From the Mouths of Babes

Don and Dane were at Scout Camp yesterday. Deanna had gone to Nashville with a friend to sing at a Conference, so it was just me and Daelyn. I asked him if he wanted to go out for a date with me. He jumped at the opportunity and suggested lunch at the Mall, then a visit to Game Stop followed by a stroll through Barnes and Noble.

After a Chick-fil-A lunch and an unbelievably long and painful visit to Game Stop, we headed to the opposite end of the Mall to hit the book store. On the way, we passed by Victoria's Secret.

Daelyn: "Mom, just what IS Victoria's Secret?"

Me, walking faster and subconsciously moving Daelyn to the other side of me: "It's a women's lingerie store that also sells perfume and lotions . . ."

Daelyn: "No! I mean, what's the big secret? It seems to me it's all right OUT there."

Just can't see it

There was a news story on TV tonight about a family that's so large they have a Family Reunion once a month.

Just how do you do that?

"Okay, all of Sally Sue's family will gather in January, Polly Wolly's in February, Mike and Mark's in March . . ."

Doesn't that kind of defeat the whole point of Family Reunions?

Just Another Sibling Spat

Dane's first chore of the day is to take the dog for his morning walk, then feed him. He's usually pretty good about it, but lately he's been forgetting to feed the dog after his walk.

Donovan will lie around looking forlorn, refusing to leave the kitchen until he gets his daily meal. You can always tell whether or not Dane has fed him based on his disposition.

This morning, I went into the kitchen and noticed Donovan with his head perched hopefully on his paws, lying in the middle of the kitchen floor. It was pretty obvious he hadn't yet been fed.

Me: "Dane, did you walk your dog and feed him yet?"

Dane: "Mommy, I DID walk him. I just got back. But I forgot to feed him."

I took care of the task that had drawn me into the kitchen, then went back to my bedroom to work on my chores. A few minutes later, Donovan appeared in the bedroom. He looked sadly up at me, shoulders slumped, then laid down right in my path.

I marched into the kitchen, Donovan following behind me, a little more spring in his step. He recognized the direction I was headed and the purpose with which I walked. I checked his bowls. Water bowl was almost empty and hadn't been cleaned, part of the feeding process. Food bowl was empty. No boys. As I rounded the corner from the dining room into the hallway, I saw both boys sitting in the living room talking.

Me: "Dane, you didn't feed Donovan yet, did you?"

Dane, very slowly: "We-l-l-l-l-l . . ."

Me: "You're busted, son. The dog came and told on you."

Dane: "MAN! Now the dog's telling on me, too."

Confused

Don drove Dane's baseball team to Atlanta Friday to attend an Atlanta Braves' game. They left at 2 p.m. so they could get there in time to watch batting practice. After the game, they stayed for the fireworks. Dane told me that they saw the team walking to their cars as Don pulled the 15-passenger van out of the parking lot.

I rolled over at 4:17 a.m. Saturday morning and Don hadn't yet made it to bed. He told me later in the day that they got home around that time. Needless to say, he was exhausted the next day and not thinking very clearly.

At dinner, we were talking about Father's Day the next day. Since our fridge had gone out, it was obvious we needed to spend the afternoon shopping. But I wanted to do something with my father.

Don: "I think you should take Grandpa and your father out to dinner tomorrow."

Me: "Don, Grandpa IS my father. They're the same person, honey."

Don: "What?"

Later in the meal . . .

Don: " . . . and then we left work."

Me: "We? Who was with you?"

Don, looking at me with a funny expression: "What do you mean?"

Me: "You said, 'we'."

Don: "When? I don't understand."

By this point, the children began to add comments.

Deanna: "You, yourself, and him?"

Dane: "Daddy, you DID way 'we'."

We finally convinced Don that Grandpa and my father were, indeed, the same person and if I took Grandpa to dinner, my father would automatically be there. Then we began working on the whole split personality issue.

Don: "It must be bedtime."

By the time we were finished talking with him, we ALL needed a good night's sleep.

Lots of space

Who would've ever thought getting a new fridge would be such a hassle?

Our refrigerator went out Saturday night. We bought a new one Sunday afternoon. It was delivered Monday afternoon, and I have killed myself for the last 48 hours preparing.

