The Holiday Season is Here

Deanna: "The hot eggnog is steaming up my glasses. It's such a pain wearing glasses. When I run at basketball practice, they steam up. That's why I need contact lenses.

Me: "Wishful thinking, dear."

Deanna: "Do you think Santa could bring me contact lenses?"

Me: "Well, I think you have to have a prescription first."

Deanna: "I know! We could run to the eye doctors, get the prescription, then fax it to Santa."

Me: "Okay - but you have to give Santa at least two choices of gifts to get you. He may not get you contacts."

Deanna: "I'll give him another option that's impossible, like a Wii! Then he'll have no choice but to give me contacts!"

When your child begins to attempt to manipulate Santa, it may be time for him to stop visiting her. At the VERY least, she needs to be on his "Bad List" this year.

My Heart; Meghan!

Meghan Murrell got married Saturday night. Meghan is my almost goddaughter. She was the first of my babies outside the family. She's my darling, and I bawled my eyes out from the moment her mother started up the aisle until Don's car parked in our driveway after the reception.

Many years ago, during the summer between my freshman and sophmore years in college, I felt the call of the Lord to live a little differently. I moved out of my parents' home and moved in with a family with small children. I believed the Lord wanted me to learn a different way of doing things, learn to stretch, and experience children. Being the youngest of 5, I hadn't ever lived with children.

When I moved into the Murrell's home, they had three young children: Kajse was about 7 or 8, Mary Kate was only 4 and hadn't yet started school, and Luke John was a toddler, probably just a year old. Over the next couple of years, I worked very hard at becoming a member of the family, not just a "boarder". It was very hard for me, not that the Murrell's weren't wonderful, but it was so very different from my home, which was all I had known in the past. And I had almost no contact with friends and family.

About a year and a half into living with them, I began to pray for them to have a new baby. I really wanted a baby in the house. Suffice it to say, I mentioned it by accident one day, and World War III erupted. It seems Karen wasn't ready for another baby and was upset I was praying for her to have one. I continued to pray and the Lord moved on her heart; Meg was conceived.

It was obvious to everyone when she was born that she was MY baby. A classmate of mine in French IV at my college wrote a poem about "La Petite Meghan" because we had talked so much about the baby in class. I even suggested to Karen that she let me take Meg to school with me every morning in her basket.

"She'll just sleep," I pointed out. "You'll be able to have some freedom and do your errands. If she gets fussy, I can always hold her in the back of the classroom and bounce her. She'll go right back to sleep!" Karen vehemently resisted.

It wasn't long before I put Meg to bed EVERY night. She was one of those babies who would force herself to stay awake. Karen would nurse her, but she never fell asleep while nursing. Once she had finished her final nursing of the evening, I would take her, put her in my lap facing me, hold her head tight against my chest, sing to her and bounce her on her parents' bed for 20 minutes or so. It never failed to work. One night, Karen decided she needed to be able to get her own child to bed. She told me I could have the night off (not that I WANTED the night off) and took the baby upstairs. Forty-five minutes later, in frustration, Karen returned downstairs.

"Patti," she asked, exasperated, "would YOU please put Meghan to bed?"

Delighted, I'm sure! I even had the dubious pleasure of weening Meg when her parents had to take a trip to Arizona and discovered at the last minute that they couldn't take the still-nursing baby.

For years I fussed at Karen for not naming me the godmother.

"Patti!" she would fuss right back, "You're not Catholic. She had to have a Catholic godmother."

"You know I would've raised her in the Catholic church, Karen. She's MY baby. I should've been her godmother!"

Lest you think I talk this way to most people, after 4 years of living in Karen's home, we became VERY close, like sisters, really. There are things I would say to her (and she would say to me, as well) that we probably would never share with another person. Anyway, when Meghan started college, she and I discussed this issue, also.

Meghan: "I never understood WHY you weren't my godmother. It always FELT like you were."

Me: "I know. And I was very frustrated with your mother about that, but you needed a Catholic godmother, and I'm Protestant."

Meghan: "Well, I consider you my honorary godmother. Can't you be my godmother, too?"

Not to slight her real godmother, whom she dearly loves, but Meghan and I had a bond at a very different different level. She was my FIRST baby.

And now she's married, ready to begin a new life and have her own children. The event was wonderfully exciting, but, also, bittersweet. I watched her walk up the aisle, so poised and lovely, yet in my mind's eye, I saw the little red-headed, freckled wild child with the hair poking in all directions and the mischievous look in her eye sitting in my lap, poking me in the eye and giggling. I sat next to the center aisle in the back of the church with tears streaming down my face. Meghan glanced just past me and never made eye contact. After the wedding, during the picture-taking, Don and I hung around with the family. Meghan ran to me, hugged and kissed me and said,

"Aunt Patti, the first person I saw when I started down the aisle was YOU! And you were crying! I knew that if I looked at you, I'd lose it and would cry through my whole wedding, so I quickly looked away. I'm sorry if you didn't think I saw you."

What a darling girl. How could I HELP but love her?

Lots of tears were shed but my darling Meg made a good choice. Her husband is a godly man who grew up with her and was raised in a fine, Christian home. He dearly loves her, as she does him. They're a good match and will have a good, fruitful life together. Someone once told me that the test of whether or not to marry is this: will your marriage enable you to do things for the Lord that you wouldn't otherwise be able to do? If so, marry. If not, remain single and serve the Lord that way.

Meghan is just beginning a new chapter of serving the Lord; through serving a husband, his family and, one day, her children. She will need to seek his wisdom daily to be the best wife and mother she can be. And as her heart is knitted to her husbands and his to hers, she will continue to grow in God's grace, beauty and strength, as every Christian woman should.

Congratulations, la petite Meghan. Je t'aime, ma cherie.

Garage

These are Daelyn's cars that Grandma Doughty keeps at her house. When we arrive, he runs into our bedroom, gets in the bottom drawer of the bedside table on Don's side of the bed, gets out all his cars, and parks them in his garage . . . Grandma and Grandpa's fireplace. This is the cutest thing. I would never have thought the cars would stay in these gaps in the stones, but they do. And there they stay until we get ready to return home and they go back in the drawer, readily available for play all day long.

Someday, Grandma, Grandpa and I will miss seeing these cars in the "stone garage" of the fireplace.

Our School

Last night was Report Card night. Parents were to come to the school, pick each elementary student's report card up from his/her teacher, and discuss any issues. I went to Dane's class first, then to Daelyn's. After that, I made my way to the Middle School, which is always a little more loosey-goosey. The report cards were laid out, face down, on a table for the parents to get. If you wanted to talk with a teacher, you were welcome to stand in line for your turn. I decided it wasn't necessary for me to talk with any of Deanna's teachers, particularly since I talk with them a lot during the school year, anyway.

Daelyn's teacher surprised me. When I asked how Daelyn was doing, she told me that this is the brightest class she's EVER had (she's a veteran teacher with, probably, 25 years of experience). She said they really keep her on her toes and challenge her. She has to always have extra work prepared to keep them occupied. She told me that she usually allows her students to read to fill extra time, but this group reads so well and so fast that they tear through all the reading material and she's at a loss to keep them occupied. What a wonderful problem to have!

I was struck last night, in talking with the teachers and running into other parents as they moved through the hallways or waited in line outside a classroom. Our Headmaster is fond of saying that we're a family educating it's children - our school is private and is limited to the children of Alleluia Community members. The truth of the Headmaster's statement overwhelmed me last night. Each teacher strives to work with the gifts and weaknesses of each child individually. Both of the boys' teachers spoke to me about what they're doing to help deal with minor problems my sons are experiencing (one that's not even academic) and talked about how they encourage them. We spoke heart to heart and I was absolutely convinced of their love for my children and their deep desire to see them progress and do well, not just in school, but in life. These women are not just teachers - they're Aunts. They have relationships with their students outside of the classroom and are able to speak plainly to parents about the issues at hand. We're all in this together and our children's education is a cooperative effort.

It occurred to me last night that public school teachers, and even many in private schools, must be so very careful how they deal with student issues and even how these are addressed to the parents. It's not necessary for us to sidestep issues or sugar-coat problems. Teachers and parents can stand nose-to-nose and talk through strategies for improvement without offense. We all know and understand that these teachers are committed to their young charges and love them, seeking the Lord for them. Dane's teacher told Don this summer, before school even started, that she had prayed throughout the summer for Dane's health in anticipation of having him as her student.

What a gift we have! When a teacher is praying like that for her students, the Lord supernaturally blesses those relationships. My children are nurtured, loved, cared for, looked after every school day by gentle, kind women that love them. Short of home-schooling, there's no better place for them to be.

I signed those report cards last night and was proud; not just because of my children's grades, but by the teacher comments written on the back and by the knowledge that the Lord loves us enough to give us this wonderful gift. The teachers, hand-picked by God, are second to none. But the school, as a whole, is a gift few people will ever experience. I'm so glad I was called to this life and the riches God pours out on me because of my obedience. How could I do any less? Even my children reap the benefits of mine and their father's commitment to Him.

I know all children go through a rebellious stage in their lives and I'm quite certain I'll have to deal with that, as every parent does, but I'm ever so hopeful that the Lord will give these wonderful children the insight to see the wonder of our school and the advantage they will always have in life because of the nurture and caring of these wonderful men and women. They are blessed. I just pray we, in turn, can bless those teachers. They certainly deserve an extra helping of jewels in their crown.

God's Blessing of Family

Grandpa just left. It's always hard to see them drive away. I still cry when we leave West Virginia after visiting, even though we seem to be able to make the trek up there fairly often these days.

The bottom line - I love Don's parents and I miss them when we're not together. Sometimes, I just have to call his Mom and have a good, long chat with her. She's such a sweet, supportive, loving person. And Grandpa is a delight, as well - an unbelievably gifted man that still manages to be humble and kind. My friend, Kelly, told me on the phone this morning, "It's easy to see where Don gets his disposition."

