Train, teach, help - isn't that what we Moms do?

So far, so good with the boys' rooms. Daelyn is taking great pride in keeping his spotlessly clean. This morning, after breakfast, he had to hurry back to his room to put away his box of Lord of the Rings trading cards (which he left out on his game table) before I "inspected".

Lest you think I'm way more OCD than I am, both boys are demanding that I inspect their rooms daily. They're so proud of the care they're taking with them, "inspection" is a way of showing it off and getting that much-desired pat on the back.

I took the railing off Dane's top bunkbed (we moved him to the bottom, which is much easier to make) and removed the ladder, which is stored neatly between his closet door and his bin shelf for when we need it. His Rubbermaid bin full of balls and his laundry hamper are in his closet. The ONLY furniture in his room, other than his bunkbeds, are his dresser, his air purifier (a MUST with Dane's asthma), and his bin shelf. Last night, he told me that he wants to clean out all his bins after school today, which would be great. We use these for books, small toys, and miscellaneous "stuff". They need to be cleaned out at least once a month.

I'm re-teaching both boys how to make their beds. It seems they've forgotten. And I'm working with both of them to train them to stand at the door of their room, look around, and notice anything out of place. If they can train their eyes to pick up on the little things, we'll have won a huge victory and two women will thank me in future years.

They're both very pleased with their new rooms and I'm pleased with the condition of the two rooms. My nephew felt very strongly that we needed to put the boys together back when we rebuilt, which was part of the reason we took Daelyn out of the spare room to begin with. But their relationship seems to be in better shape now that they're not under each other's feet constantly. Perhaps, in a couple of years, once they've both learned to take better care of their things and be responsible about their rooms, we'll be able to put them back in the same room for their teen years, when they'll need each other the most.

In the meanwhile, much training is needed . . . and happening!

Flipping

We moved Daelyn into the spare bedroom today. When we first rebuilt our house, this room was the Nursery, Daelyn's room. So he's back in his own room again.

He's thrilled. I stripped both boys' beds, washed sheets and comforters, and remade the bed in the spare room with Daelyn's bed set. I moved all his clothes into the dresser in the spare room and moved most of his hanging clothes. I decided not to tell him and to wait to see how long it took for him to put two and two together.

Not long. He wandered into the room, looking for me, and saw his bedset.

"Who's room is this?" he asked.

"Yours." He immediately began moving his "things", humming sweetly to himself. Throughout the afternoon, I'd find him in there, with the door closed, lying on his bed reading.

Dane got a little frustrated.

"I wanted that room," he told me, then stomped into Daelyn's new room and kicked the dresser. "My room isn't at all the way I wanted it. I only want one bed in there. Take the top bunkbed down."

That just wasn't happening. We'll need that bed in the future, and I'm not going to store it in the attic where it'll deteriorate. Dane will have a spare bed in his room for spend-the-night guests or Daelyn when we have an adult visitor who needs Daelyn's bed.

Anyway, it took some discussing before he began to see the light. I did, however, offer to measure and, if possible, move the beds to a different wall to give the room a different look. They fit, so I moved them, then the dresser and the rest of the furniture. The room looks very different. It has a totally different feel from when the boys shared the room.

Dane was tickled with how it turned out. We want both boys to keep their rooms CLEAN now and dust-free. Daelyn has a spare drawer in his dresser for his extra "stuff" so it won't be left lying about to gather dust. Dane has lots of room in his closet, which we're putting to good use. Both rooms look WAY better already.

They both seem to understand that their rooms MUST be kept clean. We'll see how long that lasts.

More Dribbles

Now I'm dealing with a different kind of dribble. My throat and ears got itchy yesterday and my nose started to run. I had a women's meeting/potluck last night. After dinner, there were some short talks. My nose began to run. With no warning, it would suddenly just pour. The only thing I had close by was a napkin, which my mother tried to take from me to throw away. I nearly screamed at her. The woman sitting across the table, who had been watching me grab furiously for it each time the downpour began again, smiled knowingly. (Thanks, Barbara.) Mom was just trying to clean off the table, but it would have been nice if she asked before she took my much-needed napkin.