Before the new fridge arrived, I spent hours and hours removing our food, throwing tons of old stuff out, and packing coolers with all the things we needed to keep cold. Once everything was out of the fridge, I worked very hard at cleaning out the old appliance; after all, who wants the folks at the Junk Yard to get dirty junk. (We ended up giving it to a young couple who are soon to marry, so I was very thankful I took the time to scrub down the sides, the bins, and clean out the egg-holders.)

Once the new fridge arrived, it had to be cleaned and disinfected, which took HOURS! Finally, I was ready to begin putting food back, which turned out to be a practically unsurmountable task. Where to put everything!!

What goes in the door and what goes on which shelves? Should I use the enclosed tray at the top of the door for butter or eggs? I've already moved the shelves around at least a dozen times.

But the food is now IN there, at least the fresh food. I still have to send the boys up to Grandma's to get our frozen foods out of their freezer.

A light at the end of the tunnel to match the cute little nightlight on the ice and water dispenser in the door.

Appliance Nightmare

As I was putting the groceries away today (to the tune of over $200), I noticed some hot dogs in the small freezer above the refrigerator that were a little squooshy. Thinking they were in a bad place in the freezer, I moved them.

Dinner ran very late tonight and we didn't actually sit down together until around 7 p.m. Dane was putting drinks on the table and I told him I'd make my own tea. I went to put ice in my glass of tea and discovered that almost all the cubes had melted!!! I screeched for Don. The freezer was broken.

We talked about it through dinner, then I jumped up from the table and started cleaning out the freezer. Don brought it to my attention that, if the freezer wasn't working, neither was the fridge.

"I wish we had noticed this before you went to the grocery store," he commented.

You ain't the only one! After spending a couple of hours cleaning out the little freezer and refrigerator, sorting everything into piles of what needed freezing (in my parent's big freezer), what needed refrigerating (in coolers with ice), what could stay out without harm, and what needed to just be thrown out, Don and I had another pow-wow.

"Is the refrigerator well-enough insulated to act like a cooler?" I asked him. "If we put bags of ice in it, could we keep the refrigerated food cold in there without having to move everything into coolers? I'm running out of ice packs."

My big cooler is full and I was working on filling up our smaller coolers. And, Don and Dane had just been to a Braves' game in Atlanta and I had sent along our big cooler with our ice packs for drinks and the ice packs hadn't gotten back into the freezer yet.

"Yes," Don responded. "Remember the old days of ice boxes? Ice should keep the refrigerator cold for some period of time. How many bags of ice do you think we'll need?"

We settled on two, he's off to the store to buy ice, and I'm going to try and put some things back into the refrigerator. The milk will be much easier for the children to get to in the fridge than having to dig in the cooler for it in the morning. If I leave most of the top shelf for the bags of ice, we should have plenty of space.

We'll have to buy a new refrigerator tomorrow and, hopefully, get it delivered on Monday, but, in the meantime, we can act like pioneers. After all, my parents lived with ice boxes. I can, too, for a few days. Just as long as I get a larger fridge out of the deal!!

And Baseball FINALLY comes to an end

Dane's last baseball game was last night. They're 2nd in the League, which is huge for him, since he's been on losing teams for the last 3 years, since he started playing baseball.

When I say losing, I mean LOSING. They won NO games the first year (machine pitch). Then he moved up to a new division with Team Pitch and it was painful. The first year, they won no games and one inning could last 1 1/2 hours easily. The second year, playing with the same coach and many of the same players, I think they may have won a few games, but they were never even in the running for placing in the League.

This year, though, they seem to have found their stride. He's again in a new division, which required try-outs, but he ended up on a team with two of his teammates from the last two years, coached by the older brother of one of his previous teammates.

The boys were allowed to steal bases this year. It's funny to me how each year the focus on playing changes a little. The first year, in machine pitch, they were just learning how to hit moving balls. The focus was batting and infield play. The next year, as they progressed to team pitching, we experienced the importance of having good pitchers who can throw strikes. By the second year in Team Pitch, the boys were developing their arms and some decent pitchers were rising to the top like cream in milk. Then the issue became outfielding. For the first time, players were actually hitting balls into the outfield. And basemen became very important, which required ability to catch the ball in your mitt. As the boys began learning how to play bases and get the ball from the outfield to the proper base to prevent a player continuing to run (they don't have a "one base on an overthrow" rule, so a player on first can make it all the way home if the opposing team isn't catching well), batting became a given, as did pitching.

