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.