My parents returned from Ghana and Togo in South Africa just one week before Christmas. Over the weekend, I spent some time editing and typing an article on their trip to be published in their church newsletter. My father's writing just gets better and better and this article was fascinating and fun.
Two of the stories he shared struck me. The first was about how a tribal chief in Togo invited them to sit with him under the Tree of Truth. The interpreter explained that the Chief had put a voodoo curse on the tree so anyone who sat underneath the tree and told a lie would die. The interpreter added that many people had died where they sat under the tree. He continued to explain that the Chief is now a Christian and has ordered his entire tribe of approximately 1,000 people to be Christians, as well.
Sure wish it were that simple in this country. I can't even demand that my children be Christians, let alone 997 other people. And, although he's a Christian now, he still asked my parents to sit with him under the Tree of Truth!
The second story was how he and my mother split up towards the end of their mission and went to different villages with two different teams. That evening, as they compared notes, my mother told about how the Missionaries approached the tribal chief of the village and asked permission to evangelize in his area. A Council Member from the tribe was assigned to work with them. Apparently, the Council Member was quite taken with my 78-yr. old mother and asked her to marry him. She got quite shaken up but politely explained that she was already happily married. He reassured her that there was no problem with that - he also was happily married. But he was willing to take her as a wife, as well. Mom politely declined his invitation. When she told Daddy about her day, he told her that while she was sidestepping matrimony with a Tribal Council Member of one tribe, he was trying to explain to a native mother why he couldn't marry one of his granddaughters off to one of her 3 sons. He made the mistake, apparently, of showing her pictures of several of his granddaughters, including Deanna. The woman was quite insistent that they unite their families in marriage and asked Papa to take one of her sons back with him to the U.S. and marry him to Deanna. Daddy explained that Deanna was only 11 and the woman said that, if necessary, her 38-year old son could wait one year. My father tried to explain that we don't arrange marriages in this country for our own children, let alone our grandchildren. The woman was quite taken aback by that and asked how we ever got anything done RIGHT!
She even dangled the promise of goats and chickens in front of Daddy's nose to coerce him. She was willing to offer quite a nice dowery for Deanna's hand. Papa had to work very hard to sidestep the issue without offending the woman.
My parents returned not having joined themselves or any of their family to an African family, but is seems to have been quite a challenge.
At least now I have a great threat to use on Deanna. "If you don't straighten up and clean up that room, I'll be shipping you off to meet your new African husband!"
Monday, December 31, 2007
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Linger a while
Christmas GOES so fast! All the preparation and energy, then, you blink, and it's all over.
I like to leave my tree up until March or so to enjoy the lights and smell just a little longer. I'm joking, of course, but only a little. We do leave our tree up until at least the middle of January.
Yesterday, while walking into the Mall with Deanna, we noticed huge dumpsters full of Christmas trees. I guess the stores got them out as soon as they could. They're already putting out their spring merchandise. No more carols on the radio, yard lights steadily coming down.
I want to savor the season. I want to sit in the living room with just the fireplace and tree lights on and drink a cup of hot tea while I ponder the goodness of the Lord. I want to spend EVERY evening having family time. I want to, at the very least, enjoy the 12 days of Christmas and celebrate until Epiphany.
Our lives are always so rushed. There's seldom time to smell the roses, appreciate the beauty of a sunset, or linger around the Christmas tree. But, doggone it, I'm going to do it this year.
Just as soon as I get those train parts down out of the attic that my friend wants to buy from me and the article for my father typed that's due on Wednesday, and the laundry caught up . . .
I like to leave my tree up until March or so to enjoy the lights and smell just a little longer. I'm joking, of course, but only a little. We do leave our tree up until at least the middle of January.
Yesterday, while walking into the Mall with Deanna, we noticed huge dumpsters full of Christmas trees. I guess the stores got them out as soon as they could. They're already putting out their spring merchandise. No more carols on the radio, yard lights steadily coming down.
I want to savor the season. I want to sit in the living room with just the fireplace and tree lights on and drink a cup of hot tea while I ponder the goodness of the Lord. I want to spend EVERY evening having family time. I want to, at the very least, enjoy the 12 days of Christmas and celebrate until Epiphany.
Our lives are always so rushed. There's seldom time to smell the roses, appreciate the beauty of a sunset, or linger around the Christmas tree. But, doggone it, I'm going to do it this year.
Just as soon as I get those train parts down out of the attic that my friend wants to buy from me and the article for my father typed that's due on Wednesday, and the laundry caught up . . .
Friday, December 28, 2007
Shopping Tutorial
I'm an After-Christmas shopper. I love to hit all the bargains the day after Christmas (Boxing Day, for our English and Canadian friends) and stash items away for the next year. I find wonderful prices on gifts.
I missed out on the after-Christmas sales last year, so I'm making up for it this year. I spent Boxing Day at home, except for one little venture out to Big Lots for gift bags and tissue paper for next year, but hit the stores in force on the 27th. Two full days of shopping and I'm ready to drop.
My father always encourages my mother to do this After-Christmas shopping. He told me that she didn't do it one year and Christmas cost them twice as much as usual the next year. One year my mother was taking care of a sick sister in Canada and missed Christmas and the shopping that followed. Dad discussed it with me during the day on Christmas and decided he should hit the stores in Mama's place with me. We planned our attack strategy, I picked him up the next morning at 6:45, and we headed out. Macy's was first on our list. We stood outside the doors in the pre-dawn twilight and cold chatting with other shoppers. When the doors opened, we rushed in and headed straight for the Christmas decorations. We split up. I quickly grabbed a basket that held ornaments under one of the trees, dumped the ornaments into another basket, and began filling mine with the ones I wanted to purchase. About 15 minutes later, Daddy found me.
"Where'd you get that basket, hon?" he asked. I explained how I had obtained my shopping basket. He sucked his breath in audibly.
"Are you sure that's okay?" His voice sounded very uncertain.
"Papa, look around," I directed. Every woman in the store (and my father was the only male) had a similar basket that they were quickly filling. He smiled and began to locate his own "shopping" basket.
A few minutes later, he walked over to me and said quietly, "I wonder how much these ornaments are. I love them, but they don't have a price tag."
"Ask out loud," I directed. He looked at me funny.
"What do you mean, 'Ask out loud'?"
"Ask the question in a loud voice to no one in particular," I prompted, then smiled encouragingly.
Papa, in a loud voice: "Gee, I wonder how much these ornaments cost. They don't have any prices on them."
A woman was kneeling in front of him digging through the baskets under a particularly lovely tree. "I just asked the sales lady and she said they're 50% off, which would make them $2.50, since they were originally $5.00," she volunteered.
Immediately, another woman on the other side of the tree chimed in. "Nope, you're wrong. I overheard your conversation and went and asked the Department Manager who said they're 75% off, so they're only $1.25. Just make sure you tell whoever rings you up that the Manager said they're 75% off," she told my father.
Papa looked at me and grinned. I smiled back. Underneath his breath he whispered, "It REALLY worked!"
When we got ready to check out, we joined the line of 35 or so women. Someone walked up behind me and whispered, "The registers are open in all the departments. You can take your purchases to children's clothing - there's no line there." I thanked her, tapped my father on the shoulder, tossed my head at him and whispered, "Come on!"
We were out of the store in 15 minutes, each ornament we purchased carefully wrapped, not having to wait a single minute to check out. As we headed for the car, Daddy exclaimed, "There's a real art to this Boxing Day Shopping, isn't there? I need to hang out with you more often to learn all the ropes."
We went for coffee on the way to our next stop. By the third store, Daddy was a Pro at After-Christmas shopping. He was very proud of his purchases and seemed to really enjoy himself.
To my knowledge, he's never taken the plunge again but, if he had to, he'd know how.
Of course, he had a great teacher.
I missed out on the after-Christmas sales last year, so I'm making up for it this year. I spent Boxing Day at home, except for one little venture out to Big Lots for gift bags and tissue paper for next year, but hit the stores in force on the 27th. Two full days of shopping and I'm ready to drop.
My father always encourages my mother to do this After-Christmas shopping. He told me that she didn't do it one year and Christmas cost them twice as much as usual the next year. One year my mother was taking care of a sick sister in Canada and missed Christmas and the shopping that followed. Dad discussed it with me during the day on Christmas and decided he should hit the stores in Mama's place with me. We planned our attack strategy, I picked him up the next morning at 6:45, and we headed out. Macy's was first on our list. We stood outside the doors in the pre-dawn twilight and cold chatting with other shoppers. When the doors opened, we rushed in and headed straight for the Christmas decorations. We split up. I quickly grabbed a basket that held ornaments under one of the trees, dumped the ornaments into another basket, and began filling mine with the ones I wanted to purchase. About 15 minutes later, Daddy found me.
"Where'd you get that basket, hon?" he asked. I explained how I had obtained my shopping basket. He sucked his breath in audibly.
"Are you sure that's okay?" His voice sounded very uncertain.