So, I figured we would have it all this year - we had learned to bat, pitch, outfield, infield, catch the ball, play the bases . . . what's left? And, boy, did we find out. CATCHING!!, as in, "the catcher".

Suddenly, that boy crouched behind home plate became very important. You can't keep them from making runs if you can't tag them out at home. AND, this year, for the first time, they can get a boy out by catching a foul ball.

We've had an unbelievably difficult time with Catchers. There's, apparently, a huge learning curve with catching that includes growing into the uniform. Most of the boys can't see out of the mask and can't find the ball when it's right in front of them. I've seen boys sling that helmet halfway across the field in frustration as they attempt to find a ball behind home plate while the runner gleefully makes his way from base to base, players, coaches, and parents standing and screaming directions to the Catcher. And the Catcher has to be quick on his feet. He has to go from that crouched position to throwing position in seconds, and his aim HAS to be accurate or having the ball in his hand won't count for anything.

I can't even count how many runs we gave up because of Catchers. The coaches finally called a practice and tried out everybody as Catcher. They found a couple of boys that seemed to be able to do the basics, and we've made it through the year.

Next year should be interesting. Dane will be in the same League, which means he doesn't have to try-out again, if he stays with the same coach. He should have a good many of the same players back again. And now that they've advanced in skill a little more, it should be a very good season for them.

For now, however, we're almost into Fall sports, so I'm going to enjoy the short break. Dane's pleased with his team's outcome, and Don and I are thrilled. As a reward, and in place of a banquet, they're going to a Braves' game today to watch the big boys play. Should be inspiring.

Our Goat Situation

I don't think I've ever posted about the goat situation. I've been considering buying 2 nanny goats. A friend of mine, who owns a farm, used to have goats and wants to rebuild her herd, so she's made me a deal that's difficult to refuse. She'll keep my two females, feed and water them, tend to their Veterinary care, and milk them. I'll pay for the feed and necessary medicines. She'll bring the milk to me daily and, in return, I'll give her their offspring after breeding them annually (which you have to do with goats to keep milking them). I've been looking for two appropriate nannies to purchase after doing a lot of research on milk goats.

My friend mentioned someone who she knew casually that was selling her goats. I contacted her and we went to meet her goats and sample the milk. She very generously gave us a huge pickle jar full of milk and several other products that came from the milk, such as feta cheese. I ended up with quite a few of her nice jars.

The biggest issue, of course, before buying goats is to be certain my children will drink goats milk, so purchasing two nannies was still a little ways in the future. Ultimately, we made a decision that these goats were not the right ones for us for several different reasons. I've needed to return the woman's jars, but life tends to snowball on us and I've never done it.

I got an e-mail from her earlier this week asking if we might be able to return them. I figured we could do that today, so I began looking for her phone number in my kitchen drawer.

Me: "Where IS that number? I need to call the woman with the goats and see if we can go out today to return her jars. Doggone!! Where's that number?"

Daelyn: "Just call 1-800- GOATS-4-SALE!"

Lawn Care

In the wake of Grandma Doughty's death, I hired a neighborhood teenager to mow the lawns and do some weed-eating. The lawn was already seriously overgrown and we were taking off for West Virginia and didn't expect to be home for a week or so.

When we returned home, the yard looked great. Later that day, the teenager came by and told me how much I owed him. I was shocked at how little he was asking and gave him a big tip.

As we began grieving, I realized that Don just had too much on his plate. After work and on weekends, he needed free time. Add to that his allergies that are all stirred up when he mows the lawn, and I decided this was the summer to hire help.

I talked with the young man and he gave me an unbelievable rate. I agreed to hire him for half the summer, buying us some time to recover without over-committing.

Saturday evening, after our return from Gettysburg, I did a walk around the yard to check out the gardens. I couldn't believe how nice everything looked. This is the neatest our yard has been since my nephew did it for us several years ago. It looks manicured and, for once, I'm not embarrassed when I pull up in the driveway.

