried tone.
"Yes, son?" I responded.
"I'm not sure I can say those words."
Don't worry, son. At least you can spell them and Deanna can't.
Each of us have our gifts. Deanna is definitely her wit. But Dane runs circles around her in spelling. We're not yet sure what gifts Daelyn possesses, but cuteness has got to be one of them.
Monday, August 13, 2007
I'm Going to be Published Again
for the first time in many years. Greg Lang, a New York Times bestselling author, is doing a book on the relationship between fathers and their daughters. He e-mailed me and asked me to submit a story "with a motivational, heart-felt message. Something others can read and say “ah-ha” or “I want to be just like that” afterward."
I thought about it for a couple of weeks, then submitted a story along with a story my sister remembers of my father. Greg wrote back and asked permission to use my sister's story, as well.
You can read Part II of my story on his Blog post for August 9. Part I was on August 8.
Hope it makes you want to call your Dad.
I thought about it for a couple of weeks, then submitted a story along with a story my sister remembers of my father. Greg wrote back and asked permission to use my sister's story, as well.
You can read Part II of my story on his Blog post for August 9. Part I was on August 8.
Hope it makes you want to call your Dad.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Play It Again, Sam
Deanna has a sore throat which has worsened over the last couple of days, so I took her to the doctor today. We were sitting in the Waiting Room talking about how loud her Daddy can be, especially for a very quiet man. We talked about how he pounds through the house when he walks, shaking the whole house, and how loud he talks when it's quiet. Normally, we can barely hear him.
Then we began talking about what type of volume is appropriate in different places. She said,
"Everyone always talks in a whisper in places like this."
"That's because this is a place of business," I explained. You need to be businesslike in here - and that means quiet. You should use a soft voice at all places of business. Not like the grocery store, where you go to socialize."
I glanced at Deanna. She had that "you're crazy" look on her face. I quickly re-thought what I had just said.
"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked, absolutely clueless what the look was about.
"Mama, most people don't consider going to the grocery store to be a social function," she jibed.
Then they don't shop where I shop, I thought.
Then we began talking about what type of volume is appropriate in different places. She said,
"Everyone always talks in a whisper in places like this."
"That's because this is a place of business," I explained. You need to be businesslike in here - and that means quiet. You should use a soft voice at all places of business. Not like the grocery store, where you go to socialize."
I glanced at Deanna. She had that "you're crazy" look on her face. I quickly re-thought what I had just said.
"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked, absolutely clueless what the look was about.
"Mama, most people don't consider going to the grocery store to be a social function," she jibed.
Then they don't shop where I shop, I thought.
Open Mouth, Insert Foot
I was in the kitchen cutting up red bell peppers to freeze. Grandma and Grandpa Doughty gave me a bagful and I needed to do something with them. Deanna was eating breakfast at the table and Daelyn was talking to her.
"That thing that hangs down is called a hose," I heard Daelyn say.
"No it's not, honey," I interrupted. "It's called the uvula."
Deanna and Daelyn stared at me.
"That thing that hangs down in your throat in the back - it's called the uvula," I explained to their blank expressions.
"That thing hanging off Mr. Bud's closeline over there?" Deanna asked, pointing out the window to the neighbor's yard.
I looked out the window, then remembered the conversation at dinner last night where we had been discussing what that thing could be. Don thought the clothesline had fallen. I thought it was too thick for the clothesline, but didn't have any other ideas. Apparently, Daelyn checked it out, and it's a hose.
"Oh." I did it again.
"That thing that hangs down is called a hose," I heard Daelyn say.
"No it's not, honey," I interrupted. "It's called the uvula."
Deanna and Daelyn stared at me.
"That thing that hangs down in your throat in the back - it's called the uvula," I explained to their blank expressions.
"That thing hanging off Mr. Bud's closeline over there?" Deanna asked, pointing out the window to the neighbor's yard.
I looked out the window, then remembered the conversation at dinner last night where we had been discussing what that thing could be. Don thought the clothesline had fallen. I thought it was too thick for the clothesline, but didn't have any other ideas. Apparently, Daelyn checked it out, and it's a hose.
"Oh." I did it again.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Those Old Pregnancy Conditions
While we were in West Virginia, a local glass company, Fenton Glass, held their annual Glass Festival. Don and Grandpa took the children. They had a tour of the Glassworks and three demonstrations of glass-blowing. The children were quite impressed and came home with lots of stories. In addition to the Glassworks, there were booths set up outside by all kinds of different glass crafters - stained glass, painted glass, etc.