"Papa, look around," I directed. Every woman in the store (and my father was the only male) had a similar basket that they were quickly filling. He smiled and began to locate his own "shopping" basket.
A few minutes later, he walked over to me and said quietly, "I wonder how much these ornaments are. I love them, but they don't have a price tag."
"Ask out loud," I directed. He looked at me funny.
"What do you mean, 'Ask out loud'?"
"Ask the question in a loud voice to no one in particular," I prompted, then smiled encouragingly.
Papa, in a loud voice: "Gee, I wonder how much these ornaments cost. They don't have any prices on them."
A woman was kneeling in front of him digging through the baskets under a particularly lovely tree. "I just asked the sales lady and she said they're 50% off, which would make them $2.50, since they were originally $5.00," she volunteered.
Immediately, another woman on the other side of the tree chimed in. "Nope, you're wrong. I overheard your conversation and went and asked the Department Manager who said they're 75% off, so they're only $1.25. Just make sure you tell whoever rings you up that the Manager said they're 75% off," she told my father.
Papa looked at me and grinned. I smiled back. Underneath his breath he whispered, "It REALLY worked!"
When we got ready to check out, we joined the line of 35 or so women. Someone walked up behind me and whispered, "The registers are open in all the departments. You can take your purchases to children's clothing - there's no line there." I thanked her, tapped my father on the shoulder, tossed my head at him and whispered, "Come on!"
We were out of the store in 15 minutes, each ornament we purchased carefully wrapped, not having to wait a single minute to check out. As we headed for the car, Daddy exclaimed, "There's a real art to this Boxing Day Shopping, isn't there? I need to hang out with you more often to learn all the ropes."
We went for coffee on the way to our next stop. By the third store, Daddy was a Pro at After-Christmas shopping. He was very proud of his purchases and seemed to really enjoy himself.
To my knowledge, he's never taken the plunge again but, if he had to, he'd know how.
Of course, he had a great teacher.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Special, so Special
Thursday night I bought shrimp to have with our pizza for dinner. I boiled them in crab boil, then make homemade cocktail sauce. It was luscious and Dane and Daelyn ate their fill.
We went to Publix today to get our cheeses for our Christmas Eve Fondue and they had crablegs on sale - $5.99/lb. I bought 3 clusters - one for each of the boys and me. We're going to have them with tonight's dinner.
I also am chilling a bottle of sparkling cider to go with our fondue and I bought a port wine cheeseball that we'll attack sometime between now and Christmas morning - maybe this evening. I just can't shake the feeling that this time with our children is so precious, we need to do everything possible to make it special and memorable, not that we've EVER had a Christmas that wasn't memorable.
Deanna commented on the drive home from Publix after church that she was getting that excited feeling in the pit of her stomach. Me, too. We all gathered in the living room this afternoon - the children re-stacking the presents so there's room for people, me sorting through all the stuff we moved in there to get out of Nicki's room so she could move in, and Don just coming in to spend time with us. We started shaking presents and played a guessing game to try and figure out what they are. We laughed so hard Nicki was afraid to come in when she came home from her parent's.
It's almost here - Christmas Eve. Daelyn found the baby Jesus from our Nativity in the knife drawer this week and is ready to put him in the Creche. Donovan is sniffing out all his toys and the boys just seem to be floating. Don even is catching the bug this year.
Kel, just in case you're checking in, you didn't leave me a phone number and I miss you already! Yesterday, the kids and I talked about you being in Michigan and how funny it seems to have you gone at such a special time. Hope the trip up was okay.
Merry Christmas to ALL! And, if I don't write again until after Christmas, I hope Jesus is born anew in each of your hearts this year.
We went to Publix today to get our cheeses for our Christmas Eve Fondue and they had crablegs on sale - $5.99/lb. I bought 3 clusters - one for each of the boys and me. We're going to have them with tonight's dinner.
I also am chilling a bottle of sparkling cider to go with our fondue and I bought a port wine cheeseball that we'll attack sometime between now and Christmas morning - maybe this evening. I just can't shake the feeling that this time with our children is so precious, we need to do everything possible to make it special and memorable, not that we've EVER had a Christmas that wasn't memorable.
Deanna commented on the drive home from Publix after church that she was getting that excited feeling in the pit of her stomach. Me, too. We all gathered in the living room this afternoon - the children re-stacking the presents so there's room for people, me sorting through all the stuff we moved in there to get out of Nicki's room so she could move in, and Don just coming in to spend time with us. We started shaking presents and played a guessing game to try and figure out what they are. We laughed so hard Nicki was afraid to come in when she came home from her parent's.
It's almost here - Christmas Eve. Daelyn found the baby Jesus from our Nativity in the knife drawer this week and is ready to put him in the Creche. Donovan is sniffing out all his toys and the boys just seem to be floating. Don even is catching the bug this year.
Kel, just in case you're checking in, you didn't leave me a phone number and I miss you already! Yesterday, the kids and I talked about you being in Michigan and how funny it seems to have you gone at such a special time. Hope the trip up was okay.
Merry Christmas to ALL! And, if I don't write again until after Christmas, I hope Jesus is born anew in each of your hearts this year.
Blind Beholder
Don and I were both in the bathroom this morning, getting ready for church. I had jumped out of the bath, dried off, and was blow-drying my hair. When it was finally dry, I slipped into my dress and buttoned it up. Don turned and looked at me.
"You look beautiful today, Mommy."
"Thanks, hon," I responded. "But I'm not really sure that a dress alone can make me beautiful. I don't have any makeup on and my hair's not done."
"That's okay. I don't have my glasses on!"
"You look beautiful today, Mommy."
"Thanks, hon," I responded. "But I'm not really sure that a dress alone can make me beautiful. I don't have any makeup on and my hair's not done."
"That's okay. I don't have my glasses on!"
Friday, December 21, 2007
Angels and Twips
Daelyn, at the top of his voice: "Shepherds, why this Jubilee? Why your gladsumm . . . stwains pwowong? Say, what may the tidings bwing, which inspire this heavenwy song?"
Me, in shock: "Daelyn, where did you learn those words?"
Deanna: "Mom, he's not singing it RIGHT!"
Me: "He most certainly IS. Didn't you hear it? Daelyn, sing it again for Sissy."
Daelyn, with a triumphant smile on his face, repeats this verse of "Angels, We Have Heard on High".
Deanna looks at me in shock, then quickly regroups: "I taught him!"
Deanna told us this joke at the dinner table last week: "What's a twip?"
Me: "I don't know. What IS a twip?"
Deanna: "A wide on a twain."
This cracks me up. I assume it's because I have a child who talks just like this. Don says he doesn't get the joke. Dane gets a funny look on his face everytime Deanna tells it. But she, Daelyn and I love it. We tell the joke over and over again, cracking up every time.
We just appreciate the little things in life.
Me, in shock: "Daelyn, where did you learn those words?"
Deanna: "Mom, he's not singing it RIGHT!"
Me: "He most certainly IS. Didn't you hear it? Daelyn, sing it again for Sissy."
Daelyn, with a triumphant smile on his face, repeats this verse of "Angels, We Have Heard on High".
Deanna looks at me in shock, then quickly regroups: "I taught him!"
Deanna told us this joke at the dinner table last week: "What's a twip?"
Me: "I don't know. What IS a twip?"
Deanna: "A wide on a twain."
This cracks me up. I assume it's because I have a child who talks just like this. Don says he doesn't get the joke. Dane gets a funny look on his face everytime Deanna tells it. But she, Daelyn and I love it. We tell the joke over and over again, cracking up every time.
We just appreciate the little things in life.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Joy!
Nicki is officially moved in and we went out to dinner tonight to celebrate.
My parents are home from Africa and my father needs 40 lbs. of pecans for one of his customers.
Tomorrow is the last day of school before Christmas break and everyone has parties scheduled. I'll be in the Kindergarten class with Daelyn. Boy, am I looking forward to a fun day.
We got our Christmas package from Don's parents today. When we got ready to open it and put the presents under the tree, Don said to call Grandma and Grandpa and ask them if we should be concerned that the box had Post Office tape wrapped all around it that said, "Received in Damaged Condition". I left a message on their answering machine, then we opened the box. Everything inside looked fine. I took all the presents out and looked at the gift tags. Just then, the phone rang - Grandma Doughty. Turns out, some presents fell out of the box. We're missing a very expensive one for me, two for Don and another for Deanna.
Hopefully we'll be able to track down the missing presents and claim them prior to December 25. Don goes back to work, after a week off, on Thursday, so tomorrow is his last day home. And I'm finally really moving forward in my preparations for Christmas, thanks to the helping hands of my dear friend, Kelly, yesterday.
If you prayed for us, thank you. I am much more peaceful this evening than I have been in weeks. The house is starting to look like Christmas as I decorate, tackling small areas at a time. The sense of excitement from the children is almost like a rainstorm - clouds hanging low in every room, just waiting for the crash of lightning to erupt.