I've gotten way more than I had hoped. Our yard man shows up when the lawn needs work and takes care of it. I don't have to call him, I don't have to try and keep up with scheduling him. It's just DONE, and nicely.

I should have done this a long time ago. Wish I could hire someone to do the same thing for the inside of the house.

Whoops . . . did I say that?

While sitting at the table (in Gettysburg), eating dinner one night, Deanna and Dane began complaining about Daelyn.

"He talks constantly," one said.

"Yeah, Mama. He talks nonsense."

"He does. He just wants to hear his own voice."

"That's why he talks. He doesn't have anything to say, but he just keeps talking to hear his own voice. Half the time he's talking, it's just nonsense."

When they paused, Daelyn began talking nonsense again.

I reached over and patted him on the arm.

"Stop talking nonsense, Daelyn, and drink your broccoli."


So much for encouraging silence instead of silly talk.

Nothing Like Family

We're in Alexandria, VA for my niece's wedding. We arrives fairly late last night. Don pulled up to thefront door of the hotel and the kids and I ran in - them to go to the bathroom, me to register. While I was standing at the front desk checking in, two of my sisters appeared.

"We saw you drive up from an upstairs window," they told me. I've pondered that just a little - why were they standing at the window and how could it be that they happened to be there just at the moment of our arrival?

One of them is from our hometown, but the other lives in California and is the mother of the Bride. We embraced hungrily - it's exciting to see even the sister I see often in this setting.

As I continued checking in and discussing our connecting rooms (apparently, there's construction outside on one side of the hotel and they work all night with lights - very loud), the boys began wandering through the Lobby. Up walked the Groom. Again, hugs and kisses. He had put together a Hospitality Bag for us which was unbelievably thoughtful with everything else he had on his agenda.

We asked about moving to the other, quiet side of the hotel. No connecting rooms available. Okay, so can you give us two non-connecting rooms sandwiched in between family members? My sister and brother-in-law, nephew with his wife and two children, and another sister and my parents are all in a row on the 5th floor. If they could give us the next two rooms on either side, we would sandwich the children between us and family, which would be acceptable in lieu of a connecting room. No such luck. Everything we tried failed, so we were about to head up to our two connecting rooms on the loud side of the hotel to unpack and settle in when another niece's husband walked through the front door.

My parents have gone to visit a friend that lives in the D.C. area overnight, but will return this morning. After the boys got up, we dressed and I took them to visit their cousin's daughters - little girls. Our Deanna spent the night last night in the room with her Aunt Trina and that's where we found the little girls, pajama-clad and playing games with their Grandma's sister and their 2nd cousin. I left the boys there and took off for another sister's room to visit. A few minutes later, the girls found their way into that room and I heard them call my sister "Grandma" for the first time.

" 'Grandma'," I giggled.

"Yes, honey," she said. "I've been a Grandma for a long time now." She's only 6 years older than me, and here I am with young children not much older than her grandbabies.

"I know," I explained, "I'm just not used to hearing it." It's really funny to think of MY sister as a Grandma. Truth is, my brother is a grandpa twice over, Tenny has 5 grandchildren, and Toni and Trina each have married children and could become grandparents nine months from any given day. I'm lagging sorrowfully behind.

I DO desperately want grandchildren. Once I knew there would be NO MORE CHILDREN for me, I was immediately ready to begin holding grandbabies in my arms. But it will be quite sometime before I hit that milestone in life, thank God. I'm always mentioning to my children that it's their duty in life to take care of each other and me and Daddy when we're old and to give us LOTS of grandchildren, but not until they're at least 25 and established in a career field.

Until then, I have my siblings grandbabies to spoil, at least this week. And I plan on getting started right away!

A Little More Culture

We were just finished up dinner last night and Don was beginning to take food off the table and return it to the stove. Deanna began humming softly. I immediately recognized the tune, one I've taught her. It was "In the Hall of the Mountain King" by Edvard Grieg from the Peer Gynt Suite.

When I was growing up, my parents loved classical music and played it for us children. My mother had a reel-to-reel tape of "Peter and the Wolf", which our family would sit around and enjoy together quite often. I was always captivated by the way the music told the story.