Before they left for the Festival, Deanna and I were talking about the day. I told her what I needed to get done and she told me there were several things she wanted to do that day.
"But we're going to the Phenergen Gas Festival!" she told me.
" 'Phenergen'?" I asked. She giggled.
"I meant, 'Fenton'."
" 'Gas' Festival?" I kidded. She hadn't caught that one.
Uproarious laughter. "Is THAT what I said? 'Phenergen Gas'?" More peels of laughter.
What can I say? My daughter's been around pregnant women a lot lately. Any guesses what our conversations have been about?
Before they left for the Festival, Deanna and I were talking about the day. I told her what I needed to get done and she told me there were several things she wanted to do that day.
"But we're going to the Phenergen Gas Festival!" she told me.
" 'Phenergen'?" I asked. She giggled.
"I meant, 'Fenton'."
" 'Gas' Festival?" I kidded. She hadn't caught that one.
Uproarious laughter. "Is THAT what I said? 'Phenergen Gas'?" More peels of laughter.
What can I say? My daughter's been around pregnant women a lot lately. Any guesses what our conversations have been about?
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Summer Visitor
We drove up to West Virginia on Friday to leave Dane with his grandparents for a week. We're driving halfway up this Friday to pick him up again.
This is his first time staying by himself with his grandparents. Deanna's been doing it for three years now and we decided Dane was old enough.
He couldn't wait to get us out of the house. He was eager for HIS time with grandma and grandpa to start. When we got home on Sunday, I called to let them know we had arrived and asked to speak to Dane. The message came back that he didn't want to talk. Little stinker. Grandma and I finally convinced him to say hello.
He called last night to tell us goodnight, per his instructions. He went to the grocery store to pick out what he wanted to eat, Grandpa took him swimming and then to a nearby ball park to practice batting - a pretty full day. While he has the time of his life, we are all missing him terribly. The house is extraordinarily quiet. It's not that Dane talks alot or is noisy, it's just that Daelyn doesn't have anyone to talk to or play with, so he's abnormally quiet. It also seems strangely empty.
If a few years, Daelyn will start this trek to Grandma's house for a week. I'm not sure how we're going to pull off 6 trips back and forth to West Virginia in the course of the summer, but we'll have to figure it out. As he's already reminding us, "I get to go too some day."
Maybe they'll move closer and he can spend a week up the street!
This is his first time staying by himself with his grandparents. Deanna's been doing it for three years now and we decided Dane was old enough.
He couldn't wait to get us out of the house. He was eager for HIS time with grandma and grandpa to start. When we got home on Sunday, I called to let them know we had arrived and asked to speak to Dane. The message came back that he didn't want to talk. Little stinker. Grandma and I finally convinced him to say hello.
He called last night to tell us goodnight, per his instructions. He went to the grocery store to pick out what he wanted to eat, Grandpa took him swimming and then to a nearby ball park to practice batting - a pretty full day. While he has the time of his life, we are all missing him terribly. The house is extraordinarily quiet. It's not that Dane talks alot or is noisy, it's just that Daelyn doesn't have anyone to talk to or play with, so he's abnormally quiet. It also seems strangely empty.
If a few years, Daelyn will start this trek to Grandma's house for a week. I'm not sure how we're going to pull off 6 trips back and forth to West Virginia in the course of the summer, but we'll have to figure it out. As he's already reminding us, "I get to go too some day."
Maybe they'll move closer and he can spend a week up the street!
Monday, August 06, 2007
Banana Tree Republic
Last year around birthday time, Don's mother e-mailed me and asked me for suggestions for him and Deanna, whose birthday follows his by 2 weeks. I asked Don for his list and, in a rare display of forethought, he produced A LIST! Usually, he suggests socks and underwear and I have to pull teeth to get the occasional belt or shirt suggestion out of him.
I excitedly began typing the list in my e-mail response. Don's handwriting alone could have qualified him for medical school, so I struggled a little. He helped me with some of the electronics he wanted, explaining what he needed and how it worked. The rest I thought I understood, since the bottom of the list was all gift certificates to various places, including Lowe's.
Three days later, Don came into the kitchen laughing, with a copy of my e-mail in his hand.
"So, you thought I wanted a gift certificate to Banana Tree, huh?"
"Yeah, but what the heck IS Banana Tree. I thought perhaps you meant Banana Republic, but I just copied the list the way I read it."
"What it should have said, honey, was banana tree. I want a banana tree to plant in the front yard, not a gift certificate." Don obviously thought this was hilariously funny.