I love Christmas. I love the weather, the excitement, the meaning, the gift-giving, the lights, the smells, the music, the food, the fellowship . . . I can even put up with the commercialism, I love the other aspects SO-O-O-O much.
God is good. And, over the next week, we'll again experience the extent of His love for us as we celebrate the beginning of the life that bought our salvation. A tiny baby, the mystery of the star, smelly, poor, humble shepherds worshipping on their knees, all of creation bristling with excitement and joy.
May your life and home bristle with excitement and joy as we wait in anticipation of the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ. And may the Christ Child reign upon the throne of your hearts in the coming year.
Merry Christmas!
My parents are home from Africa and my father needs 40 lbs. of pecans for one of his customers.
Tomorrow is the last day of school before Christmas break and everyone has parties scheduled. I'll be in the Kindergarten class with Daelyn. Boy, am I looking forward to a fun day.
We got our Christmas package from Don's parents today. When we got ready to open it and put the presents under the tree, Don said to call Grandma and Grandpa and ask them if we should be concerned that the box had Post Office tape wrapped all around it that said, "Received in Damaged Condition". I left a message on their answering machine, then we opened the box. Everything inside looked fine. I took all the presents out and looked at the gift tags. Just then, the phone rang - Grandma Doughty. Turns out, some presents fell out of the box. We're missing a very expensive one for me, two for Don and another for Deanna.
Hopefully we'll be able to track down the missing presents and claim them prior to December 25. Don goes back to work, after a week off, on Thursday, so tomorrow is his last day home. And I'm finally really moving forward in my preparations for Christmas, thanks to the helping hands of my dear friend, Kelly, yesterday.
If you prayed for us, thank you. I am much more peaceful this evening than I have been in weeks. The house is starting to look like Christmas as I decorate, tackling small areas at a time. The sense of excitement from the children is almost like a rainstorm - clouds hanging low in every room, just waiting for the crash of lightning to erupt.
I love Christmas. I love the weather, the excitement, the meaning, the gift-giving, the lights, the smells, the music, the food, the fellowship . . . I can even put up with the commercialism, I love the other aspects SO-O-O-O much.
God is good. And, over the next week, we'll again experience the extent of His love for us as we celebrate the beginning of the life that bought our salvation. A tiny baby, the mystery of the star, smelly, poor, humble shepherds worshipping on their knees, all of creation bristling with excitement and joy.
May your life and home bristle with excitement and joy as we wait in anticipation of the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ. And may the Christ Child reign upon the throne of your hearts in the coming year.
Merry Christmas!
Monday, December 17, 2007
Cold Winds of Change
There REALLY IS a floor underneath all the toys in the Toy Room. All the toys and most of the furniture are gone now and I had forgotten how lovely that room really is.
We're busily trying to find places for all the rest of the furniture in that room and clear the hallways for the big move tomorrow.
My parents are returning home from Africa tonight. I can't wait for them to be home. This is a horrible time of the year to be gone.
My brother called yesterday to say that my nephew has joined the military and leaves for Boot Camp in January. This is exciting news for us. My father was a career Army officer and my brother went through college on an R.O.T.C. scholarship - fine military traditions. There's also the matter of a young man with no clear direction in his life, wandering aimlessly and just getting into trouble, who now will grow up and learn discipline.
I'm not thrilled that he might have to go to war, but it's what adults sometimes need to do, and that's a good thing, not a bad thing. My father found a way for himself, after a very troubled youth, when he finally buckled down and decided to "do" the Army the way they wanted him to. It changed his life and opened up doors to him that he never dreamed.
If you have a few spare moments, pray for peace in our home. We have many issues and challenges facing us right now and more to do than any one family could ever accomplish - but with God's help, everything is possible.
The weather has finally turned cold. It was 27 this morning when the alarm clock rose me out of my few hours sleep. It's beginning to FEEL like Christmas, and, for that, I am very grateful.
Now, if I can just keep warm and get caught up on my sleep . . .
We're busily trying to find places for all the rest of the furniture in that room and clear the hallways for the big move tomorrow.
My parents are returning home from Africa tonight. I can't wait for them to be home. This is a horrible time of the year to be gone.
My brother called yesterday to say that my nephew has joined the military and leaves for Boot Camp in January. This is exciting news for us. My father was a career Army officer and my brother went through college on an R.O.T.C. scholarship - fine military traditions. There's also the matter of a young man with no clear direction in his life, wandering aimlessly and just getting into trouble, who now will grow up and learn discipline.
I'm not thrilled that he might have to go to war, but it's what adults sometimes need to do, and that's a good thing, not a bad thing. My father found a way for himself, after a very troubled youth, when he finally buckled down and decided to "do" the Army the way they wanted him to. It changed his life and opened up doors to him that he never dreamed.
If you have a few spare moments, pray for peace in our home. We have many issues and challenges facing us right now and more to do than any one family could ever accomplish - but with God's help, everything is possible.
The weather has finally turned cold. It was 27 this morning when the alarm clock rose me out of my few hours sleep. It's beginning to FEEL like Christmas, and, for that, I am very grateful.
Now, if I can just keep warm and get caught up on my sleep . . .
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Yet More Differences
Our friend, Nicki, is moving in with us on Tuesday. The Toy Room will be her bedroom. So . . . we MUST clean out the Toy Room - fast.
Yesterday, Don had the children remove all the bags of stuff I had already bagged up and put on the train table. He wanted them to sort through the junk, throw out anything that's broken or too young for our children, put the REAL nice stuff aside for a yard sale, and get the rest ready for Good Will. We have toys and bags strewn from one end of the house to the other. It's a huge mess. Certainly not the way I would have done things.
I've already gotten rid of about 6 bags of junk. I piled everything within reach into large garbage bags during the day. Then, at night, after the children were in bed, I'd sit in the Den and sort them, one bag at a time, labeling each as I went. The most mess at any one time was one bagful of stuff. Now we have at least 8 bagfuls of stuff - everywhere - and the children have pulled about 60 items out that they still "love" and want to keep. But, of course, the keepers aren't put away neatly in their room, they're left wherever the child last played with it.
Late last night, Nicki came by with some friends to show them her room. As we made our way gingerly on the tiny path through the dining room and hallways which look like a toy graveyard, I was embarrassed to death. As if it's not enough that the boxes from our decorations are still lining the hallways, waiting to be put back in the attic, now we have an unbelievable mess with toys and bags.
Then she walked into the Toy Room. It honestly looked like it hadn't been touched. While I could see some improvement, I'm a fairly-well trained eye. I knew where all those bags HAD been, but her friends who have never seen the room saw only mass mess. How would this room ever be ready for her move on Tuesday.
I assured them it would be ready. Truth is, I don't know how, either, but Don and I'll figure it out together. The problem for me isn't the mess of toys, or the bookshelf (which I've already moved into a nice space I made for it in the living room), it's the train table, the HUGE metal organizer with bins that Don bought last year hoping to put order in the room, and the several other storage units we've purchased and put in there over the years. That's a lot of furniture with no home.
When I woke up this morning, I headed straight for the Toy Room. My plan was just to get all the books out and moved back onto the bookshelf that now resides in the library/music room side of the living room. But as I began making piles of books that had not been on the bookshelf and were strewn all over the floor by some toddler avid reader, I realized that I first needed to make a path for myself. I began getting rid of junk. I filled up one garbage bag with toys to be sorted and two bags with trash and there is now at least half the room with nothing on the floor. Unbelievable how much progress you can make in a short time when it's Mommy doing the work, not Daddy and the kids. And nothing that I took out of the room ended up anywhere else in the house except for the trash that is now sitting neatly in front of our kitchen trashcan because I'm still in my jammies and don't want to offend the neighbors and the books which will end up organized and neatened up on the appropriate bookshelf.
While I was working, Don appeared in the Toy Room.
"Where did you go?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" I responded, quite clueless to what he was talking about.
"I heard you moving around and have been sitting in the kitchen, waiting for you to make an appearance. Aren't you going to wrap Christmas presents? Have breakfast? Tell me what your plan for the day is? Get ready to go shopping?"
"I'm working on the Toy Room, hon," I said a little frustrated. Couldn't he see the progress I had made? Couldn't he tell how much had been accomplished in a short time? Did he even notice the beautiful hardwood floors that we haven't seen in two years?
Then it hit me. No, he didn't notice the progress, the hardwood floors, or the condition of the room. Don just doesn't zone in to stuff like "clean and neat". It makes absolutely no difference to him.
Maybe that's one of the reasons why the Toy Room was still so messy this morning and why we have toys strewn all over the house.
I'm praying the children turn out like me instead of like him - at least in THIS one area.
Yesterday, Don had the children remove all the bags of stuff I had already bagged up and put on the train table. He wanted them to sort through the junk, throw out anything that's broken or too young for our children, put the REAL nice stuff aside for a yard sale, and get the rest ready for Good Will. We have toys and bags strewn from one end of the house to the other. It's a huge mess. Certainly not the way I would have done things.