The visit went very well, not that I expected any different. The one thing I WAS concerned about was whether or not Grandpa would get any rest. He doesn't sleep well under the best of circumstances and being away from home and exhausted didn't bode well for him being able to rest. We put him in Daelyn's bedroom and put Daelyn in with Dane, which was a very simple transition for us. All we really had to do was move three day's worth of clothes into Dane's room for Dae.

Grandpa arrived Sunday afternoon and I had planned a cook-out with my family so they would get some time with Grandpa. After my parents left, my sister, Grandpa, and I went into the living room and sat in front of the fire visiting. Grandpa fell asleep. The kids went on to bed and Toni left. I got up to do the dishes, and Grandpa slept. I eventually woke him up to call Grandma before it got too late, but he had a nice nap. Then, the next morning, he told me that he had slept like a rock. I was thrilled. I had scheduled enough time in the middle of the day Monday for him to have a nap. I had to wake him up to get him back down to the school for his afternoon session and he said he would've slept right through if I hadn't woken him.

I've thought a lot about him being able to sleep here and I think it must be that he felt comfortable. He was with family. I know I feel that way when I'm at their house. I go to bed when I want, get up when I want . . . it's easy and natural.

One of the teachers at the school on Monday commented about how much Don looked like his Dad. That surprised me, I guess because I always think of him as being so much like his mother.

"I guess so," I responded. "But his personality is much more like Mom's. I'm the one who's more like Dad."

The teacher looked at me a little funny. Then it struck me. There's no blood between me and Don's parents, no inherited traits from them. The truth is, though, I AM a lot like Don's father. I was talking with someone about this yesterday and they said,

"You know, people tend to choose a spouse that's like one of their parents." It's true, in our case. Don is very much like my mother. They really understand each other. I'm JUST like my father. In fact, when Don and I were first married and I'd be frustrated with him, I'd often go to my father for advice.

"Let me tell you what I did with Mom one time when that happened," Daddy would say. Don is very much like his mother, so he married a woman much like his father (unfortunately, without the Doughty humility - I'm working on THAT!). It's really not so unusual after all that I'm a lot like his father, even if there's not a blood trail between us. There's a love trail, that's for sure.

It'll be a quiet, sad day for me today as I recall the conversations and fun we had with Grandpa. Just having him in our house made it feel fuller, more homey. Early on, I commented,

"The only thing that could make this better would be if Grandma was here, too, and they could stay longer." And I meant it. Maybe someday they'll live close to us. Until then, I'll cherish every moment I have with them and appreciate the times they make the effort to walk away from their very busy lives and visit us. They're so very dear to all of us. Thank goodness we have phones and computers and summer months to spend driving back and forth.

Thank goodness for Grandma and Grandpa Doughty. What a gift they are from God.

Mistaken Identity

While doing some cleaning yesterday afternoon and waiting for Grandpa Doughty to arrive, Dane ran into the house yelling. He was trimming some grass from around my box garden with the electric trimmers and discovered, "A snake, Mom, a snake!"

I ran out behind him. He pointed deep down into the grass. I had to look hard, but I could make out the brown, what appeared to be the snake's head, and clear markings on his brown back. I was concerned that we had a baby diamondback rattler.

It wasn't long before the whole neighborhood appeared. We were all gawking and yelling, excited and a little scared. I kept saying, "Even if it IS a baby, where there's a baby, there's a Mama, so please be careful!"

About that time, Grandpa rounded the corner of the house onto the driveway. We glanced up briefly and acknowledged him (not much of a welcome for poor Grandpa!) and Deanna yelled to him what all the excitement was about. Grandpa jumped right into things with us, leaving his suitcase in the driveway to join the group gathered around the grass. Grandpa finally got a stick and managed to get the snake on the stick and raise it almost to the top of the grass before it fell off. It looked pretty short to me and really made me wonder if it WAS a snake.

"Maybe it's a newt," I kept saying. People looked at me like I was crazy. It was just that it was fat, but very short. It seemed to me that a snake that was that big around should have been far longer.

Don got some yard tools out of the shed and another dad, him, and Grandpa began working on the grass pile, trying to reach the snake. I decided I had had enough and headed back inside.

A few minutes later, Dane came running back in.

"Guess what, Mama?" he said. "Turns out our snake is a caterpillar!" We all had a good laugh. It really DID look like a snake, except for the length.

Anyway, for your viewing pleasure, I put a picture of it above. It's an elephant hawk moth caterpillar, which are native to England, interestingly enough. Dane put in back in the ground this morning - they burrow under the dirt to pupate, and we didn't want it to die.

Grandpa made it here safely and we did greet him once the excitement was over. And it was a fun afternoon. I can't say I'm sad it wasn't a snake. At least I can sleep peacefully at night.

Like Father, Like Daughter, Son, Other Daughter . . .

Deanna and I were eating potato chips together one day out of the bag. She reached in and grabbed a few chips.

"Hey!" I yelled. "You got the chip I wanted!"

Deanna looked at me and shook her head.

"Mama, that is so weird!"

"What's weird," I asked.

"YOU! Wanting a specific chip!"

"Well, it had a lot of barbecue seasoning on it and I had picked it out. It was going to be my next chip."

"It's just weird that you always look at the chips in the bag, then carefully choose ONE," she said.

I hadn't thought about that and it caught me a little by surprise.

"What do you mean?" I asked her.

"Well, whenever you eat chips - EVERY time you eat chips - you examine every chip, then choose ONE from the bag or bowl. It's so weird. Who DOES that? People just grab a handful of chips and eat them. But not you! You examine every chip carefully, then choose just one. Mama, people don't 'PICK' their chips. They just EAT them."

I really had never thought about that before. But she's right. I examine my chips - always! I don't know why - I guess it's because, if I'm going to waste those calories, I want to be sure I get the best of the chips in the bag. I suppose it IS a little weird, and she's right, most people don't examine their chips. But I always have. One of those quirks of my personality, I guess. I'm particular, even about my potato chips. I do the same thing with popcorn. If I share popcorn with the children at a movie, I get real upset with them because they just GRAB! I take one kernel at a time, eat all the little pokey parts off it, then eat the center. I nibble on it, kernel by kernel. Don learned while we were courting to always buy me my own popcorn, cause it drove me crazy that he'd just GRAB!!!

I took my mother to a doctor's appointment yesterday (so, does it seem like I dramatically changed subjects?) and one of my sisters was going to pick her up there and take her over to another sister's house to work on my niece's wedding invitations. Before Mom and Toni left, we all sat in Toni's car for a few minutes to visit. We got to talking about the SHAPE High School Reunion Toni, my brother, Chuck, and I went to a few weekends ago in Myrtle Beach. It was so interesting getting to have that time with Chuck and watching him interact with people that went to high school with him. His old cohorts in crime.

Toni and I were telling my mom a story about how, when we left the Reunion on Sunday, we walked under the house (the house was on stilts and there was parking underneath. My brother had parked his motorcycle underneath the stairs. Toni and I had parked across the street on the road.) to where Chuck had his motorcycle and stood with him while he got ready to go. Several women had gathered around him and were visiting and oohing and aahing about his bike - just like in high school. It was so funny to watch. Here are these women, in their mid-50's, Chuck is 55, and it was like they were teenagers again. They fell right back into those years. Chuck with his harem. He always had girls gathered around him back then. He was cool, very smart, handsome, and didn't date just one girl. One of the gals that knew him back them referred to him as a "freelancer". So, he was available, and fun to flirt with. And, boy, was he ever a chick magnet. The girls ALWAYS gathered around him. It was no different at the Reunion.

Toni and I stood, just outside the little circle of women, watching with smiles on our faces. Chuck, in his element. It was fun telling Mom the story, too.

"How long did it take Chuck to get ready to leave?" she asked.

Toni and I rolled our eyes and laughed spontaneously.

"You would NOT believe how long it took him to get geared up!" we both responded. He had a knit facemask he put on, then his helmet, then gloves. You would think those 3 things could be applied quickly, but, no! Everytime we stopped, it took Chuck a good 10 minutes to get everything back in place again. The facemask had to be just SO, then he gingerly applied his helmet and made sure his glasses and face shield were clean. Then the gloves, which took forever. Honestly, it took him a good 10 minutes to get ready to go.

Toni said, "You've never seen a production like this before, Mom. First, he had to shake everything out. Then, very slowly and carefully, he examined each item. Then he'd shake them out again. Finally, he'd begin to put them on! It was unbelievable."

"Just like Daddy," Mama said. Have you ever watched Daddy take off his socks?"

We all laughed. All three of us are very familiar with the routine Daddy goes through to undress. Yep, Chuck's just like him - slow, meticulous, seemingly about things that really don't matter that much.

Sound like somebody we know with potato chips? At least I can claim I got it honestly. Blame Daddy!

"Precious"

I have a very close friend, Kelly. We were fairly close as singles, but then I married. A year later, she married. I had Deanna. A year later, she had Tim. The year after that, I had Dane. A couple years later, she had Kolbe and I had Daelyn. Kolbe and Daelyn are in the same class and are close friends. Timothy was very close to Deanna when he was little, even waking his mother up early one morning and asking her to take him to school so he could see Deanna on her first day. Later, when he reached that "Girls are Ucky" stage, he and Dane became very close and we discovered that they like almost all of the same things. Kelly and I are both married to Engineers that work at SRS.

While we were in England, Kelly found out she was pregnant again. Lest you wonder, she's younger than me, but no Spring Chicken. It was amazing and quite a blessing from the Lord. Since I'm unable to have anymore children and it will be a while before I have grandchildren, I very happily accepted any children Kel could give me. I encouraged her to continue to bear babies for me to spoil.

John was born a little over two years ago. What a miracle. He was one of the most beautiful babies I've ever seen - right up there with Deanna and my niece, Alicia. He was my darling from the very beginning.

I made it a point to go and see him everyday for about the first two months of his life (I'm sure there were some days I missed, but I made a real effort to see him VERY often). I'd stop by, Kelly'd open the door and we'd begin talking while I followed her around. She would always go right to the baby, wherever he was, pick him up and put him in my arms. It was so amazing - this dear friend that I loved so much generously sharing her baby with me.