Deanna had a similar situation, on another front. A very helpful woman took her plate and fork for her. However, she wasn't finished eating and wanted some more of the yummy sausage and cheese dip a friend had brought.

"Was there any more of that sausage dip left when you were up at the table, Mommy?" she asked.

"Lots," I responded.

"Do you think it would be okay for me to get some more?" The talks had already started and Deanna was a little embarrassed to be moving around while someone was speaking.

"It'd be fine, honey. Go ahead and get some." We were at the very last table, nearest the food, and other people were moving around. I'm sure the speaker didn't intend for us to leave hungry.

"Can I borrow your plate?" I glanced over and realize hers had already been "cleared off". I handed her mine.

A couple of minutes later, she sat back down next to me. I glanced at her plate. She had about a spoonful of the dip and a few chips - a very respectable serving. I smiled at her. She smiled back, then leaned close.

"Can I borrow your fork, too?" she asked. I rolled my eyes, but bailed the fork out of the other napkin in which I had wrapped it. She carefully cleaned it, then began to eat her chips and dip. The woman across the table smiled at us. (Yes, Barbara again.)

We Moms try to be helpful - the right kind of helpful, that is, even if it's just an encouraging smile.

The Dribbles

I threw on a shirt with my pajama pants this morning to run the kids to school. I was busy getting dinner in the crockpot right up until time to walk out the door. I figured I could get my bath after getting home.

I chose the outfit I wanted to wear today and slipped into the pink shirt before running out the door. When I got home from drop-off, I finished up my crockpot meal preparations, made my morning oatmeal and coffee, and headed to the computer to type up a recipe I need for a meeting tonight.

As I sat down at the computer, I happened to glance down. I ALREADY have two orange spots on my shirt.

How come this always happens to me these days? I didn't used to be like this. When I worked, I always looked neat and clean. Now, if I go out to eat, I ALWAYS dribble something on myself. Deanna thinks it's hilarious and frequently comments that she can't take me anywhere.

For several years, I've blamed it on the children. "Yep," I'd say, "those kids sure do get me dirty!" But the gig's up! I can't hide behind the "kid" excuse any longer. None of the children were even around when these orange spots jumped onto my shirt.

Do they make large bibs for adults? Do ya think anyone would notice if I walked around with a bib perpetually tied to my front? It'd be cheaper than replacing stained clothes annually!

Value

My friend, Kelly, told me a couple of weeks ago that her 1-yr. old, John, who is my darling, was sitting on the couch and talking quietly to himself:

"Mama, Daddy, Aunt Patti . . . Mama, Daddy, Aunt Patti . . . Mama, Daddy, Aunt Patti . . ."

She called me to tell me.

"I think he's listing his favorite people," she said.

I RATE! I'm one of his favorite people.

It's amazing how two little words can mean so much - "Aunt Patti"!

Many a Gate

They're home now. I took my Canadian relatives to the Columbia airport Thursday afternoon and stood outside security while their bags were checked to make sure they were on their way.

I hate that you can no longer go the the Gates with friends and family. I understand, of course, the security concerns, but I long for the old days of sitting with beloved family until the last possible moment, then tearfully saying goodbye as the Stewardess beckoned to them to board the plane.

When I was in college, I was returning from a trip to the Holy Land with my father and several other family friends. We had a lay-over in Rome. We noticed armed guards, with machine guns, posted very prominently in the airport and wondered what the hulabaloo was all about. Turns out, the President of Italy was coming to the airport by motorcade and the security was for him. The airport was almost empty as most people were clamoring to see the President. We certainly had no interest in seeing him, so we took a long walk to stretch our legs and waste some time. At another gate in the same terminal as us, one of the people in our group spotted Mother Theresa of Calcutta with several of her sisters. She was returning home to India after a private audience with the Pope. The news quickly spread through our group and we took guitars and a large delegation down to her gate. The gates at the airport in Rome were glassed in with security posted at the entrance to each gate. We couldn't get inside to see her, but we stood outside the windows and sang to her, then prayed for her through the glass. She was most appreciative and expressed her gratitude to us, telling us she would pray for us. One elderly woman in our group, who died shortly afterward (Evelyn Galey), somehow managed to stumble, obliviously, past the security guard. We're still not sure how, but believe the Lord blinded him for a few minutes to allow her to pass. She knelt at Mother Theresa's feet and received a blessing from the godly woman. Then Mother Theresa insisted she stand and helped her to her feet, telling her not to kneel before anyone but Our Lord. While we watched and sang, the Boarding Call was made and Mother Theresa prayed over each and every one of her companions. It was amazing watching her go about her daily life with these humble, young sisters. Amazing things happen at airport gates.