I've already gotten rid of about 6 bags of junk. I piled everything within reach into large garbage bags during the day. Then, at night, after the children were in bed, I'd sit in the Den and sort them, one bag at a time, labeling each as I went. The most mess at any one time was one bagful of stuff. Now we have at least 8 bagfuls of stuff - everywhere - and the children have pulled about 60 items out that they still "love" and want to keep. But, of course, the keepers aren't put away neatly in their room, they're left wherever the child last played with it.
Late last night, Nicki came by with some friends to show them her room. As we made our way gingerly on the tiny path through the dining room and hallways which look like a toy graveyard, I was embarrassed to death. As if it's not enough that the boxes from our decorations are still lining the hallways, waiting to be put back in the attic, now we have an unbelievable mess with toys and bags.
Then she walked into the Toy Room. It honestly looked like it hadn't been touched. While I could see some improvement, I'm a fairly-well trained eye. I knew where all those bags HAD been, but her friends who have never seen the room saw only mass mess. How would this room ever be ready for her move on Tuesday.
I assured them it would be ready. Truth is, I don't know how, either, but Don and I'll figure it out together. The problem for me isn't the mess of toys, or the bookshelf (which I've already moved into a nice space I made for it in the living room), it's the train table, the HUGE metal organizer with bins that Don bought last year hoping to put order in the room, and the several other storage units we've purchased and put in there over the years. That's a lot of furniture with no home.
When I woke up this morning, I headed straight for the Toy Room. My plan was just to get all the books out and moved back onto the bookshelf that now resides in the library/music room side of the living room. But as I began making piles of books that had not been on the bookshelf and were strewn all over the floor by some toddler avid reader, I realized that I first needed to make a path for myself. I began getting rid of junk. I filled up one garbage bag with toys to be sorted and two bags with trash and there is now at least half the room with nothing on the floor. Unbelievable how much progress you can make in a short time when it's Mommy doing the work, not Daddy and the kids. And nothing that I took out of the room ended up anywhere else in the house except for the trash that is now sitting neatly in front of our kitchen trashcan because I'm still in my jammies and don't want to offend the neighbors and the books which will end up organized and neatened up on the appropriate bookshelf.
While I was working, Don appeared in the Toy Room.
"Where did you go?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" I responded, quite clueless to what he was talking about.
"I heard you moving around and have been sitting in the kitchen, waiting for you to make an appearance. Aren't you going to wrap Christmas presents? Have breakfast? Tell me what your plan for the day is? Get ready to go shopping?"
"I'm working on the Toy Room, hon," I said a little frustrated. Couldn't he see the progress I had made? Couldn't he tell how much had been accomplished in a short time? Did he even notice the beautiful hardwood floors that we haven't seen in two years?
Then it hit me. No, he didn't notice the progress, the hardwood floors, or the condition of the room. Don just doesn't zone in to stuff like "clean and neat". It makes absolutely no difference to him.
Maybe that's one of the reasons why the Toy Room was still so messy this morning and why we have toys strewn all over the house.
I'm praying the children turn out like me instead of like him - at least in THIS one area.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Men Sure Don't Do Things like Women!
Case in point: I'm trying to get a box out to Don's parents with their Christmas presents so it'll actually arrive before December 24. I wrapped all their presents, found a large box, and carefully fit all the gifts in it. I was just ready to tape it up and put an address label on it when I realized that the children may have presents for their Grandparents.
"Deanna," I bellowed, "don't you have presents for Grandma and Grandpa Doughty?"
"Well," she drawled, "I have something for Grandpa, but I haven't had a chance to get anything for Grandma yet."
"Go get me your present for Grandpa so I can get it in the box!"
Then I found the boys.
"Dane, don't you have Christmas presents for Grandma and Grandpa Doughty that I need to mail to them?"
Dane was watching afternoon cartoons and was very distracted. Half-heartedly, he responded, "Nope."
"Turn the TV off!" I instructed, sternly. When I finally had his full attention, I asked the question again.
"No, Mama. I don't have anything for anybody."
Now, that's just pitiful! I told him to follow me and marched into his bedroom. I found the box, still sitting in the corner, where we put it when he returned after his week in West Virginia. I put it on Daelyn's bed, began removing all the toys from the top and digging down to the stuff at the bottom. Sure enough, out I pulled several crafts projects I bought for him and left at Grandma's for him to work on while he was there over the summer. These crafts items were to be his Christmas presents to family members. There were paint-by-number paintings, refrigerator magnets, and stained glass light catchers just waiting to be painted. This was more than I could take. I had paid good money for those crafts and he hadn't done A SINGLE THING with them.
I chose my words very carefully, made sure I didn't holler at him, then pointed out the beautiful pieces he had the opportunity to make as gifts of love for his family.
"I better go work on them right now!" He grabbed the stained glass items and took off for the kitchen. Daelyn commented that he wanted to do some painting, too, grabbed the refrigerator magnets, and followed his brother.
I showed Dane how to paint the suncatchers. Don laid out newspaper for the boys and opened the paints. He got a cup of water for cleaning the paint brush inbetween colors. Just then, the phone rang and I had to handle an important matter. I left the room and went into the living room to finish my call. When I returned to the kitchen, Don said,
"Well, Dane had an accident."
"What kind of accident?"
"A PAINT accident," he explained. Apparently, one of the paint buckets (little tiny things) had overturned and poured all over Dane and his clothes. Don was trying to clean him up.
A few minutes later, I walked past the halfbath. Dane's clothes were wet and were in a heap on the floor. I shook my head. Daddy had at least washed them out by hand, but they were on the floor of the bathroom, not in the laundry room.
I went into the kitchen to do a little more work on dinner when Dane appeared. He was wearing an old robe of Don's, had it on backwards with the belt tied in the back, and the bell sleeves came down 4 inches below his hands.
"Mama, could you please roll my sleeves up for me?"
"Son, why on earth are you wearing that robe?"
"Daddy said this would be my paint shirt from now on."
Paint shirt. A floor-length robe with sleeves almost as long - when Dane has at least 15 t-shirts that are ripped or are in poor shape.
Men sure don't do things like women!
"Deanna," I bellowed, "don't you have presents for Grandma and Grandpa Doughty?"
"Well," she drawled, "I have something for Grandpa, but I haven't had a chance to get anything for Grandma yet."
"Go get me your present for Grandpa so I can get it in the box!"
Then I found the boys.
"Dane, don't you have Christmas presents for Grandma and Grandpa Doughty that I need to mail to them?"
Dane was watching afternoon cartoons and was very distracted. Half-heartedly, he responded, "Nope."
"Turn the TV off!" I instructed, sternly. When I finally had his full attention, I asked the question again.
"No, Mama. I don't have anything for anybody."
Now, that's just pitiful! I told him to follow me and marched into his bedroom. I found the box, still sitting in the corner, where we put it when he returned after his week in West Virginia. I put it on Daelyn's bed, began removing all the toys from the top and digging down to the stuff at the bottom. Sure enough, out I pulled several crafts projects I bought for him and left at Grandma's for him to work on while he was there over the summer. These crafts items were to be his Christmas presents to family members. There were paint-by-number paintings, refrigerator magnets, and stained glass light catchers just waiting to be painted. This was more than I could take. I had paid good money for those crafts and he hadn't done A SINGLE THING with them.
I chose my words very carefully, made sure I didn't holler at him, then pointed out the beautiful pieces he had the opportunity to make as gifts of love for his family.
"I better go work on them right now!" He grabbed the stained glass items and took off for the kitchen. Daelyn commented that he wanted to do some painting, too, grabbed the refrigerator magnets, and followed his brother.
I showed Dane how to paint the suncatchers. Don laid out newspaper for the boys and opened the paints. He got a cup of water for cleaning the paint brush inbetween colors. Just then, the phone rang and I had to handle an important matter. I left the room and went into the living room to finish my call. When I returned to the kitchen, Don said,
"Well, Dane had an accident."
"What kind of accident?"
"A PAINT accident," he explained. Apparently, one of the paint buckets (little tiny things) had overturned and poured all over Dane and his clothes. Don was trying to clean him up.
A few minutes later, I walked past the halfbath. Dane's clothes were wet and were in a heap on the floor. I shook my head. Daddy had at least washed them out by hand, but they were on the floor of the bathroom, not in the laundry room.
I went into the kitchen to do a little more work on dinner when Dane appeared. He was wearing an old robe of Don's, had it on backwards with the belt tied in the back, and the bell sleeves came down 4 inches below his hands.
"Mama, could you please roll my sleeves up for me?"
"Son, why on earth are you wearing that robe?"
"Daddy said this would be my paint shirt from now on."
Paint shirt. A floor-length robe with sleeves almost as long - when Dane has at least 15 t-shirts that are ripped or are in poor shape.
Men sure don't do things like women!
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Germs in, Germs out!
Yesterday we got a note that school tomorrow has been cancelled. YAY! Although . . . I still have a few Christmas presents for the children that I need to pick up and that may make it a little difficult. No worries. I'd rather have my children home, relaxing, or going to the Mall just for fun, than have them stuck in a classroom.