The Peer Gynt Suite was another of our favorites, my personal favorite piece being, "In the Hall of the Mountain King". I find myself humming it quite often and my children love the way it builds. So I wasn't surprised to hear Deanna's lilting voice softly visiting the same song.

Dane, however, needs yet another touch of culture, it seems.

"Is that 'In the Den of the Lion King', Sissy?"

Tunnel Vision

I know it's the first day of "real" summer vacation for the kids. Daelyn reminded me this morning. This is the first day they would've been in school if it wasn't for Summer Vacation.

I know they want to be doing fun things, although I haven't yet heard any complaints. But we have so much to get done in preparation for our trips this summer, I just can't see beyond "the list".

I have to get shot records from the Vet for a my niece, who's keeping Donovan for us for a few days. I have to get beads and a hair comb for my sister, the mother-of-the-bride, who already did this once, then discovered she had glued the pearls and rhinestones (to match the bride's dress) on the wrong part of the hair comb and they'll now be neatly imbedded in hair. We have to make a new one, but she used all the beads for the first one, so I need to hit the Bridal Store.

I have to pack, which is a daunting task. We'll be gone for 10 days and I'm not sure we'll be able to do wash, so I have to have many, many outfits for the kids.

Then there's the food preparation and freezing, the grocery list for shopping while we're gone, making sure Don has clothes and food here while we're gone . . .

As much as I want to do something fun with the kids today to kick off summer, I have to prepare for their summer right now.

I've gently suggested that this would all go quicker if they helped . . . so far, no response.

Cough, hack, wheeze goes the Patti

I dug through the cabinet this evening and found 5 Cipro I have left from my bout with kidney stones. I'm taking one immediately. I've GOT to do something about this coughing, the headaches, and the exhaustion after 3 p.m. each day.

I did research it on the Internet and found a number of situations where people had written that their doctor's prescribed Cipro for bronchitis. I realize that bronchitis is generally viral, but my doctor had already given me an antibiotic, just an ineffective one for my condition, so he must think there's a bacterial component this junk. So, I'm breaking out the Cipro and hoping for some improvement in time to prepare for my trip to my niece's wedding.

Oh, yes, and I'm praying for sleep tonight - desperately praying. But I'm coughing so much right now that, unless something drastic happens over the next hour, I doubt I'll be sleeping much tonight, either. I may have to move into Don's recliner and sit up to get any rest. I guess I should just be thankful we have a recliner that can be used in an emergency.

Now, Just Where's That Edge?

How long can I go without sleep? That's the question I ponder at 1:47 a.m. as I lay in bed, wide awake, my mind churning and racing.

After Grandma Doughty's death, I went without a good night's sleep for 10 days. As I was beginning to noticeably fray around the edges, a dear friend from church encouraged me to take advantage of my Ambien prescription.

"Just rely on it for a couple of weeks, to get you through this tough spot," she told me. "Take it from me; I've been there. You have to get some sleep, Patti."

It was wonderful advice and I took an Ambien that very evening. For the next two weeks, I relied on sleep aids. Then I came down with bronchitis and sleep began to elude me again, the congestion in my chest causing me to cough constantly when I laid down.

When I saw the doctor last Monday, I told him I was having trouble sleeping at night because of my cough.

"Take Nyquil," he suggested. "That should knock you out and give you a good night's sleep."

No such luck. I realized that the two plus weeks of Ambien had affected my body's ability to respond to sleep aids, but I was pretty desperate, unable to fight the bronchitis with no sleep. So I began doubling up on Ambien - two 10 mg pills each night.

Last night, I decided enough was enough. I've got to wean my body off of the "help" and begin to teach myself to fall asleep naturally again after a long, exhausting day.

The result? An absolutely sleepless night. But, after enduring a brutal headache from sleeplessness all day and the energy-stripping effects of my bronchitis which seems to remain unchecked by the antibiotics the doctor gave me, I was sure I'd be two sheets to the wind tonight.

So here I sit, now 1:59 a.m. Apparently, my exhaustion isn't enough to still my mind. While I'm determined to do this the natural way, I'm a little concerned about how my immune system is going to battle this bug without the benefit of rest to recharge my batteries.