I'm not sure her husband completely understood this relationship at that time. He eventually caught on, when I was the only person who could get kisses or attention from John. Anyway, John has continued to be my darling boy, despite the fact that he's in the Terrible Two's, and you'll noticed I capitalized that.

Several months ago, Kel produced another baby for me! After not having a male child in her husband's family for many generations, Kelly and Dave had a little girl. I loved that child from the moment I knew of her conception, but she's stolen my heart over and over again since then.

I was able to be in the room when she was born. I'm 48, have 3 children of my own and 12 nieces and nephews, and had never seen a live birth. My sisters wouldn't let me in with them, since I was still single at the time (which I find bizarre - I even thought it was crazy back then, but there was no convincing them) and I had C-Sections. My only hope was that I'd get to see my grandchildren born. Then, without even discussing it in advance, I showed up at the hospital, Kel was in transition, and Dave was standing in the Hallway having just called my house to tell me to hurry.

I'm sure ALL births are amazing, but this one was doubly so. There were some scary moments, but Ainsley Elizabeth was born, a big girl, and beautiful. When it was finally my turn to hold her, I put her close to my face, my cheek to hers, and whispered in her ear of my love for her. She had been crying and screaming and my voice immediately calmed her. Truth is, it might have just been the skin to skin contact, but I'd like to believe she recognized my voice and was quieted by it (it COULD be, you know - I talked to her often while she was in the womb).

I haven't been quite as faithful to see Ainsley as I was Jon-Jon, but I still get to see her very often. She's just precious, which her mother and I comment about constantly. We hold her in front of us, coo at her, smile and watch her smile back while calling her "Precious". Jon-Jon has picked up on this.

The fourth child in a family of boys, Ainsley will have much to overcome in life. We just never expected it to start quite this soon. We've noticed that the boys have picked up our little comments and have begun calling her "Precious" in a Smeagle-tone. Now, if any of you have seen Lord of the Rings, you'll know what I'm talking about. NO ONE, in their right mind, would want their beautiful child connected in ANY way with Smeagle's lust for the Ring. When we hear the boys call her "Precious" in that gutteral, snearing way, we quickly tell them to stop. But, boys are boys, and they like nothing better than to get under our skin.

Even Jon-Jon has taken to calling Ainsley "Precious", except, with him, it comes out "Pwecious"! He even can imitate his older brother's tone of voice and you'll feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up when he calls to the baby. Unfortunately, there's no breaking John of his term for his baby sister. Sometimes, he calls her other things, but Precious seems to be the predominant expression.

A couple of weeks ago, Kelly called me, laughing. It seems she found Jon-Jon with a toy machine gun strapped over his shoulder. He was sneaking from room to room, in his best Smeagle voice, saying, "Precious, where ARE you?"

Kelly added, "My daughter is going to need ministry before she's two!" Hate to break it to you, Kel, but I'm quite sure that will be her life with 3 older brothers. But it's okay. If things get too tough for her, she can come and live with me.

To Laugh or Not to Laugh . . . that is the question.

Deanna came home from school one day last week upset. It seems they were playing kickball at P.E. One of the girls in her class was up and, as she ran towards the ball to kick it, it somehow missed her first foot and got stuck between her two feet. The girls all laughed, including the one trying to get past the ball, but when her friends continued laughing, she got hurt feelings and started to cry. Deanna said she wasn't laughing and some of the girls took it a little too far. They got into trouble with the coach and Deanna felt really bad for her sweet friend, a girl we dearly love.

It brought up an interesting question. Is it okay to laugh at something that's objectively funny when it involves another person. I'm terrible about that. My kids are always doing crazy things like using the wrong words, falling off the bench at the kitchen table, etc. I can't help myself - I'm not making FUN of them, I just think the humor in it is so unique and it catches me so off-guard that I crack up. Deanna has told me before that she feels like I'm making fun of her. I've assured her that I'm not, that I'm laughing WITH her, not AT her and pointed out that, normally, she's laughing too. The last time she got hurt feelings, I started pointing out to her the times she did the same thing to her brothers.

"Were you making fun of them?" I asked her.

"No, Mama, of course not. It was just funny."

"And that's how I feel, too, honey. When you do those funny things, I'm not making fun of you - I'm just appreciating the humor in them."

I think she's beginning to see it and I think it probably is a more sensitive issue right now because of her age. We don't laugh if the person involved in the incident is hurt (unless it's REALLY funny and I try hard to stifle while I'm running to help the hurt child).

I know I must sound terribly callous. There was a time when one of the kids fell off the bench and, literally, turned a flip on their way down. It cracked me up. I wanted to hold up a score card and yell, "10". The injured child was quite insulted and cried. I rushed to him/her, bending down to assess the damage, but I just couldn't stop laughing.

"I'm so sorry, hon. Are you okay? (Ha, ha!)"

"NO! I hurt my shoulder and my foot, Mama."

(Ha, heh!) "Oh, I'm so sorry. Let me help you up." (Chortle, laugh)

I WAS sorry they were hurt, but I couldn't quite get the picture out of my mind. It was like a spontaneous slapstick comedy right there at my kitchen table. The child got angry.

"STOP laughing, Mama. It's NOT funny. I'm hurt!"

"But, honey, it really WAS funny. I'm sorry to be laughing, but you nailed the landing!"

When the child looked around and noticed his/her siblings cracking up and they began explaining the humor of the fall, the child finally saw the humor and began to chuckle.

Every now and then, Deanna will call me "Evil Mommy"; like the time we were showing her new underwear in the package to her friend who was joining us for dinner. We played keep-away from Deanna who was trying to reclaim her undies. Her friend was convinced we were all bonkers and Deanna still cracks up when telling that story, but it's times like that when she calls me "Evil Mommy".

There was also the time we were coming home from church on Sunday. It was a dreary, cold morning and we were all VERY tired from the trip we had taken the previous day. As we sat in absolute silence at a long stoplight, an elderly man began to slowly make his way across the street in front of us, moving like a snail. When he was right in front of us, I yelled, "Hit him, Daddy!" I was just trying to put a little levity in our morning. Apparently, though, with the low cloud cover, my voice really carried. I may have been a little louder than I intended, too. Anyway, the poor little man heard me, jerked his head up, looked me straight in the eyes and began running for the side of the road. He went from wobbling and barely walking to running for his life. The children and I burst out laughing. Of course, I had been joking, but the little old man's reaction was priceless. We will NEVER forget that scene, and we recall it often when we're together as a family. It STILL elicits peals of laughter from all of us except Don. I think that's when Deanna gave me the nickname, "Evil Mommy".

Anyway, back to her friend. I think it has a lot to do with their age and the fact that they're all dealing with insecurities right now. Nobody wants to feel like they're a laughing stock, even if they thought the incident was funny.

The moral of this story: I'm trying to teach Deanna to lighten up and see the humor in life. Choose to not be hurt or offended. It's a very hard lesson for ALL of us, but particularly hard during adolescence. If she can just get it down, her life will be less stressful and she'll get along better with everyone.

As for our dear little friend with the ball - out of respect for her, we won't bring it up. When she's older, we may remind her of the story. I expect, by the time she's out of school, she'll see the humor in it, as well. But for now, we'll protect her self-image and try very hard to not laugh at faux pas involving Deanna's friends.

Lamenting

Cough, cough . . . groan; cough, cough . . . clear throat, groan, blow nose.

My head aches, my throat hurts, my ears are congested, I can't breath. I feel terrible.

I don't think it's the flu, I think it's just a cold, but BOY, do I ever feel bad.

I'm going to have a cup of hot Theraflu and go to bed early; as soon as I get the boys down. It would be just plain dangerous to hit the sack before them.

But I feel like I could sleep for 2 solid weeks. Sure wish I could.

Round Robin

It seems to have moved through the family and lighted on me. Last week, Deanna was home sick Thursday and Friday. By Saturday, she was coughing so hard, I made her a hot buttered rum (yes, I know she's only 13, but I HAD to do something) at 12:30 a.m. so she could get some sleep. The hot drink and the little dab of alcohol I put in it calmed her cough down and she finally was able to get some rest. By Sunday, she was feeling noticeably better and we decided it was just a bad cold. Then Dane came home from his camp-out, went straight into the bathroom for a hot bath, and emerged (at 9 a.m.) in his pajamas.

"I don't feel well, Mama," he said. Gee, that wasn't obvious. "I can't seem to get warm."

I kept him home Monday, but he was feeling better yesterday, except for his cough. I've been giving him breathing treatments, which help tremendously. Without them, he has that choking, never-stopping constricted cough. But he went back to school yesterday and did fine.

Yesterday, Daelyn began complaining of a sore throat. I wasn't surprised. I asked him to have his daddy give him some medicine before bed. By the time I crawled into bed myself, my throat was sore and my nose congested.

Daelyn decided he'd rather brave school than brave spending the whole day with Mommy today, so he threw his school clothes on at the last minute and took off out the door with his siblings. I have been wandering around the house, a little oblivious, in a daze of drippy nose and fuzzy head.

My prayer is that Don doesn't get it. He's working so hard these days and such long hours, he just can't afford to be sick. It's straining him to the absolute limits to be doing all he's doing already - adding illness to that is not an option.

I guess I'm going to have to put our 10 second daily kisses on hold for a couple of days in the hopes of preserving his health. And if you don't know what I'm talking about, I'm sure there'll be an opportunity to explain it in another Post.

Camping - without me!

Don and the boys are camping out this weekend. It's a Boy/Cub Scout thing. Last year, we did it as a family, but I couldn't handle another weekend away from home, so Don got duty.

I was a little concerned about the event with the weather turning cool and the rain. The same thing happened last year - driving rain, freezing temperatures. We slept in gloves and knit caps to stay warm. This year, I packed lots of layers for the kids, including warm socks to wear in their sleeping bags.