A BANANA TREE? That's bizarre, which I was very quick to tell him. Turns out he had talked with a friend of ours who works for the forestry and has his Masters in some kind of plant-something - anyway, he's quite an expert in plants and trees, what they do, how they grow, etc., and he had recommended a banana tree to Don for a specific situation Don described.
Two weeks later a box arrived for Don. It was from his parents and contained - - you guessed it, a banana tree. It's only supposed to grow as high as 5 feet and will get small, edible bananas on it. Way cool, we thought. Don read up on it, we chose a place in the yard, dug a huge hole, filled in halfway with mulch mixed with fertilizer, and planted his tree. It grew from the end of September until we left for England in November. We were a little concerned about how it'd do, so we asked Grandpa to put another wheelbarrow full of pine mulch on the top after we left.
When we returned in February, all the leaves were dead and there was a small stump poking out of the ground. We were afraid it was dead, but Don was very hopeful. He said that he research indicated that the top would die off each winter, but the roots would live and it would re-sprout each spring.
When it began to grow again in March, we got very excited. It's grown and grown and has to be close to 5 feet now. Still no edible bananas, but it may take a few years for that to happen. When we came home after being gone over the weekend, it seemed like it had grown another foot in 2 days. With the bud of each new leaf, it adds about another 6 inches in heighth.
I'm sure glad he asked for a banana tree and not a gift certificate to Banana Tree. This has been loads more fun. I'll post pictures soon of the boys with the tree so you can get a feel for the size. And I'll be sure to post a picture of us chowing down on ripe, small bananas as soon as I can.
I excitedly began typing the list in my e-mail response. Don's handwriting alone could have qualified him for medical school, so I struggled a little. He helped me with some of the electronics he wanted, explaining what he needed and how it worked. The rest I thought I understood, since the bottom of the list was all gift certificates to various places, including Lowe's.
Three days later, Don came into the kitchen laughing, with a copy of my e-mail in his hand.
"So, you thought I wanted a gift certificate to Banana Tree, huh?"
"Yeah, but what the heck IS Banana Tree. I thought perhaps you meant Banana Republic, but I just copied the list the way I read it."
"What it should have said, honey, was banana tree. I want a banana tree to plant in the front yard, not a gift certificate." Don obviously thought this was hilariously funny.
A BANANA TREE? That's bizarre, which I was very quick to tell him. Turns out he had talked with a friend of ours who works for the forestry and has his Masters in some kind of plant-something - anyway, he's quite an expert in plants and trees, what they do, how they grow, etc., and he had recommended a banana tree to Don for a specific situation Don described.
Two weeks later a box arrived for Don. It was from his parents and contained - - you guessed it, a banana tree. It's only supposed to grow as high as 5 feet and will get small, edible bananas on it. Way cool, we thought. Don read up on it, we chose a place in the yard, dug a huge hole, filled in halfway with mulch mixed with fertilizer, and planted his tree. It grew from the end of September until we left for England in November. We were a little concerned about how it'd do, so we asked Grandpa to put another wheelbarrow full of pine mulch on the top after we left.
When we returned in February, all the leaves were dead and there was a small stump poking out of the ground. We were afraid it was dead, but Don was very hopeful. He said that he research indicated that the top would die off each winter, but the roots would live and it would re-sprout each spring.
When it began to grow again in March, we got very excited. It's grown and grown and has to be close to 5 feet now. Still no edible bananas, but it may take a few years for that to happen. When we came home after being gone over the weekend, it seemed like it had grown another foot in 2 days. With the bud of each new leaf, it adds about another 6 inches in heighth.
I'm sure glad he asked for a banana tree and not a gift certificate to Banana Tree. This has been loads more fun. I'll post pictures soon of the boys with the tree so you can get a feel for the size. And I'll be sure to post a picture of us chowing down on ripe, small bananas as soon as I can.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Oh, so much soap!
I've decided to find some local crafts shows and start selling my soap products - soap-infused loofahs, bath salts, bath bombs and fizzies, and soap, soap, soap.
I chose 7 scents to begin my inventory and needed to make some of each product in each scent. But to do that, I needed more soap base. I placed an order on-line for 24 pounds of creamy white and 24 pounds of clear glycerin. The shipping costs were a whopping $30.00, plus the $1.40/lb. I paid for the soap.
Last week I noticed Donovan chewing on something in the den. He had white on his beard. The kids and I searched the house, trying the find the culprit. Finally, we checked the living room where a suitcase was laying open from our trip to Colorado. (All this soap-making, I haven't had time to unpack that suitcase yet.) Donovan had eaten a bar of white soap - paper and all - from the resort in Colorado. It smelled good, so he decided to eat it.