So, we're sitting at the breakfast table today. Dane's hunched over, letting the steam from his hot tea go up his nose. Deanna's coughing with a hack reminiscent of the cancer ward at the Veteran's Hospital. And Daelyn is slow-moving and grumpy, occasionally finding enough energy to cough long and hard. We've moved the Kleenex box to the kitchen table for convenience.
"Well," I comment, looking at the pitiful state of my family, "at least we can all sleep IN tomorrow."
"Are you gonna call the doctor and get us all appointments?" Deanna asks.
"Why? Do you think you need to see the doctor?"
You may not understand the importance of this question, but it is a clear guideline on just how sick she is. Deanna (and the other two children, as well) hates strept tests. She tries so hard to be good about it, but, in the end, she usually breaks down and cries. It hurts and it's just more than she can handle when she already feels bad. If she has a sore throat, she knows there's a risk Dr. Miller is going to do a strept test, so if she asks to go to the doctor, I know she feels REALLY bad.
"I really do, Mama," she responds, sadly. "I'm actually having trouble breathing and there's this sound in my chest when I breath. Besides, it'd be the perfect time. The other children will all be in school. We can go during the day and not have to wait."
Wishful thinking. Children are always sick and kept home from school to see the doctor. But she obviously feels rough and probably has a touch of pneumonia.
I gave her two puffs from Dane's rescue inhaler to follow the 12-hour Sudafed I had given her ten minutes earlier. The funny thing is that none of the children asked to stay home. Since school has been cancelled for tomorrow, all their teachers are trying to cram two day's worth of work into one day and the children understand how academically important today is. All the same, I'm calling the doctor. Deanna hasn't run a fever, but if she had pneumonia, she's probably contagious.
I don't know what they'll do about her being Mary in the school play tonight. Do you suppose anyone would notice that she was wearing a face mask?
So, we're sitting at the breakfast table today. Dane's hunched over, letting the steam from his hot tea go up his nose. Deanna's coughing with a hack reminiscent of the cancer ward at the Veteran's Hospital. And Daelyn is slow-moving and grumpy, occasionally finding enough energy to cough long and hard. We've moved the Kleenex box to the kitchen table for convenience.
"Well," I comment, looking at the pitiful state of my family, "at least we can all sleep IN tomorrow."
"Are you gonna call the doctor and get us all appointments?" Deanna asks.
"Why? Do you think you need to see the doctor?"
You may not understand the importance of this question, but it is a clear guideline on just how sick she is. Deanna (and the other two children, as well) hates strept tests. She tries so hard to be good about it, but, in the end, she usually breaks down and cries. It hurts and it's just more than she can handle when she already feels bad. If she has a sore throat, she knows there's a risk Dr. Miller is going to do a strept test, so if she asks to go to the doctor, I know she feels REALLY bad.
"I really do, Mama," she responds, sadly. "I'm actually having trouble breathing and there's this sound in my chest when I breath. Besides, it'd be the perfect time. The other children will all be in school. We can go during the day and not have to wait."
Wishful thinking. Children are always sick and kept home from school to see the doctor. But she obviously feels rough and probably has a touch of pneumonia.
I gave her two puffs from Dane's rescue inhaler to follow the 12-hour Sudafed I had given her ten minutes earlier. The funny thing is that none of the children asked to stay home. Since school has been cancelled for tomorrow, all their teachers are trying to cram two day's worth of work into one day and the children understand how academically important today is. All the same, I'm calling the doctor. Deanna hasn't run a fever, but if she had pneumonia, she's probably contagious.
I don't know what they'll do about her being Mary in the school play tonight. Do you suppose anyone would notice that she was wearing a face mask?
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
A Letter to Monika
My dear friend from England, Monika, posted a comment on my entry from last Friday. She said that she got my Christmas card and it was the first one they received this year.
What she doesn't know is . . . the REST of the story!
I was determined to get all the cards for my friends in England and family and friends in Canada mailed out early. One of my uncles, Uncle Paul Hunt, lives in a town that's so small it has one business - that's the full extent of the town. Mail from us usually takes about two to three weeks to get to him, so I like to make sure I send out his card early enough that he actually gets it before Christmas. Several other family members live in similar remote areas, so I plan to get all the Canadian cards out around Thanksgiving. This year I had several to send to England, as well, and we discovered when living there that mail from the U.S. is not highly regarded and can take a VERY long time to arrive.
I wrote my Christmas letter, printed it on pretty Christmas snowflake paper and sat up late one night addressing labels. The next morning I wrote the cards, inserted one of my holiday letters and carefully sealed the envelopes. I put our return address labels and then checked the USPS website for postal rates to the UK and Canada. It took quite some time to piece together enough stamps to make the right postage, but I was diligent.
Our outgoing mail has to be clipped to the outside of our mailbox, so we can only send out 5 or 6 cards at a time. I took all the foreign ones, which turned out to be many more than 5 or 6 considering so much of my family lives in Canada, wrapped a rubberband around them and clipped them to the outside of my box. The rest of the cards that I had managed to get written I stuck in a stationery box and left on the dining room table.
The next day, I took 5 more cards out of the stationery box and clipped them to our mailbox. And thus it went for several days. I finally had only one batch of cards left to mail out when I discovered - woe is me - I had forgotten to put postage on all my U.S. cards!
I felt like an idiot. I had tried so hard to get the postage correct on the foreign cards, I had completely neglected the American ones. I chased the mailman down that afternoon and he told me that he hadn't noticed but that the machine at the main post office would spit them out and they'd be returned to me.
"I brought you back 3 today," he smiled as he gleefully commented.
"Thanks a lot!" I responded. I went inside and took every effort to cover up the red "Returned for Postage" stamp across the top of the envelope with postage stamps so my friends wouldn't know just how crazy I am this time of year. It's been several days and I hadn't gotten any more in the mail until today.
My brother's card, my in-law's card, and friends of ours from Don's hometown are the proud recipients of "Returned for Postage" cards. Unfortunately, the USPS stamped these ones a little wildly so I don't think I'll be able to cover up my sin with postage stamps.
I'm glad Monika got my card this early. I'm even happier it had postage on it.
Merry Christmas, my dear friend. I miss you terribly and that wonderful guy who shares your house (No, Monika, I don't mean Zeus!). I'm glad you had a good time at your reunion but next time, wear house slippers.
Wish you were here with us to celebrate Christmas instead of just exchanging cards and e-mails. Maybe next year?!?
All my love to you and have a wonderful holiday. And kisses from all the kids.
Patti
What she doesn't know is . . . the REST of the story!
I was determined to get all the cards for my friends in England and family and friends in Canada mailed out early. One of my uncles, Uncle Paul Hunt, lives in a town that's so small it has one business - that's the full extent of the town. Mail from us usually takes about two to three weeks to get to him, so I like to make sure I send out his card early enough that he actually gets it before Christmas. Several other family members live in similar remote areas, so I plan to get all the Canadian cards out around Thanksgiving. This year I had several to send to England, as well, and we discovered when living there that mail from the U.S. is not highly regarded and can take a VERY long time to arrive.
I wrote my Christmas letter, printed it on pretty Christmas snowflake paper and sat up late one night addressing labels. The next morning I wrote the cards, inserted one of my holiday letters and carefully sealed the envelopes. I put our return address labels and then checked the USPS website for postal rates to the UK and Canada. It took quite some time to piece together enough stamps to make the right postage, but I was diligent.
Our outgoing mail has to be clipped to the outside of our mailbox, so we can only send out 5 or 6 cards at a time. I took all the foreign ones, which turned out to be many more than 5 or 6 considering so much of my family lives in Canada, wrapped a rubberband around them and clipped them to the outside of my box. The rest of the cards that I had managed to get written I stuck in a stationery box and left on the dining room table.
The next day, I took 5 more cards out of the stationery box and clipped them to our mailbox. And thus it went for several days. I finally had only one batch of cards left to mail out when I discovered - woe is me - I had forgotten to put postage on all my U.S. cards!
I felt like an idiot. I had tried so hard to get the postage correct on the foreign cards, I had completely neglected the American ones. I chased the mailman down that afternoon and he told me that he hadn't noticed but that the machine at the main post office would spit them out and they'd be returned to me.
"I brought you back 3 today," he smiled as he gleefully commented.
"Thanks a lot!" I responded. I went inside and took every effort to cover up the red "Returned for Postage" stamp across the top of the envelope with postage stamps so my friends wouldn't know just how crazy I am this time of year. It's been several days and I hadn't gotten any more in the mail until today.
My brother's card, my in-law's card, and friends of ours from Don's hometown are the proud recipients of "Returned for Postage" cards. Unfortunately, the USPS stamped these ones a little wildly so I don't think I'll be able to cover up my sin with postage stamps.
I'm glad Monika got my card this early. I'm even happier it had postage on it.
Merry Christmas, my dear friend. I miss you terribly and that wonderful guy who shares your house (No, Monika, I don't mean Zeus!). I'm glad you had a good time at your reunion but next time, wear house slippers.