They came home midday today to take showers and change into clean, dry clothes. Dane was fussing about not needing a shower and how he was going to miss the knife activity where they got to sharpen a stick. Daelyn seemed happy to see me and Don just needed a bit of relief.

I know they're having a wonderful time but I'm glad I'm at home in dry warmth. Besides, this is a great opportunity for their daddy to bond with them over a male thing.

I plan to pop some corn, have a friend over to visit, and cuddle up on the couch and read for a while. We had Deanna checked out by a good friend who's a Physician's Assistant and she said Deanna's moving air well and she didn't hear wheezing or rattling, so I'm comfortable holding off on taking her to the Emergency Room this evening.

I seldom enjoy having Don gone and I can't really say I've enjoyed the quiet in the house, but I HAVE had an opportunity to get some work done that seldom gets touched. All too soon, the weekend and camping trip will be over and we'll be back to the weekly grind. So, I'm taking advantage of every minute tonight.

Where's that unopened bottle of wine?

Pending Surgery

Just a quick update. I had an appointment with my Hand doctor today and I will be undergoing surgery on my left thumb, most likely within the next month.

I have significant arthritis in the joint which has caused me a lot of pain. At my last appointment with the hand specialist, he gave me a cortizone shot, hoping it would give me several months of relief. It lasted 6 weeks.

The surgery is very successful and done under local anesthesia at a surgical center as an outpatient. They will remove a tendon from my left arm, remove a bone from the thumb joint and sew the tendon in the place of the bone, creating a cushion.

Recovery is a whole nother issue. I'll be in a cast for 28 days, then will have therapy twice a week for 8 weeks. Total recovery will take between 9 months and a year.

Anyway, it will be good to not have to deal with this pain long-term. However, I HATE surgery, and it seems I've had well more than my fair share.

Foggy Memories

While I was at the Reunion this weekend, I got to look through a few Annuals. At SHAPE, high school began in the 7th grade and I left in the 6th, so the Yearbooks from the year after we left had pictures of many of my classmates.

In the military, people come and go rather quickly. In one year's time, more than half of the students in the 7th grade were new. One of the guys at the Reunion told me that there were 5 families, all with classmates of his, on the same flight back to the States with his family. Five not only left the exact same day, but were on the same flight. Interesting.

Anyway, there were a lot of new faces in that one year after we left, but there were a lot that I recognized, also. It had been a very long time since I had seen pictures of my elementary classmates, and it jogged lots of memories and made we wonder what had happened to all those people.

When I got home, I decided to begin searching for some of them and was surprised to discover that one of my old friends that I had already found was in contact with another old friend. Andrea Trumbull, whose father was a teacher in the high school, lived in Belgium her entire childhood. She graduated from SHAPE and moved to the States to attend college, living with an older sister who was married. We've been in touch for about a year now. But when I went to her Facebook page, I discovered she had found the third in our trio, Julie Fossum. I've thought about Julie so often, and even tried to find her, but that was before Facebook and I had no idea if she had married and what her name might be.

Of course, I immediately sent Julie and friend request. Last night, we exchanged messages, getting caught up on each other's lives. From her friends list, I found another of our classmates, Jerry Pearce. I'm sure there were lots of kids that I didn't know well, but Jerry wasn't one of them. He was a fun-loving, larger-than-life guy, and I was delighted to discover him again. Funny thing is, though, his profile picture looked exactly the same as how I remembered him from the 5th grade, except for a little facial hair. I would've recognized Julie from her picture, too. She looks very much the same, but looks even more like her older brother looked back in SHAPE.

This has gotten me motivated. I'm working hard at finding some of my other classmates that I still remember. Not a lot of luck so far. I've made contact with a Suzy Stack and a Jerry Minerich, but both of them are not the ones from my past.

I'm going to keep trying. More and more people are joining Facebook all the time and most women seem to include their maiden names. It's the best possibility I've ever had of finding these old friends.

Another Reunion

In November of 1969, my father was transferred with the Army from Taipei, Taiwan to SHAPE Belgium. SHAPE stood for Supreme Headquarters, Allied Powers, Europe. Essentially, it was the headquarters for NATO, which had previously been housed in Paris and was moved to Mons, Belgium a couple of years before we arrived. The Class of 1968 was the first graduating class from the school in Belgium.

I was in the 3rd grade when we moved. We lived there until November of 1972, when my father was reassigned to Ft. Gordon, Georgia, from whence he eventually retired. My only brother, Chuck, graduated from SHAPE in 1971 and my oldest sister, Tenny, graduated in December of 1972, early, staying behind and living with family friends so she could finish out the semester and graduate, joining us in the states for Christmas. So, our family boasts two alumni of SHAPE American High School.

The thing about being the youngest of five is that I knew all my siblings friends and classmates. On a military base in a foreign country, most everyone knew each other and there was a strong sense of comraderie, a tight bond that most Americans have never experienced. Add that to the ages of my siblings and the fact that most of the military families were large and my friends often had older brothers or sisters that were friends of my siblings, and we all seemed like one big, happy (albeit sometimes trying) family.

Since most of the graduates of SHAPE return to the States eventually, over the years there have been SHAPE Reunions hosted in different parts of the U.S. My two oldest sisters attended one in Arizona in 1989 and had a wonderful time. They reconnected with many old friends and there were even a few of my friends who attended. This past weekend, a SHAPE Reunion was held in Myrtle Beach, SC - a 4-hour drive from us. My brother, who hasn't seen many of his high school classmates since graduation, decided to go. My middle sister, Toni, also decided to go. Half an hour before they planned on leaving, I threw my name into the mix, hurriedly packed, and headed out with them.

The organizer, one of Chuck's classmates, had rented several houses in North Myrtle Beach. One very-large, 3-story home with a pool (right ON the beach, as were all the homes that housed the attendees), was the hospitality suite. All the meals were served there, buffet-style. Everyone milled around the decks, living rooms and kitchen, visiting with old friends and other alumni who lived in SHAPE during a different timeframe. We got reacquainted with old friends, we visited with siblings of our friends, and we made new friends. It really was a wonderful way to do a Reunion.

I was amazed how many people I recognized. Many of them look the same. From all over the room, you'd see someone stick out there hand and hear, "Who are YOU?" being repeated over and over. It would've been nice to have had nametags, but someone said, "It's more fun this way - it makes you think and you reach out to even people you didn't know." There was even one graduate from my class, although he arrived in SHAPE after we had already left. We sat on the couch together, poring over Annuals, refreshing our memories to all the people we had spent those years with. Although he was there after me, we knew and had been good friends with many of the same people.

I found it a little surprising how many of these women had married military men and how many of the men had gone into military service. It seemed like half of them had been fighter pilots. Many had seen combat and it was a little weird talking with kids that we grew up with and hearing stories from them that sounded much like my father's. Lots of them had stayed in touch over the years. There was one guy there who had been the HUNK of the high school. He dated one of the prettiest girls in school and they married after returning to the States. She's still beautiful and he still has that easy smile although he's lost all his hair (which was very long and a lovely color of light brown in high school). The man's younger brother was a good friend of mine and had been scheduled to come to the reunion, backing out at the last minute. Saturday evening, Scott told me he had spoken to Mark on the phone and told him I was there. Mark had sent along well-wishes for me. I told Scott to tell him he'd better be at the next Reunion.

My favorite part was watching my brother, eyes shining with memories and the rekindling of friendships, sitting around with a group of his buddies from high school talking about motorcycles. Chuck was always looked up to by the younger guys and that is still happening. I overheard some women talking about taking pictures "on Chuck's motorcycle" and giggling like schoolgirls. I was standing visiting with people several times when Chuck walked by and there was a real sense of deference and respect towards him.

Toni and I were given a bedroom in another beach house about a mile further up the beach. Turns out, the other people assigned to that house were all classmates of hers. We headed back to our house around 10:30 Saturday night. The noise, heat, and crowds at the main house were a little much for us. I planned on climbing into bed and reading for awhile before going to sleep. Toni was hoping to visit with her friends.

When we got to the house, everyone had gathered in the living room. There were just enough couches and easy chairs for all of us. The whole group sat in the living room telling stories, talking about other classmates and where they are now, and reminiscing. It was such fun, I hung out for another two hours. I couldn't get over seeing my sister sitting with the same people, all these years later. Periodically, I'd glance around and couldn't hide my smile. There really was something amazing about seeing all those people again.

Someday, I'm going to spend some time thinking about the impact of three short years on the rest of my life but, for now, the dryer stopped and I've got lots of wash to finish. And, after I start the next load, I need to go to Facebook and see if anyone's posted pictures yet.

Spa Day

Today is Deanna's 13th birthday. She was born at 11:33 a.m. on a Tuesday morning. My doctor delivered her by C-Section during her lunch hour. Our beautiful baby girl was an even 8 lbs and beautiful from the moment of birth.

I asked her this morning what she wanted for lunch today.

"Can I have a ham and cheese sandwich?" she asked. I thought for a minute. No ham. But I figured I could run by Arby's and pick up a hot ham and cheese for her and drop it by the school. I put applesauce and a drink in her lunchbox so it'd be heavy enough that she wouldn't guess at my plan.

Unfortunately, I was a little late. By the time I arrived at the school to pick her up for our "Afternoon of Fun", lunch was over and her friends were very concerned about the evil mommy that didn't pack her a lunch on her 13th birthday. To top it all off, I left her sandwich, cheese sticks, and Jamoha shake in the van. She'll have to redeem me tomorrow.

I got her around 12:30, had her change into the clothes she had packed in the van (Pierre Cardin pale yellow sweater, blue jean skort, and high-heeled brown sandals), and headed out for a Spa Day. I had booked her for a facial at 1:00, a massage at 2:15, and we were both having pedicures at 3:15. Then we were supposed to go to Olive Garden at 5:00 for dinner and the prayer meeting at 7:00, where she would be sung to.