Anyway, I saw them off, then drove home alone, thinking over the time I had with Calvin and all the long talks into the wee hours of the morning. He has come to know the Lord since our last visit together and I believe he sees our relationship in a very different light now. I've always felt very close to him, but now we have even more in common.

I can't wait for the next opportunity we have to see each other. I think this brief contact has reminded us all of the importance of family relationships and I believe we're all more committed to working hard to build them amongst the next generation.

Calvin's Made His Mark

My cousin, Calvin, has owned a furniture store, which he bought from his parents, for 15 years. For several years before that, he managed it for his parents. So, he's actually been IN the furniture business for 18 years. The last time Don and I visited Canada, we went by his store (I had been there before, during the years my Aunt and Uncle owned it) and looked it over. However, I was pregnant with Dane the last time I was in Canada, and he'll be 10 this June, so it's been awhile. I hadn't really thought much about Callie (as family calls him) being in the furniture business.

The night he arrived, I gave him a short tour of the house, mainly so he would know his way around in the morning or if he needed a drink or a bathroom during the night. He quietly moved from room to room, then announced,

"I hope you won't be offended, Cuz, but I'd like to do some re-decorating. Just promise me that you'll leave things the way I put them until after I'm gone, eh. Maybe you'll get used to them and decide to leave them like that."

It's nice to see you again, too, dear Cousin. From the living room, we moved into the kitchen and sat down at the table to catch up a little before bed.

"This is a nice piece," he said, fondly rubbing the table.

"It's pine," I responded, smiling. I LOVE my kitchen table. It was perfect for my kitchen and exactly what I wanted and, since buying it, we've spent many a happy hour around it.

"No, it's not pine," Calvin stated bluntly. "It's rubberwood, which is actually harder than pine. Your hutch over there" he said as he pointed to my pine hutch across the kitchen, "is pine, but it's Japanese pine, not Mexican pine. The Mexicans design these beautiful pieces of furniture that are solid and heavy. The Japanese try to knock them off, but can't quite seem to replicate the workmanship. Their pieces are always a little less sturdy and a little smaller than the Mexican originals."

As I said, I had forgotten he's been in the furniture business for 18 years. I was shocked. He knew more about furniture at a quick glance than I could ever hope to know in a hundred years.

And thus began our furniture saga.

The next day, we were headed to the Mall to pick up some things for the wedding. I was on a backroad when Calvin pointed out a store with a few pieces of used furniture sitting in front and announced,

"I want to go THERE."

"Okay," I answered, and kept driving, assuming he meant . . . sometime. I was wrong.

"I mean, NOW," he clarified. "I need to stop there NOW." I turned around and headed back to what appeared to be a real dive.

I parked and we walked inside. Turns out, the store was the remaining warehouse for a very upscale furniture store that was going out of business. I'm still not sure what the used pieces sitting out front were all about. The showroom, which had been in a very ritzy part of town, had already closed and the owner decided to sell the warehouse items directly out of their storage area so he wouldn't have any overhead. This was the first day of his final week of business and prices were slashed drastically. He was also willing to bargain, and the pieces were quite posh. Calvin was in his element.

As we walked through the warehouse, Calvin quickly scoped out the best deal in the store - a black mahogany enclosed bookshelf. Just two weeks before, I had commented to my friend, Laura, that I needed to buy an enclosed bookshelf to cut down on the dust on our books. She and I had discussed where to buy these and talked about trying to track down an attorney that was going out of business and buying his law bookshelf. And HERE one was, right now, right in front of me, and at prices too reasonable to deny.