Wish you were here with us to celebrate Christmas instead of just exchanging cards and e-mails. Maybe next year?!?
All my love to you and have a wonderful holiday. And kisses from all the kids.
Patti
Monday, December 10, 2007
Time Well Spent
Daelyn's been asking me to take him to a local store that's way cool. They have an outdoor area where they sell trees and a little train that goes in a circle on rails. They decorate about 30 trees inside, each with a particular theme, then sell all the ornaments used on the tree in baskets around the tree. They have a whole room with exotic candies, salsa, barbecue sauces, etc. that always has a coffee urn with something delicious to taste and in the tree area there's hot boiled peanuts, sno-cones, popcorn, and cotton candy that can be bought. One area of the store has a huge display of a Dicken's Village with every piece you can buy. The children love to walk around and look at every detail. It's a really cool place and all my children love to go there.
It just so happens, all three of the children are in our church's Christmas Program Wednesday night and the school program Thursday night. I have the costumes already pulled together for Wednesday, but I'm struggling with Deanna's Mary costume and Dane's angel costume for Thursday. This store also has an awesome costume shop, so Don suggested I take a run by there and try to pick up angel wings for Dane. I decided we should go right after school today.
I called my friend, Kelly, to see if she wanted to join us with her children. My friend, Nicki, also decided to go with us. Nicki showed up about ten till three, we loaded Daelyn in the van, and headed to the school to pick up the other two and meet Kelly and her gang. I took along several plastic cups and paper bags, thinking in advance. This way, we could buy the large cup of boiled peanuts for $4.00, split it between several children in the plastic cups, and I could give a lunch sack to each child for the shells. I was quite proud of myself.
We arrived at the store and headed straight for the outdoor tree lot. On the way through the building, we asked the girl at the counter if we could use the train. Several years ago, the owners decided to leave the train intact but not to run it themselves because of liability. Guests are welcome to put their kids on the train and operate the switch themselves, making them solely responsible for any accidents. It makes no difference to me who throws the switch, as long as the children get to ride.
They all piled into the cars, whooping like a bunch of banshees. My friend and I threw the switch and the train began going in circles. The kids pulled wildly on the string that ran down the side of the train and was connected to the bell. After a few minutes, we turned it off, let them all trade places, and went another round.
After ten minutes or so, I left Kelly and Nicki with the kids and I went to look at angel wings. No success for me. They were all little, effeminate things with fur. One pair, which looked exactly how I imagine angels wings to look with feathers on the bottom and a thicker part near the top, were perfect except that they were purple. I talked with an employee who told me those were the only choices. We took apart the packaging on one angel costume and decided it was inappropriate. I finally, reluctantly, walked back around to the train. It was still running, the children were still hollering, and the bell was ringing loudly.
Surprised that they were still entertained, I stood for a moment watching. Deanna sat in the middle of the train, he knees tucked neatly under her chin, one hand in the air giving the royal wave to no one in particular - just for any admiring fans who happened to be watching. I cracked up. The one who was enjoying the toddler's train the most was the 11-year old.
I'm glad Deanna still appreciates the simple pleasures in life. Her innocence and purity are a blessing to the Lord, I'm sure. I watched in pleasure as she changed spots several times, being the engineer up front as well as bringing up the caboose.
When we finally drug the kids off the train, we walked through the store and looked at all the amazing and beautiful trees and ornaments. We looked over the Dicken's Village and sampled the Wassail that was in the silver urn. I let each of the children pick out a piece of rock candy for $.59 ea., then we headed back to the tree area to pick up our boiled peanuts and a bunch of fresh mistletoe.
We had a wonderful time, all had our fill of peanuts, and left having enjoyed a peaceful, fun afternoon. This is what the Christmas season should be all about - time spent with family and friends wasting time, doing fun stuff and relaxing together.
I have tons of work to do at home, but there's no sense having a house beautifully decorated and cards mailed out to half the country if you haven't spent any time with your children the entire month of December because you've been too busy.
So, I say, "Wake up and smell the boiled peanuts! Give that bell a tug! Share a cup of Wassail with your kids. Make Christmas merry instead of just busy."
... and to all a good night.
It just so happens, all three of the children are in our church's Christmas Program Wednesday night and the school program Thursday night. I have the costumes already pulled together for Wednesday, but I'm struggling with Deanna's Mary costume and Dane's angel costume for Thursday. This store also has an awesome costume shop, so Don suggested I take a run by there and try to pick up angel wings for Dane. I decided we should go right after school today.
I called my friend, Kelly, to see if she wanted to join us with her children. My friend, Nicki, also decided to go with us. Nicki showed up about ten till three, we loaded Daelyn in the van, and headed to the school to pick up the other two and meet Kelly and her gang. I took along several plastic cups and paper bags, thinking in advance. This way, we could buy the large cup of boiled peanuts for $4.00, split it between several children in the plastic cups, and I could give a lunch sack to each child for the shells. I was quite proud of myself.
We arrived at the store and headed straight for the outdoor tree lot. On the way through the building, we asked the girl at the counter if we could use the train. Several years ago, the owners decided to leave the train intact but not to run it themselves because of liability. Guests are welcome to put their kids on the train and operate the switch themselves, making them solely responsible for any accidents. It makes no difference to me who throws the switch, as long as the children get to ride.
They all piled into the cars, whooping like a bunch of banshees. My friend and I threw the switch and the train began going in circles. The kids pulled wildly on the string that ran down the side of the train and was connected to the bell. After a few minutes, we turned it off, let them all trade places, and went another round.
After ten minutes or so, I left Kelly and Nicki with the kids and I went to look at angel wings. No success for me. They were all little, effeminate things with fur. One pair, which looked exactly how I imagine angels wings to look with feathers on the bottom and a thicker part near the top, were perfect except that they were purple. I talked with an employee who told me those were the only choices. We took apart the packaging on one angel costume and decided it was inappropriate. I finally, reluctantly, walked back around to the train. It was still running, the children were still hollering, and the bell was ringing loudly.
Surprised that they were still entertained, I stood for a moment watching. Deanna sat in the middle of the train, he knees tucked neatly under her chin, one hand in the air giving the royal wave to no one in particular - just for any admiring fans who happened to be watching. I cracked up. The one who was enjoying the toddler's train the most was the 11-year old.
I'm glad Deanna still appreciates the simple pleasures in life. Her innocence and purity are a blessing to the Lord, I'm sure. I watched in pleasure as she changed spots several times, being the engineer up front as well as bringing up the caboose.
When we finally drug the kids off the train, we walked through the store and looked at all the amazing and beautiful trees and ornaments. We looked over the Dicken's Village and sampled the Wassail that was in the silver urn. I let each of the children pick out a piece of rock candy for $.59 ea., then we headed back to the tree area to pick up our boiled peanuts and a bunch of fresh mistletoe.
We had a wonderful time, all had our fill of peanuts, and left having enjoyed a peaceful, fun afternoon. This is what the Christmas season should be all about - time spent with family and friends wasting time, doing fun stuff and relaxing together.
I have tons of work to do at home, but there's no sense having a house beautifully decorated and cards mailed out to half the country if you haven't spent any time with your children the entire month of December because you've been too busy.
So, I say, "Wake up and smell the boiled peanuts! Give that bell a tug! Share a cup of Wassail with your kids. Make Christmas merry instead of just busy."
... and to all a good night.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Interesting Sandman
It's been a very busy weekend. Friday night, Don and I attended our church Christmas Party, which started at 6:30. I made a nice meal for the children and babysitter, put my appetizers in a box, and off we took. We had a wonderful time, but it was a late night.
Saturday we bought our tree (right after the two older children's basketball games) and rushed home to welcome the company we had invited over to help us decorate our tree. This is our family tradition and one we love. The last guests left at 9:30 when Don put his foot down and sent the children off to bed.
Of course, everyone was up early again this morning. Why is it that children won't sleep in when they're tired. Daelyn got up, dressed for church, then began yelling at everyone and crying about nothing. He was just so tired, he couldn't see straight. Normally, I would have put him immediately to bed, but the children had a dress rehearsal at 1:00 for the Church Christmas Pageant and it was a required practice. Don and I had a hurried conference. He laid down with Daelyn and read him a book. Then Daelyn very clearly explained that he would not sleep unless Mommy laid down with him. I had a meeting at the church during the same timeframe as the dress rehearsal, so I sent Don off to church with the two older children. I was going to get Daelyn down for a quick nap, then take him for the rehearsal when I went to attend my meeting.
I wasn't sure if I could get him asleep quick enough for him to get any real rest. We had just 70 minutes before he needed to be up, get his shoes on, and be out the door. I explained how important it was that he fall asleep quickly, then finished the story Don had been reading to him, and snuggled up next to him. It took him about 7 minutes total to fall asleep, and the first 4 he spent fidgeting.
Once his breathing was deep and even, I snuck out of the room, made out the grocery list, and did a few other chores. I was just preparing to switch laundry loads when Daelyn appeared.