Weren't there some studies done in the 70's on the need for REM and NREM sleep each night? My recollection is that the test subjects slowly went crazy when robbed of quality sleep over time. I just don't remember how much time it took. I suppose, in my condition, I'm predisposed to topple over the edge more quickly, anyway.

And I feel that edge looming ever closer. Maybe dropping off the sanity index will help me get to sleep - no more worrying over what to do about this situation or that problem. Just blissful craziness.

Do I already sound a little loony? Just wait until I've had another couple of sleepless nights.

Hoses, Hoses Everywhere, but not a Drop of Water

It's been amazingly dry lately, which has caused trouble for the lawn and gardens this early in the season. Our grass was already brown, my bushes beginning to shed leaves, and the vegetable plants struggling to grow.

I've tried to water them, but we seem to be hose-challenged. We had a green hose attached to the faucet which leaked like a sieve, but I couldn't get it OFF the faucet. We also had a black hose attached to one side of a double hose adapter. I figured that, if I could just get that green hose off, I could put the black hose ON.

While we were in West Virginia for Grandma's funeral, my father came down at my request and managed to remove the green hose. The next week, I attached the adapter, closed off the side with no hose attached, made sure the side with the black hose was open, and turned on the water. It poured out the closed side and nothing came out the hose. So, we have two hoses, neither of which work.

Last night, I decided I was going to get to the bottom of this. There were nails poking up on the deck, so I got a wrench and a hammer and headed outside. I hammered in all the nails that keep catching my bare feet when I walk across the deck. Then I took the wrench and began trying to remove the adapter.

It took a good while, and help from Dane, but I finally succeeded. The side that was empty was missing a very important part which didn't allow the valve to close off completely. Then Dane reminded me that Don had sawed it off when the faucet froze this past winter, causing the water to run. When we finally got the adapter removed from the black hose, I reattached it to the faucet and prepared to water.

Dane ran excitedly to the end of the hose (he LOVES watering the plants) and picked up the end, which had a sprayer attached.

"Mom, I forgot to tell you. The sprayer is broken and water won't come out of it!"

Good Grief!! No wonder our poor lawn is so parched.

I got the wrench back out and had Dane help again, attempting to remove the sprayer. It was no use. Then Dane remembered that Don had welded the sprayer onto the end of the hose. No HOPE of getting it off.

In frustration, I began to think. I grabbed the end of the green hose and realized that it leaked because the washer was missing. Then I looked in the end of the black hose that attached to the faucet. TA DA - washer!! I plunged my finger in the end, scooped out the washer, deposited it in the end of the green hose, reattached it to the faucet, and we finally had water coming out of a hose.

It took awhile and a good bit of work, but I finally have a working hose where I need it. I watered all the plants on the deck, my bushes across the front of the deck, my garden on the side of the deck, all the box gardens on the side of the house, my gardens and trees in the front yard, then turned the sprinkler on the backyard. When I finally came in, exhausted, it was 9:00. It took me two solid hours to do the watering necessary before turning on the sprinkler.

I had forgotten how long the watering took, not having done it since last fall. Dane asked me if I'd make the same deal with him that I made last year; if he waters all the gardens 3 times/week, I'll pay him $10/month. I jumped at the chance. It's well worth the money.

And now that we have a hose for him to use, we can get started.

Ice Cream for All

After several devastating baseball losses, Daelyn's team WON tonight. He told us that his hit brought in three runners and his best friend, Kolbe's, hit brought him home. He was very excited. We actually missed the first part of the game because of functions at the same time, but got there about halfway through the game.

In celebration of his first baseball win, we went to McDonald's for an ice cream cone. Then we sat in a parking lot decorating our cones with our tongues, putting curled swirls on them, poking holes in them . . . Dane fashioned a buzzard with a long nose, Deanna came up with a great buck-toothed skeleton, and Daelyn had an awesome iceberg. We all had a great time just sharing ice cream cones.

Then it was home and to bed for the children. Right now we need moments of normalcy like that. Yes, I said 'normalcy'. Having fun together over the littlest things is natural for our family. We all laughed, wasted time together, and enjoyed each other. And at the end of the day, we'll all sleep a little more peacefully tonight.