Suffice it to say she had a wonderful day. I've never had a professional facial OR a massage, but I felt like I was having one just sitting in the room with her. The sconces were dimmed, candles were lit around the room, and soft music with ocean sounds in the background played. There was a small waterfall tinkling in the corner and they had a steam arm that directed warm mist at her face to open her pores. I almost fell asleep sitting in the semi-dark listening to the music and relaxing.

On the way to dinner, I got behind a very slow and dangerous driver. She came to a dead stop at the end of the Interstate on-ramp when both lanes of the Interstate were clear. I almost rear-ended her, then had to wait several minutes for a new break in traffic before she ventured out. Finally, I was able to pass her.

"Thank goodness!" I said aloud. "She was SO-O-O-O slow, it was making me very nervous."

"I'm not nervous at all," Deanna said. "I'm totally relaxed!"

I would be, too, if I had had the treatment she got today!

Garden Woes

I'm in a bit of a quandry over my gardens. I've never planted a winter garden before, but I decided to try it this year. I started plants inside from seeds. Once they were tall enough, I moved them into large styrofoam cups with holes for draining and put them outside to harden. Most of them are now ready to go in the ground and, since I don't expect anymore really warm weather, this is the perfect time to get them in the gardens. However . . .

It seems my summer crops aren't finished producing. The bell peppers and banana peppers are doing quite well. Dane's cowhorn peppers are producing much better than they did during the summer. Even my tomato plants, which did very little during the summer, are thriving now. But I can't get my winter plants in the garden without pulling out the summer ones first.

And I may have gone a LITTLE overboard with my winter seeds. I just wasn't sure how many would really make it, so I have something like 10 bean plants, 14 cauliflower, 20-something broccoli, peas, and I still haven't planted cabbage.

I need a new garden. That would solve all my problems. I can let the summer vegetables continue to produce until they freeze and die but put the winter plants in a new garden. Next year, since you're supposed to rotate crops, I could switch gardens and plant the summer things in the winter garden and vice versa.

But it seems a huge impossibility to put another box garden in right now. There's just too much to do, between Silent Auction, Dane's soccer, Deanna's volleyball, preparing for Christmas, putting up the summer vegetables, and trying to settle back down into a routine.

I'll have to give this some more thought. Maybe a solution will present itself yet.

Revisited

My husband sent his mother an e-mail suggesting that she read my Blog to stay up-to-date on what's happening with us. She wrote him back and told him I hadn't posted since the beginning of September. At dinner, Don asked me about the status of my Blog.

"Since I began using Facebook to stay in touch with people, I've almost completely discontinued blogging," I told him. However, that got me started thinking.

Why did I begin a Blog in the first place and why have I moved away from blogging. It took a little bit of time, but I realized that the social elements of Facebook are what draw me. It gives me an opportunity to keep in touch with people who I wouldn't otherwise - my goddaughter in Korea, my nephews in Alabama and California, friends from high school, etc. My Blog wasn't about socializing. But it WAS about a permanent record of my children's growth, a journal about our life, an extended "baby book", if you will, as well as a chance to write again.

The joy of Facebook is interaction and brief status lines. Could I not put the same brief status lines on my Blog and refresh that keeping of that permanent record? Of course I can. Even if all I do is repeat on Mercy Drops Falling what I put on FB and expound a little from time to time, at least my children will one day be able to go back and read not only their mother's writing but, also, stories about THEM.

It's time I took the time to return to blogging. Even if the posts are short, at least they capture moments from our lives.

So, here goes. Today, I'm cleaning out the middle shelf of the fridge. I've had such little time lately that I've resorted to taking a shelf at a time. If I can get the fridge finished and wash up our bathing suits from our beach trip this past weekend, I'll have two major projects finished. And, perhaps I'll even have enough time to begin putting some of the beach stuff away in the closet.

If I get off the computer, that is.

And That's the Reason for my Blog Name

It's so hard to believe summer is really over, although the temperature outside and the quiet inside go a long ways towards convincing me.

I have such mixed emotions. On the one hand, as I move from room to room, surveying the total devastation and realizing that I may actually get some work done now that the children are gone all day, I feel elated at the prospect of a clean house (which it hasn't seen since April in preparation for my nephew's wedding). On the other hand, I feel like I'm moving through a dream and, once I wake up, things are going to reel out of control.

I've been starting to write things on my calendar again - Monday - PE for one child; Thursday - PE for another. Speech therapy, Social, volleyball games, soccer practice, allergy shots, giving rides home . . . it all seems overwhelming right now. I've gotten 6 invitations in the last 1 1/2 weeks to baby showers and bridal showers. This weekend is my dear friend's baby's baptism (a event we would not miss as a family), next weekend Don and I will be on retreat, the following weekend is his birthday and my 30th high school reunion (with a baby shower smack in the middle of), the next weekend is Deanna 13th birthday.

The pace of life is staggering. Even thinking about the pace of life is staggering. The thing about it is this: I can't live my entire life with the attitude "If I can just get through this day (or this weekend, or this week) . . ." Entirely too much of my time is chalked up to "just getting through". Where's the "living"? Where's the quality of family life. Two of my children deal with stress-related stomach ailments. Is it any wonder?

We all feel the need to slow down, but I'm no longer sure I even know what that means. I know my life is not a testament to peace and order. But where do you start? And I only have 3 children - how do families with 6, 7, or 8 manage?

Once again, I have lots of questions and very few answers. I'm praying that this month will bring clarity to my life and unfuzz my mind so I can get at the tasks at hand with focus.

I'm praying for God's grace, once again. I need his mercy, a whole torrential downpour of it. Come, Lord Jesus. Fall on me like raindrops. Let your mercy flow.

Going Out With a Bang

We had the most awesome day yesterday. Don decided he really needed to work, even though it was a holiday, so I decided to have one last hoorah of summer and take the kids to the beach. My mother and sister went along.

We chose Tybee Island, which is Savannah Beach. The weather was perfect, the water was cold, and there was a lovely breeze. My good friend, Fr. John, who has just been transferred to Savannah, joined us and we spent two hours huddled under beach umbrellas watching the children and visiting. It was glorious.

On the way home, we ate at the Crab Shack, which John recommended - a most delightful experience.

I told the children in the afternoon, "This beach trip is the reason I love the beach so much." It was absolute perfection and the perfect way to spend the last, final day of summer.

It's back to school and the doldrums of eternal busyness. But I'm already beginning to dream of next summer.

Laundry Dilemna

A couple of years ago, Dane told me that he likes the shorts that are that quick-drying mesh material. He said they are very comfortable and they look cool. We set out to buy him a pair or two and came home with about four.

This year, I noticed some of Dane's shirts are beginning to look like bikini tops. I always buy the children's clothes at least one size large so they'll have some growing space. But Dane's growing space had been used up plus another healthy portion.

"Time to pass them along to Daelyn", I thought. So, off to the store we went. It seems they only carry those mesh things in blue, red, and black, so his wardrobe is a little redundant and boring. When I'd do his laundry, I'd find that matching the tops and bottoms together took way more time than it should - I just couldn't seem to easily match the right shorts with the right top, they were all too similar.

I came up with an idea; how about marking the tops and bottoms somehow so I would know which ones went together. I tried by writing a description on the shorts of the top that went with it. That worked okay, but few of the shirts had distinguishing characteristics. Plan B was to write numbers on them - Shirt and Shorts #1, written in black Sharpie on the tag. This worked great except when I forgot occasionally which number I was on. But it made it hugely easier to match up his clothes, almost like Garanimals. He could even do it himself.

When Daelyn moved into the spare bedroom the beginning of May, I realized he was desperately short of summer clothes. I guess the shorts I had bought Dane were long enough that he wore them into the year that Daelyn needed them, and Daelyn is only wearing one size smaller than Dane at this point. He had a couple of things that had been passed down, but not enough for the summer, where he needs a shorts outfit for every day of the week.

Back to the store, to the same old rack, with the same red, black, and blue mesh shorts and tops. But how would I ever differentiate Daelyn's clothes from Dane's?

In a rare stroke of genius (getting rarer with every passing year), I switched to the alphabet with Daelyn. He now has shorts outfit "A", "B", "C" . . .

This concept has revolutionized my laundry day. It's so much easier and doesn't require much brain effort, something very valuable to me at this point in my life. The only problem I have is that there are a few outfits that are reversible and don't have tags (where do you put that "G"), a few more that were not around when I was Sharpie-ing them (is that really a word?), and a couple others that are so dark I had to use a silver Sharpie for the label and it's hard to see.

I found myself yesterday pulling a pair of shorts out of the dryer. Without even looking, I said to myself "G". They're one of the pairs with the silver Sharpie that's barely visible on the navy blue back. I guess something's stuck in that old, slow brain.

I may be incapable of matching colors and styles, but at least I can match letters and numbers.

"The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be!"

Traveling Mercies

My brother wrote one of the most beautiful things I've ever read. He e-mailed it to my father and entitled it, "Ramblings". Daddy sent it out to his other children. I didn't open it immediately, Dad forwards a lot of jokes and stories, but when I finally opened it and read the attached document, I was stunned, then moved to tears.

It's difficult to explain why this meant so much to me. Some of it, I'm sure, is because of the great love I have for my only brother. He's the oldest, I'm the youngest in the family, and he always took time with me when I was growing up. He'd take me motorcycling riding with him when he went off with his friends. We always seemed to have an understanding that he didn't have with our sisters. We had a special relationship, something that existed beyond words.

I still feel that way about Chuck. I get pangs in my chest when I think about him. I still miss him terribly, even though he's lived away from home since I was 10 (38 years ago). I've lived away from him almost four times longer than I lived with him, but he still impacts my life in many ways. I'd do almost anything to make him proud, while simultaneously understanding that I don't need to "DO" anything to make him proud of me - he already is.

Perhaps his ramblings struck me because I've felt many of the same stirrings as those he describes. For years, as I've mentioned in the past, I've felt like I missed out on something by not having a hometown, not living in any one place long enough to be able to take my children "home". Recently, I realized that "home" for me is the little town in Canada where my mother was raised and my father met her. My maternal grandparents lived there until their death, my mother was born and raised there, and the Blonsky Farm is still owned by my cousin. But I've never lived there, only visited, and the feeling of always being on the move, never lighting anywhere for very long, has always pervaded my memories of childhood.