I ended up putting a down payment on the bookshelf, then began trying to figure out how to get it from the warehouse into my living room. The owner explained that the piece weighed between 500 and 600 pounds and the four doors across the front were made up of small panes of glass.

Don suggested hiring some of the Senior boys from our school who are trying to earn money for their class trip. I worked on the arrangements, then Calvin and I made our way back to the store on Wednesday to pay the balance owed on the bookshelf and for Calvin to see what deals he could work to ship home and resell in his store. We walked away that afternoon having paid for the bookshelf AND having purchased a queen-sized platform bed for Deanna. When we first moved back into our refurbished home (6 years ago this October), I gave Deanna the largest of the 3 children's rooms. My plan was to, one day, buy her a full-size bed. Then that room would be used for company when we have visitors. Deanna could bunk with the boys or sleep in our room or the spare room. But somewhere in the house, we needed a double bed for couples, like Grandma and Grandpa Doughty, and Deanna's room was the only feasible option. However, beds are expensive. And it's not just the bed. You also have to consider the dust ruffle, sheets, comforter, extra pillows, etc. A larger bed for Deanna's room was put on the long-term furniture needs list and there it has sat - for almost six years . . . until Calvin came to visit! But the deal was impossible to pass up - a queen-size platform bed with innerspring mattress, futon cover, and four rolling drawers to go under it (Calvin says the drawers alone sell for $70 to $100 each) for a meer $150. I couldn't have even bought a decent mattress for that price.

That evening, I began moving books into my massive new bookshelf. I was about half done with the job when we had to leave to celebrate Daelyn's birthday. I came home from Chuck E. Cheese and choir practice later to discover that Calvin had taken everything out of my microwave stand.

"Oh, by the way, I hope you don't mind," he said, "but I traded your microwave cart and your bar stools to your sister for HER microwave."

Only an idiot or a blind man could have missed the shocked look on my face.

"You were telling me the other night that you didn't like the bar stools and that they don't work for your kitchen. Your sister desperately needed stools for her bar counter, which is taller than yours, and you needed her microwave cart which goes much better with your woodwork and kitchen furniture. So, I made a trade."

The next day, I began setting up my new, used microwave stand. The following day, we put together Deanna's platform bed, only to discover that we were missing one slat.

A week after Calvin's arrival, I surveyed the damage to the house. The kitchen looked like a tornado had swooped through, the contents of the microwave cart scattered everywhere, waiting for me to have 30 minutes to replace them in their new home. From there, I walked past the dining room and into the living room. Again, devastation surrounded the new bookshelf - all the books that wouldn't fit and the ones I was sorting through, trying to rid ourselves of quite so many dust collectors, were strewn all over the room. As I wandered down the hallway, the headboard of Deanna's old bed was poking out into the thoroughfare. Around the corner in the far end of the living room were the two small bookshelves that I'm reorganizing. The next hallway held the large bookshelf that we no longer need and I can't wait to "lose". Around the corner and Don's electric guitar, which used to be under Deanna's bed, is pushed against the back corner of the hallway. Deanna's room looks amazingly put together, although her comforter, which was made for a twin bed, doesn't quite cover her new queen. And, if you sit on it wrong, you fall through the missing slat.

The boy can really leave a mess in his wake. But he leaves on Thursday and I'm sure I'll spend this weekend trying to put the house back in order through my tears because I'll miss him so much.

Thankfully, I've loved everything he's done. And most of these projects were things that were desperately needed - he was the catalyst to get it done quicker.

I suppose I can suffer through a little reorganizing and temporary messiness for the greater good of a nicer home with more attractive, useful furniture. It's a small price to pay and has certainly made my 3 weeks with a much-loved cousin, my dear Calvin, memorable.

Dry Time

It's an odd thing. For the last several weeks, I've had very little on my mind, except for the wedding and preparing for Easter. I've not really had anything about which I wanted to Post. Or, maybe, I was just too doggone busy. In any case, Posts were few and far between. I would sit at the computer and nothing would pop in my head. Absolutely NO inspiration.

Suddenly, we're through the wedding, and I can't stop thinking of things about which I want to Post. I just finished my Saturday Blog entry and already have several ideas that I can't wait to write about.