"Mommy, I feel much better now. Can I get up?" He had only slept about 40 minutes, but he DID look much more rested and had a better attitude.
"Sure, honey. You took a really good nap. You know, you were sleeping really deeply."
"That's because I was having a really interesting dream."
So that's the key to getting him to sleep, is it? Put ideas for interesting dreams into his head. I'll have to remember that next time I desperately need a nap and he won't settle down.
Saturday we bought our tree (right after the two older children's basketball games) and rushed home to welcome the company we had invited over to help us decorate our tree. This is our family tradition and one we love. The last guests left at 9:30 when Don put his foot down and sent the children off to bed.
Of course, everyone was up early again this morning. Why is it that children won't sleep in when they're tired. Daelyn got up, dressed for church, then began yelling at everyone and crying about nothing. He was just so tired, he couldn't see straight. Normally, I would have put him immediately to bed, but the children had a dress rehearsal at 1:00 for the Church Christmas Pageant and it was a required practice. Don and I had a hurried conference. He laid down with Daelyn and read him a book. Then Daelyn very clearly explained that he would not sleep unless Mommy laid down with him. I had a meeting at the church during the same timeframe as the dress rehearsal, so I sent Don off to church with the two older children. I was going to get Daelyn down for a quick nap, then take him for the rehearsal when I went to attend my meeting.
I wasn't sure if I could get him asleep quick enough for him to get any real rest. We had just 70 minutes before he needed to be up, get his shoes on, and be out the door. I explained how important it was that he fall asleep quickly, then finished the story Don had been reading to him, and snuggled up next to him. It took him about 7 minutes total to fall asleep, and the first 4 he spent fidgeting.
Once his breathing was deep and even, I snuck out of the room, made out the grocery list, and did a few other chores. I was just preparing to switch laundry loads when Daelyn appeared.
"Mommy, I feel much better now. Can I get up?" He had only slept about 40 minutes, but he DID look much more rested and had a better attitude.
"Sure, honey. You took a really good nap. You know, you were sleeping really deeply."
"That's because I was having a really interesting dream."
So that's the key to getting him to sleep, is it? Put ideas for interesting dreams into his head. I'll have to remember that next time I desperately need a nap and he won't settle down.
Friday, December 07, 2007
Sound Sleeper
Don called from work yesterday.
"How's the wiggly boy?" he asked.
"Which wiggly boy? And why are you calling one of the boys 'wiggly'? Did one of them show up in bed with us last night?" I asked
"You don't remember?"
"No. Not a bit. What happened?"
"About midnight Daelyn showed up at our bed."
"I don't remember. Did he say anything?"
"Yes, honey. You really don't remember?"
"NO, I DON'T! What did he say?"
"He said he couldn't breath."
"Did I say anything?"
"Yes."
"Well, TELL ME! What did I say to him?"
"You really don't remember this, do you?"
"Of course not. Do I sound like I remember? What did I say?"
"You said, 'Don't sit on the puppy.'"
Oh, lovely! That's a caring, concerned Mom for ya. Not only do I not remember any of this, I was also more concerned about the dog than my 5-yr. old who couldn't breath. Apparently he got through it. He was still breathing yesterday morning when he got up to dress for school. I guess it wasn't worth complaining about. Apparently, Mom didn't care!
Merry Christmas to you, too.
"How's the wiggly boy?" he asked.
"Which wiggly boy? And why are you calling one of the boys 'wiggly'? Did one of them show up in bed with us last night?" I asked
"You don't remember?"
"No. Not a bit. What happened?"
"About midnight Daelyn showed up at our bed."
"I don't remember. Did he say anything?"
"Yes, honey. You really don't remember?"
"NO, I DON'T! What did he say?"
"He said he couldn't breath."
"Did I say anything?"
"Yes."
"Well, TELL ME! What did I say to him?"
"You really don't remember this, do you?"
"Of course not. Do I sound like I remember? What did I say?"
"You said, 'Don't sit on the puppy.'"
Oh, lovely! That's a caring, concerned Mom for ya. Not only do I not remember any of this, I was also more concerned about the dog than my 5-yr. old who couldn't breath. Apparently he got through it. He was still breathing yesterday morning when he got up to dress for school. I guess it wasn't worth complaining about. Apparently, Mom didn't care!
Merry Christmas to you, too.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Murphy's Law
We're getting our Christmas tree this weekend and decorating it and the house. We always have a few friends over to help us decorate the tree. When I was single, I had a party affectionately referred to as my annual Pre-Christmas Party the day after Thanksgiving. For years I had this party to kick off the Holiday Season. Then Don and I married and that was MY thing, not OUR thing. He discouraged me from continuing my "single tradition" and look for something that was more a "family tradition". We came up with the idea of a tree decorating party the year after we were married and have done that ever since.
So I've been working very hard this week at putting the house in order and preparing for the tree. I had tons of Fall decorations to take down and an even larger ton of cleaning to do. I always rearrange the living room so the tree is our focal point, so that had to be done, as well. Yesterday I got the kitchen floor scrubbed and the dining room cleaned up. Today I swept and thoroughly mopped the dining room, then laid a coat of wax on the hardwood in two separate section.
Wouldn't you know, as soon as I had laid down the coat on the section nearest the front door, the doorbell rang - a pecan customer. While the floor was drying, I sat in the kitchen and ate lunch, catching up on some correspondence I needed to read. No knocks on the door, no doorbells to disturb me. Then I move the dining room table onto the dry side and began work on the half nearest the kitchen, painting myself in, which was fine for me, because I prepared beforehand. I locked the front door, took my purse into the kitchen, and prepared to pick Daelyn up from school, when . . . you guessed it - the doorbell and another pecan customer.
While the floor has been wet, I've sold at least 20 pounds to about 6 different customers. In each case, I had to run around the house from the back door and meet my customer in the yard. The last gentlemen that showed up laughed when I told him of my plight and said,
"Maybe you ought to wax the floor more often. Perhaps that's what's attracting customers!"
That - and Murphy's Law.
So I've been working very hard this week at putting the house in order and preparing for the tree. I had tons of Fall decorations to take down and an even larger ton of cleaning to do. I always rearrange the living room so the tree is our focal point, so that had to be done, as well. Yesterday I got the kitchen floor scrubbed and the dining room cleaned up. Today I swept and thoroughly mopped the dining room, then laid a coat of wax on the hardwood in two separate section.
Wouldn't you know, as soon as I had laid down the coat on the section nearest the front door, the doorbell rang - a pecan customer. While the floor was drying, I sat in the kitchen and ate lunch, catching up on some correspondence I needed to read. No knocks on the door, no doorbells to disturb me. Then I move the dining room table onto the dry side and began work on the half nearest the kitchen, painting myself in, which was fine for me, because I prepared beforehand. I locked the front door, took my purse into the kitchen, and prepared to pick Daelyn up from school, when . . . you guessed it - the doorbell and another pecan customer.
While the floor has been wet, I've sold at least 20 pounds to about 6 different customers. In each case, I had to run around the house from the back door and meet my customer in the yard. The last gentlemen that showed up laughed when I told him of my plight and said,
"Maybe you ought to wax the floor more often. Perhaps that's what's attracting customers!"
That - and Murphy's Law.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Think She's a Little Distracted?
Deanna, while unpacking her backpack today after school: "Mom, did you read the thingamagig about the whatchamacallit? No, you couldn't have, because it was about that . . . okay. It doesn't . . .
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Work it, Baby!
The Holiday Rush has hit. I'll survive if I can just keep my priorities in order.
Work the priorities and everything will get done. First, get the Christmas cards done and in the mail. Some have to go to Canada, some to England. They need to be done first and mailed out immediately if they're to make it before Christmas.
Once the cards are gone, I can focus on cleaning and decorating. And baking. But not all at the same time. We're having our tree decorating party this Saturday, so the decorations need to be down out of the attic, some sweets made, and the house in order.
Next week I can worry about finishing my shopping (which is very nearly done) and work on more wrapping. I've already wrapped a good many gifts and I know from my experience last year that I can wrap all my gifts ( or at least throw them in gift bags) in 3 days.
The week after that (IS there a week after that?) I can do more baking, wander around the house listening to Christmas music, and do the fun stuff.
If I just work the priorities I'll get it all done. Where is cooking dinner and doing laundry on my priority list?
Work the priorities and everything will get done. First, get the Christmas cards done and in the mail. Some have to go to Canada, some to England. They need to be done first and mailed out immediately if they're to make it before Christmas.
Once the cards are gone, I can focus on cleaning and decorating. And baking. But not all at the same time. We're having our tree decorating party this Saturday, so the decorations need to be down out of the attic, some sweets made, and the house in order.
Next week I can worry about finishing my shopping (which is very nearly done) and work on more wrapping. I've already wrapped a good many gifts and I know from my experience last year that I can wrap all my gifts ( or at least throw them in gift bags) in 3 days.