"There are Travelers, and there are Stayers. Stayers are the type of people who enjoy the stability and permanence of the same routine, the same places, the familiarity of repeating the same drill time after time. Do you drive past half a dozen restaurants you've never tried for the same old spot you know has good service, good food and reasonable prices? Can you show your children or grandchildren the home you grew up in, or Grandad's old fishing hole just a short drive from where you live now? I used to envy the people that I knew that hadn't moved in 30 or 40 years - they were Stayers."

I, too, have envied those people. However, I also find myself suggesting the new restaurant, the one we've never tried. I find myself mixing up the way I drive to certain familiar places, not wanting to get bogged down in the same routine. Always something new, which has been quite a challenge to Don throughout our marriage, since he's what my brother would describe as a "stayer".

At the root of it all, like my brother, I'm a Traveler. I don't believe I would've been content in my life had I stayed in the same place for very long. Even now, while I've lived in the same house for 25 years or so, I find myself wanting to go to different places on vacation, places I've never seen before. I'm always interested in the new thing.

While I guess there are always rewards in staying, I can think of so much beauty in life I would've missed if I hadn't been a traveler, so many relationships that would have never been, so many expressions of God's love for me.

"Somewhere between Edson and Hinton, the smoky image of the Rockies starts to appear ahead and encourages the anticipation of the beauty of the mountains. By the time you pass the Big Horn Highway turnoff to Grande Cache, the mountains are rushing towards you like an enormous blue, white and purple storm. The streams and rivers and rock outcroppings start to blend together as the road climbs towards Jasper. The only phrase that even comes close to describing the feeling is 'breathtaking'."

My life would have been much sadder if I had missed out on scenes like this one. The beauty of God's creation calls out to me from every direction, begging me to come and see. And I, being essentially a Traveler by nature, answer in kind.

"I'm coming, someday soon. I'll be there to gaze on you - as soon as I get the trip planned."

Dane's Vacation

Dane's at Grandma and Grandpa Doughty's this week. I drove him up on Friday, meeting them about halfway. We had a nice lunch together at Cracker Barrel, then loaded Dane's stuff into their car, said goodbye, and headed off in different directions.

When I was packing him, we talked about what he wanted to take to keep him occupied. When Deanna goes, she takes lots of crafts, projects she wants to work on, books, etc. Dane opted for his baseball stuff and a window art crafts book that included the paints.

"That's all you want to take?" I asked, shocked at how little and wondering if he'd get bored.

"That's all I need, Mom," he responded. "After all, they have cable and computer games, and I'm going to visit with Grandma and Grandpa. I want to make sure I'm not too busy to visit."

I mentally ran through the list: swimming trunks, books, baseball, crafts, cable TV, computer games . . . I guess he'll keep himself occupied.

He called Friday night to tell us goodnight.

"Mom," he said to me, "I want to call every night and talk to EVERYONE. I want to know what each of you did ALL day and I want to tell you everything I did."

"We'll try, Son, but it's Grandma and Grandpa's long distance bill and I'm not sure it's fair to them if you talk to everyone. We'll see."

Don came up with the perfect solution. When Dane calls, he puts everyone on the phone at once. We have four handsets - two in the kitchen (so if the primary one is not in its cradle, we can still answer the phone), one in the den, and one in the living room. Each of us get an extension and listen while he tells us everything he did ALL DAY LONG! The children seem to be interested, which shocks me, but they even ask him questions like what he had for lunch and what games he's playing on the computer.

So, anyway, he called Saturday night before he went to bed.

"What did you do today, Son," I asked him.

"Well, first, I got up and made my bed . . ." I won't bore you with ALL the details, but he enumerated a pretty impressive list of accomplishments, including weeding Grandma's garden, visiting with her on the deck, playing baseball with Grandpa, working in the greenhouse with Grandpa preparing plants for next year, playing a new computer game, and a trip to a Nursery in Ohio where he bought a water plant.

"And, Mama, Grandpa has 17 different varieties of colius' and we're rooting them for me to bring home. And I found a succulent on the edge of the pond and Grandpa said I could dig it up and take it home 'cause he has a lot of them. And they have fennel and Grandma says it's out of control and she needs to dig some of it up and get rid of it, so she said I could take some home, but I have to have your permission first. And the water plant I bought has beautiful flowers." He was a little excited.

Deanna and I laughed about it afterward.

"Dane's done a whole week's worth of activities in one day," I told her. "If that had been you, you'd have done one of those things a day and made that stretch through the whole week."

Our conversation with Dane last night was similar. Grandma and Grandpa had taken him out for seafood and he had shrimp scampi (his absolute favorite). He's having a wonderful time and taking advantage of every minute with his grandparents.

Deanna was missing him terribly on Saturday. She called him and asked him to come home. He had only been gone a few hours, but the house is awfully quiet without him.

Daelyn will be having his time with them alone in two weeks. If she thinks the house is quiet now, she'll be shocked at how quiet it gets without Daelyn.

Pickling Season

Wow, has it ever been a long time since I've posted. It seems I don't have time to do Blogging AND Facebook. But we've had a wonderful summer so far.

I've continued to Can and have tried my hand at making pickles. I actually picked 10 cucumbers from my garden today. I find it necessary to make pickles about every third day. The only problem is I'm running out of jars.

Don's family owned a pickle factory when my mother-in-law was young and she still has the recipe for the Dreher Pickle. She e-mailed it to me so I could try my hand at them. I made a whole bucket full, but we didn't like them real well. They were very salty and didn't have much garlic or dill taste, although they were Kosher Dills.

I've doctored them up a little and we like them far better. The problem is that the recipe was for a ton of pickles, so I had to try and modify it for just a couple dozen. Apparently, I didn't get all the quantities quite right.

I did find a recipe on YouTube that I've been using and we LOVE it! It uses red pepper flakes and makes a very zesty pickle. I've made mostly sandwich slices (and I've added sugar to some and made bread and butter pickles) but Dane requested hamburger chips, also, so I've made two jars of them. I've decided to try to pick for the next week or so when they're still babies and try my hand at baby dills . . . right after I finish with the 30 or so I've already picked this week.

A Foregone Conclusion

"We have weapons on board, in case we need them to fight the Aliens. We have nerve gas, even nuclear."

It may be on DVD, but this Superman episode is obviously old.

Skirmish #2

Dane had a baseball game tonight and then he and I stayed to watch his classmates' team play, so we were late getting home. Don took Deanna and Daelyn home after Dane's game, so when Dane and I came through the door, Deanna was waiting, having just had her shower.

"Did I tell you about the squirrel today?" she asked.

"What? Did Donovan chase another squirrel?"

"Not 'chase', almost caught!" she replied emphatically.

Dane walks Donovan in the morning, Deanna in the afternoon. When she took him out for his walk, he spotted the squirrel playing at the base of the tree. Deanna said she watched as Donovan crept slowly towards him, stalking him. When he was about 3 feet away, he took off at a dead run.

"And he would've gotten the squirrel, too, if it hadn't been for me!"

"You held him back? Why? He deserved to get that squirrel as hard as he's worked the last couple of days," I chided.

"I wasn't trying to keep him from the squirrel, but when he took off running so fast, it caught me by surprise and I couldn't keep up with him. He reached the end of the leash before I could get close enough for him to reach the squirrel. He almost jerked my arm out of it's socket."

Squirrel: 2
Donovan: 0

And the war continues. My bets are on Donovan.

Hunter

Dane came running in the house from walking the dog the other day, hollering.

"Mom," he yelled, "Donovan almost got a squirrel!"

Apparently, our brilliant dog had spotted a squirrel in the yard, and moved quickly, without the squirrel noticing him, between it and the tree. Then the stand-off began. Dane stood back, holding Donovan's leash, observing with delight the antics of his favorite puppy (we still call him a "puppy" even though he's three years old). Donovan stood quietly until the squirrel looked up and noticed he was cut off from his tree.

As the squirrel moved to the right to get around Donovan, the dog moved slightly to his left, matching the position of the other animal. They kept this up for a few minutes, Donovan countering every move of the squirrel.

Finally, the squirrel took off at a dead run. Donovan, being a dog and a hunter, at that, couldn't stand still any longer. He took off after the squirrel. Finally, the squirrel came to a screeching halt, Donovan tried his best to stop, but his heavier weight propelled him forward. The squirrel slipped in past him and ran up the tree before Donovan could recover.

Dane was quite excited that his dog had fared so well and can't wait to see the next skirmish. It'll be interesting to see if Donovan's learned anything and can hold his ground without chasing the squirrel - nature vs. training. Not that it really matters. We don't eat squirrel and I would hate to see him kill the little critter.

Although, I'm not entirely sure that Donovan WOULD kill it. He may just want to play with it some. We have yet to see him harm any other creature. He seems to think every other animal is his playmate, but I don't believe the squirrel labors under that false assumption.

Predicaments

Daelyn: "I have quite a predicament on my hands!"

Me, trying to discretely find out if he really knows what the word means: "Oh? And just what is your predicament?"

Daelyn: "I'm hungry, but if I have a snack now, I won't be as hungry for dinner, and I really like the dinner we're having."

Yep, he's got a predicament on his hands, alright. Typical male. If it were Deanna using that word, she'd be saying something like,

"I want to do my hair so it looks nice, but we're going swimming this afternoon and it'll just get all messed up again."

I guess predicaments are in the eye of the beholder.

My Achin' Body!

I went to see the Occupational Therapist yesterday for my hand. Despite the cast, it's not doing too much better. Apparently, water-skiing and tubing last week may not have helped. I, figuratively, got my hand slapped for using it too much when it needs to rest so it can heal.