He was a sick puppy for a few days. He's completely ruled by his nose. If something smells good, he has to taste it. I was hoping his stomach problems and two days of vomiting would cure at least his interest in soap.
We came home yesterday after picking my car up from the shop and I found teeth marks in my 24-lb. block of creamy white soap. It doesn't even have any scent - it's just the soap base.
I guess he hasn't learned his lesson. Apparently, he liked it so much that he's now eating unscented soap.
I told Deanna. She was aghast.
"The problem is this, honey. At $30 a pop for shipping, I can't afford to 'feed' Donovan's soap habit."
I got the elicited response. Deanna giggled.
I chose 7 scents to begin my inventory and needed to make some of each product in each scent. But to do that, I needed more soap base. I placed an order on-line for 24 pounds of creamy white and 24 pounds of clear glycerin. The shipping costs were a whopping $30.00, plus the $1.40/lb. I paid for the soap.
Last week I noticed Donovan chewing on something in the den. He had white on his beard. The kids and I searched the house, trying the find the culprit. Finally, we checked the living room where a suitcase was laying open from our trip to Colorado. (All this soap-making, I haven't had time to unpack that suitcase yet.) Donovan had eaten a bar of white soap - paper and all - from the resort in Colorado. It smelled good, so he decided to eat it.
He was a sick puppy for a few days. He's completely ruled by his nose. If something smells good, he has to taste it. I was hoping his stomach problems and two days of vomiting would cure at least his interest in soap.
We came home yesterday after picking my car up from the shop and I found teeth marks in my 24-lb. block of creamy white soap. It doesn't even have any scent - it's just the soap base.
I guess he hasn't learned his lesson. Apparently, he liked it so much that he's now eating unscented soap.
I told Deanna. She was aghast.
"The problem is this, honey. At $30 a pop for shipping, I can't afford to 'feed' Donovan's soap habit."
I got the elicited response. Deanna giggled.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Grad School
My 28-yr. old niece, the one who went on vacation with me EVERY summer when I was single, then joined my family after I was married, who used to spend the weekend with me when she was little and we'd go to late-night movies and stay up late, eat popcorn and go out to dinner, the niece who now so graciously gives of her time to babysit for Don and I from time to time so we can have a date, like on our Anniversary last year when we spent the night at a hotel and she stayed with the children overnight, my Goddaughter, my precious, sweet girl who was the most beautiful baby I had ever seen (until, of course, Deanna was born) - that niece - is leaving this Saturday to move away.
When she applied for Grad School after college, she was advised that she needed a few year's experience in her field before she tackled it. She's had that and now realizes that she's not going to get anywhere in her career without a a Master's behind her name. So, she's leaving home for the first time ever.
She's only moving 2 hours away, but still . . . no longer hearing her voice when I call her Mom, knowing that she's no longer across town. And, the financial situation of a Grad Student. She's been offered a job by the University that will cover her tuition and pay her apartment rent, but little else. She'll be teaching 5 classes, count them, five - at 9, 10, 11, 1 and 2. The classes she's taking are from 6 to 9:15 at night.
She came for dinner tonight since we'll be in West Virginia and can't help move her this weekend. It was our farewell dinner. After we ate, we sat in the Den to visit and I asked all the pertinent questions. Turns out, they're working her like a dog for a mere pittance. In addition to teaching five classes, which includes lectures AND labs, she also has to put EVERYTHING on computer, grade tests, prepare lesson plans - all this while getting to know a roommate, learning the town, shopping and cooking for herself, trying to meet people and establish herself in a church, not to mention attending class herself, studying, writing papers, taking tests, etc. She has to go to school for two summers, too. And then, to have the financial situation hanging over your head . . . it was just too much for me. I broke down and cried.
Big mistake. It just upset her more. She kept saying, "It'll all work out. It'll get done somehow. It'll be okay." I wasn't sure if she was trying to convince me or her. But we both had a good cry.
I just have to keep remembering that this precious person is a woman of faith. While I see her as a frail innocent she really is a woman who trusts her Lord with everything. When she says, "It'll work out", what she means is, "The Lord will take care of it for me, somehow." She has faith to move mountains and feels that the Lord prompted her to pursue Grad School and has opened all the right doors for her.
That may all be true, but I'm still an Aunt, and what I see is my darling baby girl preparing to march out into the world. How am I ever going to handle sending my own children away to college when I panic over my niece?