The week after that (IS there a week after that?) I can do more baking, wander around the house listening to Christmas music, and do the fun stuff.
If I just work the priorities I'll get it all done. Where is cooking dinner and doing laundry on my priority list?
Monday, December 03, 2007
The Wild Side
I was the successful bidder on a Creme Brulee jar candle on Saturday. Yesterday, while making omelettes for the children, I lit the candle and put it next to me on the bar counter, safe from the pup, the children . . .
I was humming and cooking when I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye. I turned to the left to discover that I WAS ON FIRE! Flames were shooting out of my left pajama arm and back. I slapped at them with my right hand. They must have just erupted because my pajamas were a little yellow afterwards but unburned. I smelled a little like burnt wood the rest of the day.
I asked Don if my hair had been on fire. I wasn't sure if it was just my pajamas or me, too. He said he hadn't seen it and didn't know. When the children wandered back into the house from the backyard, I told them my story.
"How'd you put the flames out, Mama," one of the boys asked.
I paused for a minute. I had to really think. How HAD I put the flames out? I knew it was an instinctive action. I hadn't reached for a dishtowel or anything else. It must have been my bare hand. I was a little reluctant to tell the boys.
"Mom?" he repeated.
"I think I used my hand, honey," I mumbled.
"Hand? You used your hand? You could have burned yourself, Mama. That's dangerous."
That's me! Mrs. Danger - livin' on the edge! Caught on fire by my Creme Brulee candle. Yee-haw!
Fasten your seatbelts, folks. Mom's an adventurer. Maybe today I'll play with a flashlight!
I was humming and cooking when I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye. I turned to the left to discover that I WAS ON FIRE! Flames were shooting out of my left pajama arm and back. I slapped at them with my right hand. They must have just erupted because my pajamas were a little yellow afterwards but unburned. I smelled a little like burnt wood the rest of the day.
I asked Don if my hair had been on fire. I wasn't sure if it was just my pajamas or me, too. He said he hadn't seen it and didn't know. When the children wandered back into the house from the backyard, I told them my story.
"How'd you put the flames out, Mama," one of the boys asked.
I paused for a minute. I had to really think. How HAD I put the flames out? I knew it was an instinctive action. I hadn't reached for a dishtowel or anything else. It must have been my bare hand. I was a little reluctant to tell the boys.
"Mom?" he repeated.
"I think I used my hand, honey," I mumbled.
"Hand? You used your hand? You could have burned yourself, Mama. That's dangerous."
That's me! Mrs. Danger - livin' on the edge! Caught on fire by my Creme Brulee candle. Yee-haw!
Fasten your seatbelts, folks. Mom's an adventurer. Maybe today I'll play with a flashlight!
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Too Far?
We survived the Silent Auction. Don, the kids and I got home last night about 10:30, got them ready for bed, then sat and talked about how things had gone - positives (things we'd like to do that way again) and negatives (let's try and come up with a better way). On the grand scale, there were WAY more positives than negatives and, while we spent a good bit of time brainstorming the biggest negative, we really didn't see any other way to do things.
The problem we had was that the Lots were not in numeric order. The bidding sheets were scattered across 11 tables with no numeric rhyme or reason. But they had been placed logistically based on the size of the item and for aesthetics. Each table had some physical items to attract attention. The largest items, the ones that wouldn't fit on the tables, were displayed across the front of the gymnasium stage. The bid sheets for those items we placed on the first row of tables on the side opposite the side nearest the stage, so you could walk down the row, read the item name, glance up and be looking RIGHT at the very item. It took a fair amount of work to make it visually interesting and simple to find the items that weren't displayed on the tables and we had to switch items out several times during set-up. Add to that items being delivered to our door, of which we had no prior knowledge, Saturday afternoon one hour before the second auction, and you'll understand that it was extremely difficult to just keep order in a chaotic situation.
Don and I agreed that the only way we could make the numbers on the lots make any sense was to REALLY, FIRMLY cut off donations one week before the auction. But we know that's not realistic and we'd be shooting ourselves in the foot. Some of the best items we received came at the last minute. So this is a negative with which we'll just have to live.
We considered publishing a flier of the items up for bid sometime before the auction (or at least the ones we have at that point) so people have a chance to plan. We may try to do some of that next year. All-in-all, it was a very fun day and fruitful. If all items won are paid for and picked up, we will have made $4,940. Not bad for having started so late in the game.
There was one casualty to the day - Deanna. We pretty much gave her free reign. She was in a protected environment where she knew almost everyone and she's pretty mature. We made sure she checked in with us often and that we always knew where she was, but we let her come and go as she pleased.
Most of her time was spent shopping. There was a huge yardsale - probably the biggest yardsale I've ever seen - and a Country Store that was selling cute crafts and gift items. The big ticket there were tropical-flavored candycanes with reindeer horns and eyes glued on for $.10. How could you pass them up? There also was a bakery with amazing, wonderful stuff. Deanna found some wonderful Christmas presents at the yardsale and at the Store and was VERY pleased with her purchases. Several times throughout the day, she'd run up to where I was talking to a customer asking questions or a worker asking questions and blurt out, "Mama, guess what?" In most situations, I replied that I needed her to show me later because I was very busy. In the afternoon between the two auctions, I took time to look over all her gifts and once or twice at the Festival took the time to look and comment, but not near as often as she wanted to show me. Sitting at the table last night after all was said and done, I realized that she probably had been hurt by my inattentiveness. I apologized for not being very available. She hung her head and I thought I saw a tear. While she really did understand that I was unbelievably busy, it still hurt. I'm her Mama, the closest person in the world to her, and she wanted to share her excitement.
I don't know that I could have done anything differently. This is one of those times where my humanness eats my lunch. I had a job to do and when customers were asking for help, it had to come first. All the same, I've wounded my little girl, the only one I have. Customers come and go, daughters only go.
I plan on spending a good bit of time with my little girl looking over all her Christmas presents today and inventorying all her stuff. Perhaps I can, in some little way, make up to her my loss of interest yesterday.
And pull her close again before she wanders too far afoot.
The problem we had was that the Lots were not in numeric order. The bidding sheets were scattered across 11 tables with no numeric rhyme or reason. But they had been placed logistically based on the size of the item and for aesthetics. Each table had some physical items to attract attention. The largest items, the ones that wouldn't fit on the tables, were displayed across the front of the gymnasium stage. The bid sheets for those items we placed on the first row of tables on the side opposite the side nearest the stage, so you could walk down the row, read the item name, glance up and be looking RIGHT at the very item. It took a fair amount of work to make it visually interesting and simple to find the items that weren't displayed on the tables and we had to switch items out several times during set-up. Add to that items being delivered to our door, of which we had no prior knowledge, Saturday afternoon one hour before the second auction, and you'll understand that it was extremely difficult to just keep order in a chaotic situation.
Don and I agreed that the only way we could make the numbers on the lots make any sense was to REALLY, FIRMLY cut off donations one week before the auction. But we know that's not realistic and we'd be shooting ourselves in the foot. Some of the best items we received came at the last minute. So this is a negative with which we'll just have to live.
We considered publishing a flier of the items up for bid sometime before the auction (or at least the ones we have at that point) so people have a chance to plan. We may try to do some of that next year. All-in-all, it was a very fun day and fruitful. If all items won are paid for and picked up, we will have made $4,940. Not bad for having started so late in the game.
There was one casualty to the day - Deanna. We pretty much gave her free reign. She was in a protected environment where she knew almost everyone and she's pretty mature. We made sure she checked in with us often and that we always knew where she was, but we let her come and go as she pleased.
Most of her time was spent shopping. There was a huge yardsale - probably the biggest yardsale I've ever seen - and a Country Store that was selling cute crafts and gift items. The big ticket there were tropical-flavored candycanes with reindeer horns and eyes glued on for $.10. How could you pass them up? There also was a bakery with amazing, wonderful stuff. Deanna found some wonderful Christmas presents at the yardsale and at the Store and was VERY pleased with her purchases. Several times throughout the day, she'd run up to where I was talking to a customer asking questions or a worker asking questions and blurt out, "Mama, guess what?" In most situations, I replied that I needed her to show me later because I was very busy. In the afternoon between the two auctions, I took time to look over all her gifts and once or twice at the Festival took the time to look and comment, but not near as often as she wanted to show me. Sitting at the table last night after all was said and done, I realized that she probably had been hurt by my inattentiveness. I apologized for not being very available. She hung her head and I thought I saw a tear. While she really did understand that I was unbelievably busy, it still hurt. I'm her Mama, the closest person in the world to her, and she wanted to share her excitement.
I don't know that I could have done anything differently. This is one of those times where my humanness eats my lunch. I had a job to do and when customers were asking for help, it had to come first. All the same, I've wounded my little girl, the only one I have. Customers come and go, daughters only go.
I plan on spending a good bit of time with my little girl looking over all her Christmas presents today and inventorying all her stuff. Perhaps I can, in some little way, make up to her my loss of interest yesterday.
And pull her close again before she wanders too far afoot.
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