Dane had a scare tonight which just serves to remind me how raw we all still are over my mother-in-law's death. My mother was in the hospital over night last night with chest pains. It looked like she would be coming home this evening. I called all the children together in one room to discuss our busy night and make sure each of the children understood timing and what was going to happen. As we waited for Deanna to join us, Dane looked at me and quietly asked,

"Did Grandma die?"

"NO, son, she's at home in the bathtub!" After the last month, calling the family all together means some catastrophe to him, and with Grandma being hospitalized, he assumed it was her.

At least he's sharing his fears and we can talk through them. And Grandma's test didn't indicate a heart problem, which was VERY good news.

We just have to keep plugging through this season as we attempt to recover. It certainly doesn't seem to be happening quickly.

Just a Pair of Shoes

The day after we returned from West Virginia, Deanna had her first ever formal event - the Social Spring Formal. It was held at the Civic Center, had a live band, and was quite a "do"!

We bought her dress in February and had it altered to fit perfectly. I ordered elbow-length gloves for her to wear (the girls are all required to wear gloves at Social, but normally wear wrist-length cotton ones), but we couldn't seem to find the right shoes. We looked into buying dyables, but were told they would take longer than we had. Besides, my experience with dyables has not been positive. The dye tends to run and it seems they are only good for a single occasion, and at $25 a pop, plus the cost to dye, I was looking for an alternative.

On Thursday morning, April 22, I felt an overwhelming urgency about Deanna's shoes. Before school, I told Deanna I wanted to take her OUT of school to look for some and asked what classes she could afford to miss. She thought through her schedule and gave me a narrow window in the middle of the day, including her lunch period.

"I don't understand, Mom," she said. "Why are you taking me out of school? We still have this Saturday. We could shop ALL DAY if we needed to. Why take me out of school?"

I couldn't explain it, I just had this feeling - urgency. Get it done THEN. Don't wait.

I was embarrassed when I had to tell the school secretary why I was taking her. But we took off for the Mall, intent on using every free moment. As we looked at the ones I had scouted out the night before via Internet, the urgency in my spirit grew and Deanna missed her science class. We hit every store in the Mall that had shoes, then ended up right back at the first store again. However, we decided to go with white shoes instead of trying to match the color of the dress without having it with us.

To be on the safe side, I had ordered both pale pink (to match the dress) and white gloves. We decided that she could wear the white ones, the white shoes, and pearls, accenting her pale pink with white. As I returned her to school, I sighed with relief.

"I'm glad we got that done, but I still don't quite understand, Mom."

I had no better explanation after the fact. All I could tell her was that I had this feeling and HAD to get it done.

At 4:35 that afternoon, Grandpa called to tell us Grandma had died. On Saturday, we were at the Funeral Home and there was no time for shoe shopping. I wouldn't have even been able to think about Deanna's shoes, quite honestly, but we didn't have to - it was taken care of.

The day before my mother-in-law died, she baked two batches of cookies, something she always did before our visits, though we didn't have a visit planned. After her death, unable to sleep, Grandpa decided one night to prepare his medicines for the next day, something she always did for him. She died on a Thursday, but he discovered she had already done all his medicines for the next week.

The next night, I went downstairs to the basement to tuck Deanna in. I climbed on her airbed with her, put my arms around her, and we began to talk about Grandma.

"Mama," she confided, "I could barely choke down that cookie. I kept thinking it was the last cookie Grandma will ever make for me."

I knew she was struggling, as were we all, so I told her about Grandpa's medicine.

"Do you think Grandma knew she was going to die?" she asked.

"I don't think she knew the way you mean, hon," I tried to explain. "But I do think she had some feeling or sense that encouraged her to do certain things that prepared the way."

"Like you did about my shoes," she added.

Bingo.

"Mom, if the Holy Spirit was giving you a sense of urgency to get certain things done and giving Grandma a sense of urgency, that means it was the Lord's time for her."

Quite a mature young woman.

"Yes, dear, I DO think it was the Lord's time for Grandma. I don't yet understand why, but who knows - there could be many different reasons."

Knowing that God chose the day, that it wasn't some random accident, has given us all peace. Knowing Grandma had a day or two to prepare, even if she didn't understand exactly what she was preparing for, gave us all peace.