We went to the kitchen and cleaned out my pantry, sending boxes of food with her. Don came in to put some of the overflow into bags for her and pulled out a box of 24 granola bars he just bought at the store over the weekend.
"I can't believe your giving these to her! I just bought them," he fussed at me.
"There's more at the store," I responded. "We can get more. SHE can't. This is our one chance to send some food." At least for the first month, perhaps she won't have to spend too much money on food. The expense of moving can be daunting - utilities, gas, all the little things Mom has always provided like laundry detergent, a mirror, etc., not to mention having to buy everything you need to set up housekeeping.
I had the children tell her goodbye inside before Don and I walked her to her car. As the boys were hugging her, she said, "I'll see you in three weeks at the beach!"
We looked at each other and cracked up through our tears. This horribly sad, gut-wrenching goodbye, and the truth is, she's coming for a day or two to join us at the beach for vacation - as usual - in three weeks.
The laughter helped to break up the pain a little, but seeing her for one day while knowing she lives away isn't quite the same thing as when she usually joins us. It's bittersweet, at the very least.
But God has a plan. I just have to trust that and Him. My precious niece isn't disappearing from my life - I'll just have to work a little harder and plan a little better to see her.
Who knows - if my emotion motivates me, maybe I'll see her more over the next two years than I did when she was in town.
I hope so. I think she could use that. I KNOW I could.
When she applied for Grad School after college, she was advised that she needed a few year's experience in her field before she tackled it. She's had that and now realizes that she's not going to get anywhere in her career without a a Master's behind her name. So, she's leaving home for the first time ever.
She's only moving 2 hours away, but still . . . no longer hearing her voice when I call her Mom, knowing that she's no longer across town. And, the financial situation of a Grad Student. She's been offered a job by the University that will cover her tuition and pay her apartment rent, but little else. She'll be teaching 5 classes, count them, five - at 9, 10, 11, 1 and 2. The classes she's taking are from 6 to 9:15 at night.
She came for dinner tonight since we'll be in West Virginia and can't help move her this weekend. It was our farewell dinner. After we ate, we sat in the Den to visit and I asked all the pertinent questions. Turns out, they're working her like a dog for a mere pittance. In addition to teaching five classes, which includes lectures AND labs, she also has to put EVERYTHING on computer, grade tests, prepare lesson plans - all this while getting to know a roommate, learning the town, shopping and cooking for herself, trying to meet people and establish herself in a church, not to mention attending class herself, studying, writing papers, taking tests, etc. She has to go to school for two summers, too. And then, to have the financial situation hanging over your head . . . it was just too much for me. I broke down and cried.
Big mistake. It just upset her more. She kept saying, "It'll all work out. It'll get done somehow. It'll be okay." I wasn't sure if she was trying to convince me or her. But we both had a good cry.
I just have to keep remembering that this precious person is a woman of faith. While I see her as a frail innocent she really is a woman who trusts her Lord with everything. When she says, "It'll work out", what she means is, "The Lord will take care of it for me, somehow." She has faith to move mountains and feels that the Lord prompted her to pursue Grad School and has opened all the right doors for her.
That may all be true, but I'm still an Aunt, and what I see is my darling baby girl preparing to march out into the world. How am I ever going to handle sending my own children away to college when I panic over my niece?
We went to the kitchen and cleaned out my pantry, sending boxes of food with her. Don came in to put some of the overflow into bags for her and pulled out a box of 24 granola bars he just bought at the store over the weekend.
"I can't believe your giving these to her! I just bought them," he fussed at me.
"There's more at the store," I responded. "We can get more. SHE can't. This is our one chance to send some food." At least for the first month, perhaps she won't have to spend too much money on food. The expense of moving can be daunting - utilities, gas, all the little things Mom has always provided like laundry detergent, a mirror, etc., not to mention having to buy everything you need to set up housekeeping.
I had the children tell her goodbye inside before Don and I walked her to her car. As the boys were hugging her, she said, "I'll see you in three weeks at the beach!"
We looked at each other and cracked up through our tears. This horribly sad, gut-wrenching goodbye, and the truth is, she's coming for a day or two to join us at the beach for vacation - as usual - in three weeks.
The laughter helped to break up the pain a little, but seeing her for one day while knowing she lives away isn't quite the same thing as when she usually joins us. It's bittersweet, at the very least.
But God has a plan. I just have to trust that and Him. My precious niece isn't disappearing from my life - I'll just have to work a little harder and plan a little better to see her.
Who knows - if my emotion motivates me, maybe I'll see her more over the next two years than I did when she was in town.
I hope so. I think she could use that. I KNOW I could.
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