I guess the old Morton's salt adage is true: "When it rains, it pours!" Nothing for two weeks, now a smorgasbord of ideas.

Doesn't it make you want to come back and visit again?

Foil on Eggs - true beauty!

We dyed our Easter eggs today - 2 dozen, to be exact.

I'm the last stronghold of Easter egg-dying in the family, yet everyone looks forward to the dyed eggs. My mother has a special basket for them and is counting on them as part of the table decoration.

Truth is, I dyed eggs when I was single. The dying isn't just a product of having young children. I LOVE dying eggs. Each year, I buy a different type of kit and we try something new. This year, we used a kit that requires you to put a thin layer of glue over the egg, then, when it's tacky, you stick silver, gold, blue, green, pink or purple shiny paper against it. The color sticks and pulls off the sheets in random patterns. They're beautiful and probably the most fun Deanna's ever had with eggs.

This is quite an art. Deanna's experimenting with dying the egg one color, then pressing the shiny paper to it in a contrasting color. She has one that she dyed a robin's egg blue, then used green shiny foil on it. I tried one, my first, dying the egg a bright orangey-pink. Then I put gold, silver and purple foil on it. It's pretty but not as stunning as Deanna's. I don't think I have the technique down quite as well as her.

The boys and their dad have gone on a hike with the Cub Scouts. I'm trying to get the kitchen cleaned up and finish my Easter cards while making dessert for tonight's dinner. (And, no, the computer's not in the kitchen. I took a break to Post while I was eating a salad - my first meal of the day.) Deanna is back at the table, doctoring up any eggs that don't look magnificent yet.

I'll be hard to top this year's eggs next year. But maybe everyone will have forgotten how beautiful these are by the time next Easter rolls around. Except, of course, for Deanna. I'm sure she'll remember and we'll spend weeks next year looking for this same type of Decorating Kit.

Word Play

Deanna has been asking me repeatedly:

"Why do we DRIVE on a Parkway and PARK on a driveway?"

If that's the only question you have about the English language, dear, you're not paying attention.

Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder

We married off my nephew this weekend. Whew! A lot of work and a tremendous amount of stress, but he's married and off on his honeymoon. Now I can begin to get my house clean again.

Yesterday, we all (the family plus all our guests from Canada) loaded up in vehicles and went out to visit my niece's boyfriend's farm. He has a working Grist mill that he operates. They raise black angus cattle, have donkeys, chickens, etc. It's 200 acres of hard work and fun.

On the way, my cousin, Calvin, was riding with me. He's been trying to develop a new hairdo since he's been here and has tried several different products in an effort to make it do what he wants. He pulled his baseball cap off and the front of his hair was flat.

"Shoot!" he hollered, and furiously began trying to spike the front of his hair up again.

"Calvin, you're wearing a hat. Nobody's gonna see your hair. Besides, we're going to a farm. There's no one there to see you."

"I have to look good for the COWS!"

Contented Exhaustion

It's been a slow news week. Or, perhaps, it's been such a good news week that there was no time to write the news, only live it.

My uncle, two aunts, and cousin arrived from Canada on Sunday night. I drove my father to the airport in a neighboring town to pick them up. My cousin is staying with us and the furor of activity to prepare for his arrival and reclaim a bedroom out of the devastation that was, once again, a Toy Room just flowed smoothly into the frenetic pace of wedding preparations. With only two days remaining and tons of work still to be done, we're all working at break-neck speed and are experiencing far more stress than any of us should.

I'm planning to spend the day tomorrow at my sister's, helping to make food and finish up the decorations for the Rehearsal Dinner. I think they finished the Programs for the wedding today. Then there's the Bridesmaids Luncheon and decorating the Reception Hall on Friday. Lots, lots to do, but at least we're doing it with our family. My sister from California is arriving tomorrow night.

So, as I breath a deep sigh of exhaustion and head to the kitchen to work on lunches and the Flower Girl's basket, which I'm decorating, it is with a deep happiness in my heart. While I'm tired and having trouble focusing, the fun part is just around the corner . . . and I get to have all that fun with people who matter so much to me.