So, in addition to the cast, I now have to wear a pressure glove on my left hand to help reduce the swelling. It's bad enough that I can't use my left hand most of the day, but add to that the huge bruise on my knee from where the ski hit me last week as I dropped into the water and the lump and bruise on my bad ankle from who-know-what, and I'm not faring very well.

The kids and I are in hot pursuit of the yard beautification project. Dane and I had the front bed ready today to put the brick border up, add Miracle Grow soil and mix it well in with the hand-tilled ground, and prepare it for his Four O'Clocks. I also bought a bag of wild flower seeds to sprinkle in our new bed, so as the Four O'Clocks die out, they should be replaced with some lovely summer flowers.

We were picking up the rest of the brick border when one of the bricks fell, hitting against the fourth finger on my right hand. It slit my finger significantly. Blood began pouring out of my finger and the skin was hanging off, only attached by a sliver. They sent us to Customer Service for doctoring but it wasn't long before my right hand began to ache.

Okay, I can get around without my left hand for a while as it heals, but no hands makes things a little difficult, especially when you're gardening.

Deanna's had to open bottles for me today as well as other various tasks while I've favored BOTH HANDS!

I found myself laughing today as she, once again, helped with something.

"I have a bum knee, two bum hands, and a bum left ankle. There's not much left of me that works. Daddy's going to trade me in on a newer model if I'm not careful."

Deanna grinned and nodded. Although I'm bruised and battered, I keep chugging along and it's amazing how much work is getting done in the yard. I've decided that prior planning, and making sure the kids are very clear the evening before what's expected of them the next day, is key to this yard work business. I just hope I don't mess up the right leg . . .

Mega Zucchini

When we got home from camping Saturday night, Dane and I took off outside with flashlights to check the garden. We couldn't wait to see what progress our plants had made while we were gone.

First, we went to the big garden in the back. One of our pickling cucumbers had two flowers. All the cucumbers had grown and two had even outgrown the stakes that seemed huge when we first put them beside our little plants. Our bush tomato was a full foot higher than the highest rung on the tomato cage and had miniature tomatoes and several more blooms, as did several more of the tomatoes, including my Roma's. The potatoes, which I planted by cutting 3 or four of our potatoes into individual eyes and burying each eye methodically (all the research I did said you can't use store-bought potatoes because they're treated to keep them from rooting - we tried anyway, and I'm sure glad we did), were much larger, the tallest measuring 8 - 12 inches in heighth. Dane and I counted 11 little potato plants. The bell peppers had flowers and the sweet banana peppers, which I planted very late, even were beginning to establish themselves. We were thrilled and oohed and ahhed excitedly about each little plant.

Then we moved to the box garden on the side of the house. We began pushing back leaves and checking for yellow, crooked-neck squash. We found some huge ones that shocked us both. All told, there were about 5 that were almost too big for the plant to sustain. Additionally, there were several that needed to be picked over the next two days. As I was finishing up with the yellow squash, Dane moved to the other side of the garden to check the zucchini. I heard a gasp, then a yell.

What, son?" I asked. "WHAT?"

Dane could hardly contain himself.

"Mama, you've got to SEE this!" he screamed at me. I sure hope none of the neighbors were trying to sleep.

I made my way to the other side of the garden. He was holding back leaves and pointing his flashlight at one of the biggest zucchini I've ever seen. We looked at each other and laughed.

I can't even imagine how that thing got so big in the 4 short days we were gone. Surely, it must've been ready to be picked before we even left for our camping trip. I suppose we may very well have just missed it amongst all the foliage. The yellow squash stand out amongst the green, but the zucchini are much harder to see. They look very much like the stalks on the leaves and can be difficult to pick out unless you look VERY carefully.

In addition to Mr. Mega Zucchini, we also found two others that were very large and needed picking. There are three more on the plants that will need to be picked tomorrow or the next day.

I plan to make zucchini bread with that largest one which is probably mostly seeds and not very good eating. The rest will need to be cooked up. Dane's birthday is Sunday and he wants them battered and fried in the deep fryer for his birthday dinner.

In the meanwhile, I'm looking for creative uses for yellow squash. I cooked a lot for dinner last night and cooked 3 more for my sister. I'm thinking about cooking up the rest and canning them. They'll be great this winter, when yellow squash is in short supply and the squash bores have long-since claimed our plants.

I'll have to take a picture of Mr. Mega Zucchini to post before I shred him. Dane will want to keep a record of some kind for posterity.

I just want to eat him.

The Beginning of Summer

It's been awhile since I posted - the end-of-school craziness always leaves my head reeling and my feet running.

We've just finished the first full week of summer vacation, and what a fabulous start! Last Monday, the children and I worked hard all morning. Dane and I are making a new garden in the front yard and plan to move his Four O'clock's to it, then put a box garden (for vegetables) in the spot where his Four O'clock's have taken over. Dane has become Gardener Extraordinaire and I want him to have his own garden plot to plan and work.

We spent two hours cleaning up the area behind the swingset - weeding, digging up stuff that had begun to grow, and rooting out the vines with throns that are so plentiful in that area of the yard. It's amazing how much we got done and how much better the backyard looked after just two hours. Then Dane and I began turning over the soil in the area where we want to put the new garden. Daelyn worked on cleaning up under the deck until it was just too hot to do too much more. We left the project in the front for another day.

While we were doing that, Deanna worked inside, doing laundry, cleaning up the kitchen, and beginning to pack us. We spend most of Tuesday packing for our camping trip, which started on Wednesday.

As a reward for hard work, I took the kids out to the local lake Monday afternoon with my friend, Kelly, and her children. We swam, floated, dug in the sand, explored in the woods, and grilled Bubba Burgers and fresh yellow squash from our garden for dinner. It was dark by the time we got home, so the kids got a quick bath and headed straight to bed.

Wednesday dawned beautiful. We packed up the van, cleaned up the kitchen, and headed for a further lake, about 1 1/2 hrs. drive, to meet friends to camp for a few days. We had sent some of our stuff ahead with them, including our tent, and, when we arrived, they had already set it up. The kids helped me unload and we began setting up camp - pumping up air mattresses, putting up our canopy and tablecloth, setting up our work table and getting out my new Coleman stove that Don gave me for Christmas.

Without going into too much detail, we had a wonderful time. We were camped right in front of the boat dock and our friends, Ken and Karen, have a boat, so we swam off the dock and boated until we were exhausted and burned like lobsters fresh out of the pot. My dear friend, Anne, and I spent a lot of time on deck chairs on the dock visiting and watching the children swim and play. Across our inlet was a sandy beachy area (the kids called it "the island") and they spent a lot of time swimming over to it, then playing in the sand. I shelled pecans while Anne and I visited and, after the first day, discovered my knees had sunburned. My chest and my knees. No other part of my leg - just those knees that were poking up.

We skiied, we tubed, we swam and boated to our heart's content. We visited, we told stories, we snacked and read until we were quite satisfied. We enjoyed ourselves to our very core.

Now we're home and have days of work to do to get caught back up, but we're all happy and life is taking on a slower pace. I think I may try to plan camping trips for the very beginning of summer every year to help us adjust to summer rhythm.

Our plan for this summer is to make and wrap all the children's Christmas presents for family and friends (like usual), serve others (we've come up with a specific plan for serving outside the home), and beautify our house and yard. We'll work in the mornings, and do crafts, can, or swim in the afternoons.

Seems like a lot to accomplish, but I really believe we're moving at a much slower pace than during the school year, which we all need. I find it much easier to REST - completely and thoroughly, without the panic I normally feel to "get it all done". The kids are out in the yard now, after having worked yesterday afternoon to help unpack and clean up. The boys are having water gun fights and Deanna's reading on a swing up the backyard. I have dinner in the crockpot and am finishing up the laundry.

I love Summer. Then again, I love Spring with everything budding and beginning to grow. Spring carries with it hope and promise. And Winter contains Christmas, my favorite holiday, and cooler weather with fires and hot cocoa. Then there's Fall, with the smell of coldness, the start of school and order again. In fact, I think I love all seasons equally.

But right now, I love Summer the most.

Commitment takes Many Different Forms

I've been having cramps lately. First, my thumb froze in place, pressed against my palm, not one, but three different times the same evening. I chalked it up to having a cast on the other hand and overusing my right hand. Several days later, my big toe froze poking straight up into the air. Weird! I could feel the muscle stretched across my arch knotting and spasming (Spellcheck doesn't think this is a word, but I KNOW better). Then, around 3 a.m. Wednesday morning, I woke violently to a charliehorse in my left calf. I could feel the muscle knotting, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. I began yelling to Don and reaching for him, aimlessly thrashing my right arm his direction. For some reason, I have this VERY mistaken notion that he will massage my legs when I get cramps and help work them out.

I finally jumped up and began stomping my left foot on the ground, hoping to jolt the muscle back into compliance. It relaxed and I finally, gingerly, climbed back into bed.

"What was THAT all about?" Don asked.

"What do you mean? I had a cramp in my leg!"

"Well, why did you wake ME up?"

"I was hoping (emphasis) that you would get up and massage my leg. I needed HELP, honey!"

"Is THAT why you beat me mercilessly in the head?"

Long pause.

"I was concentrating on my leg. I didn't realize that was your head."

That evening, Don and I were to attend an appreciation function for the church volunteers. I wasn't sure if he would be able to make it or not. He called from work and, before I hung up, I asked,

"Not to put any pressure on you, honey, but do you think you'll be coming to the Party?"

"My plan is to leave work in enough time to get there. However . . . you beat me in the head last night!"

I wonder if anyone's ever written a book on the "true" cost of marriage?

THE Game

Dane's baseball team played the team that all the rest of his classmates are on last night. The team is coached by two of Dane's friend's dads. The other boys began playing together in T-ball and the coaches moved up to each subsequent league with the boys, so they've been together now for many years. They're a very hard team to beat and play well together.

We didn't start Dane in baseball until much later than the other boys began. For various reasons, he didn't ever get on his classmate's team, which has been just fine. Dane loves the team he's played with for the last two years and really respects his coach. T.J. (Dane's coach) has been a constant encourager to Dane and has taught him well, even working with him to make him into a pitcher.

T.J. has told me several times this year that he wants to put Dane on Pitcher's Mound, but it hadn't yet happened. When I discovered we were playing this other team, I called the coach and suggested that this might be a good time. He told me later, at the game, that it was Divine Intervention, because he had been talking to his wife about getting some of the other boys up on the Mound since they'll be moving up to a new league next year and really need the experience. Nine of his players will move up and he had only used 3 as pitchers so far this year; his two regulars that he rotates and, in one game, he used one other boy.

At the start of the 3rd inning, I saw Dane trot out to the Mound and begin warming up with the catcher. I jumped up from where I was sitting right next to home plate and ran to an empty field where Daelyn was playing with some of Deanna's classmates.

"Daelyn," I yelled to him, "Dane is pitching. You need to come and watch!" Daelyn took off on a dead run to join the family. The opposing team's dugout was directly behind me when I yelled to Daelyn and, as I walked back to our side of the field, I heard an excitement growing from it.

"Dane's pitching!" "Dane's pitching?" "Dane?" "Yep! Dane's pitching!" "DANE's pitching!" "Dane IS pitching!" Bz-z-z-z-z-z-z, like a swarm of bees amongst his friends. Apparently, they were very surprised, but seemed pleased, as well.

It's a hard situation to watch. My son, on Pitcher's Mound, pitching against boys that I've known and loved since they were in the womb. Before he got on the Mound, I found myself routing for OUR team unless one of his classmates was up to bat. I couldn't help but yell encouragement to them.

"Hit it over the fence, J.P.!" I hollered. He turned and grinned at me. Later, I called to Ben.

"You can do it, Ben. Whack it good!" And Conor, "Come on, Conor, I know you've got it in you to get a homerun!" Booty, Sam . . . I had to root for these boys. The other moms on my team were scowling at me until one quiet, patient dad explained that these were all Dane's classmates. "OH!" yelled several moms, then turned and smiled at me, understanding in the way only a mother can.

But once Dane was standing out there, preparing to wind up, all I could think of was, "STRIKE HIM OUT, Son!" I didn't want to discourage these sweet boys that I love so much, so I walked a good ways away and joined Don and Ben's dad, an assistant coach on the other team, where they were standing, evaluating every pitch. I sat right up until J.P. took his batting stance, then I couldn't stand it any longer. It was like watching one brother pitching to his blood brother. These two, while they've strayed from each other over the last two years, have always been very close, like siblings. J.P. is an only child and I have a very close relationship with both his parents. We've been on vacation together and are going camping together right after school gets out. I just couldn't take it. That's when I joined Jimmy and Don. And, boy, was I glad I did.

Jimmy knows a lot about baseball - way more than me or Don. He explained to us that the coach wanted Dane to pitch high and outside on a particular batter, who was one of their best hitters, so he (the coach) had the catcher stand up and put his mitt on the outside. Dane always pitches to a glove. Wherever that glove sits, that's where he's going to aim his pitch. T.J. knew that (because that's how he's taught Dane, of course), so he moved the catcher around to where he wanted Dane to put the pitch. It was so exciting.

Anyway, he struck out the first batter, then walked one. The next hit they got out on base. Dane walked a second. Someone must've gotten a base hit, because the bases were loaded with two outs when this great batter stepped up. Jimmy was talking Don and I through every pitch. Strike, ball, ball, strike, ball . . . FULL COUNT! And with the bases loaded. If this guy got a hit off Dane, they would have gotten home some runs, maybe as many as FOUR! It was absolutely nail-biting.

"I can't take it! I can't watch," I mumbled, terror in my voice.

"Watch, Patti, watch!" Jimmy coaxed. "T.J. knows that with really strong batters, you pitch either low and outside or high and outside so they'll strike for it but miss. This guy tends to hit low, so T.J.'s having Dane pitch high and outside. Dane's doing a fabulous job and has a great delivery. T.J. knows what he's doing. Dane'll do it. Just watch."

Despite my protests, I couldn't peel my eyes away from the game. I think I held my breath for a full three minutes as Dane wound up for the final pitch. What would it be? Would he throw a wild ball with all the pressure, walking the batter and forcing a runner home? Or could he control himself, with as little experience as he has, and throw that pitch just where T.J. wanted, egging the batter to reach for a ball just outside his strike zone and shut down the inning? Could he do it? I really didn't know. Jimmy seemed very certain that Dane could, but I wasn't so sure.

As soon as the ball left Dane's hand, before it even reached home plate, Jimmy said, "That's it! Dane DID it!" Sure enough. High and outside. The batter stuck at it but couldn't quite stretch far enough. THE THIRD OUT!

Dane trotted off the field, a great big smile on his face.

"I'm going to go talk to him," Jimmy said. "He did a GREAT job!"

Isn't it wonderful to have friends that love your children so much. The coach of the opposing team came over to congratulate Dane on a job well-done in the middle of the game. I really love our life.

Matt, the Head Coach of the other team, threw the game ball to Dane with a smile. After the first half of the next inning, the game was called - 4 to 2, but one of their runs was a bad call by the Umpire and the game should have been 3 - 2. We lost, but held our own really well. It was a game played with pride.

In our dugout after the game was over, T.J. gave his usual pep talk. He always highlights all the good plays of the game and talks about plays that should have worked better. Mostly, though, he encourages the boys to have fun and play like a team. He announced that he doesn't believe in giving out Game Balls, because every player is just one on a team and it takes the entire team to win a game, but he wanted to make an exception in this game. He wanted Dane to take the Game Ball, take it into school today, and show his friends.

"There was a lot of trash talk about Dane not being able to pitch from the other team," he said. (I told him that. Dane's been telling me for weeks that the boys in his class have been saying, "You can't pitch." "You're not a pitcher." "I don't believe you pitch!", etc. That's what T.J. was referring to, I believe. I didn't hear any trash talk during the game.) "I think he proved them wrong real well. And I think he deserves this Game Ball. This was his first time pitching, he didn't give up ONE run. Way to go, Dane."

When we got home, Dane had me write the date, "Game Ball" and "Pitched 3rd Inning" on the ball in Sharpie for him. It's quite a treasure. I just wish I could go to school with him today and hear what his friends have to say about his pitching. I'm sure they'll be encouraging. They're all good boys. They just hadn't ever seen him pitch before. That's not the case now!

I don't know if he'll get the chance to pitch anymore this season, but he made himself (and us) proud. And he pitched as well as the two boys T.J. typically uses to pitch, maybe better than one of them. It'll be interesting to see if he gets used again, but there are lots of other boys on the team who want a chance to pitch in a game, too, and deserve that right.

Today, I'll be walking with my head held high and my chest puffed up just a little. I think Dane actually looked a little taller today before school. Or maybe it was an illusion because of the grin and gleam in his eye.

News of my Hand

I'm in a cast. The Orthopod did an X-ray and said he didn't see any broken bones. However, he said, broken bones in the hand frequently don't show up on traditional X-rays and require an MRI to accurately diagnose.

Meanwhile, at the minimum, I have a bruised bone on the outside of my hand (where the lump is) and several bruised muscles underneath the thumb, which he says has many muscles. He believes the only way it will heal is to immobilize it to give my body time to work on the injuries.

He ordered a removable cast. They made it right there in his office, which was quite cool. I just wish the boys had been with me to watch the process. Modern medical science is amazing. They cut it off while it was still wet, cut an opening the length of it, covered all the edges with soft material, then put velcro straps on the opening to hold it together. The technician that made the cast told me that I could wash it in the top shelf of the dishwasher, if necessary.

The doctor told me I should wear it as much as possible.

"Can you give me an idea of how many hours a day I should wear it?" I asked him.

"Just whenever you're doing nothing," he said. "You should wear it every night while you sleep and while driving, and while you're watching T.V. at night."

I laughed.

"While I watch T.V. at night, I'm either doing hand-sewing or shelling pecans or stripping the dog. I seldom just 'sit' to watch T.V." I explained.

"No hand-sewing, pecan-shelling, or dog-stripping for the next two weeks," he responded. "I see you're going to give me trouble."

Yep. Now he's beginning to get the picture.

He explained that the cast would make me feel so much better that soon I'd want to wear it all the time. While I found that doubtful, that has turned out to be the case. I'm to wear the cast as much as possible for two weeks, then I have a return appointment. If I'm not significantly better at that point, he'll send me for an MRI and look for fractures.

The cast hurt for the first couple of days. It was almost a relief to remove it. But my hand really is beginning to feel much better and I find now that I'm reluctant to remove it. Of course, I took it off to get my garden in the ground on Saturday. And I take it off to cook and clean the kitchen and wash the dishes. But I'm trying to learn to do more while wearing it so I'll get the full benefit.

Boy, do people ask a lot of questions. It's very kind that they care, but even the children's friends are all abuzz about it. Within the first 24 hours, I finally decided to just smile and nod when they ask, "How did you break it?" It's easier to let them think it's broken than to have to explain the whole situation to every inquisitive little mind.

The children have been very helpful, as has Don, but I've been a little slower than usual. You should see me trying to get my seatbelt on. The cast immobilizes my thumb to let those muscles heal, so I can bend my four fingers down to the middle knuckle, and that's the most my hand functions. Since the seatbelt is on the left and my cast doesn't fit between the seat and door, I have to open the door and reach around with my right hand to get it and pull it around me. Deanna had to help me dress this morning.

Anyway, life is always an adventure, I've decided. While this is an inconvenience, it's not really too bad and it's given my children a chance to help more around the house. I'm not quite sure why I'm so upbeat these days. Maybe it's the medication my OB/GYN gave me. Perhaps it's because summer is JUST around the corner. Or maybe it's feeling like I'm getting some things accomplished. I don't know. I only know that life is good and I'm happy. I love my husband and children. I have great friends and a wonderful life. I have an amazing extended family that cherishes my family and a church home that nourishes our souls. God is good, and He continues to pour out His love and acceptance on us.

Even in casts.