One pair of white dress shoes that hold a world of meaning to us - I don't think we'll ever be able to get rid of those shoes.

Hey, we could write a song and a movie; instead of "The Christmas Shoes", we could call it, "The Spring Formal Shoes"!!

Daelyn's Turn

As I was tucking Daelyn into bed, late again, one night last week, he begged me to snuggle him.

"Say 'The Prayer', Mommy," he whined. 'The Prayer' is my goodnight prayer I pray over the children at bedtime. It's very long, and I race through it, taking one deep, long breath nearing the end. It began simply but gained steam over the years and as the children began dealing with different issues in their lives.

It's not magic, just a conglomeration of the things that are important to our family. Daelyn loves to hear 'The Prayer', but sometimes I pray it over Dane and sometimes, I'm just too dang tired to pray it over anyone. Plus, I've found lately that I lose my train of thought in the middle and that really frustrates Daelyn.

"Son, not tonight," I told him. "I'm just too tired." The truth was, I knew I couldn't make it all the way through. I closed the door over top of his complaints and headed into the Den to read.

Fifteen minutes later, Daelyn stood in front of me with tears pouring down his face.

"Mama, I need 'The Prayer'," he said. "I asked you nicely. PLEASE, Mama, please, pray it over me."

I tucked him under my arm on the couch and quietly prayed. He stayed there and, within minutes, I heard even breathing and knew he was asleep. I woke him and ushered him back into bed.

The next night, at bedtime, he appealed to me again.

"Please can I fall asleep in your arms again?"

I'm always a little slow to process things, and even more so since Mom's death, but I agreed. The next day, it finally struck me what was happening. I'm sure it was the Holy Spirit who prodded me gently, but I realized that Daelyn is grieving, too. He needs assurances at bedtime, when his body is still and his mind is racing, that his mommy is still very much alive and loves him. He needs my arms around him, the warmth of by body next to his.

I wish I was quicker to pick up on these things. It would have made Daelyn's grieving process a little easier. But at least now I understand, so I've spent the last few nights snuggling him at bedtime.

Deanna's had her breakdown, Daelyn's now manifesting grief (if you look closely), but I can't tell what's going on with Dane, other than a surly attitude. Maybe that's HIS way of grieving.

I'll need to watch him a little closer. I need to be there for the children, even as I go through the process.

That's what Mom's are for. And I'm sure that thought has gone through Don's mind many times over the last 3 weeks.

Sporting Dilemnas

Had an interesting experience yesterday. Dane's baseball coach left a message on our answering machine reminding us that Dane had practice at 6 p.m. and added,

"Tell Dane to wear his cup."

Dane doesn't have a cup. I didn't think I had actually ever seen one before. I decided that Don, deep in a meeting at work an hour's drive away, was likely going to be very little help, so I picked the kids up at school, dropped Deanna off at home, then stopped by a friend's house and left the boys in the car.

"Can I speak privately with you?" I asked when she answered the door. I noticed a surprised look on her face, but she very graciously ushered me in. I'm sure she probably thought I was coming to tell her some horrible thing had happened that involved our sons (she has a boy in Dane's class that has pitched for several years).

I quickly explained my predicament. She laughed.

"Don't worry, Patti," she said, "you should have seen ME the first time I bought one. I took every one out of the box, shook it all out, held it up, and looked it over. The people at the store probably thought I was crazy."

If they did, craziness in this area must run rampant amongst mothers. Thankfully, she gave me some tips, and we headed to the Sporting Goods store.

Dane now has an awesome pair of slider shorts with all the necessary safety parts and a spare pair of just the essentials that could pass as bikini underwear on his younger brother. Unfortunately, I don't think they let you return those items. The sad part is the one that doesn't fit cost $15 and a store employee helped us pick it out, promising it would fit perfectly.

Maybe HE ought to spend some time opening packages and examining the product.

The New Me?

I keep wondering if I'll ever be the same again, ever feel "right" again. There's a quietness in my spirit that I haven't often felt in my life, a lack of zeal for life, having to "work up" enthusiasm. I didn't even yell at Dane's baseball game last night, even though they won by several runs and played great. I sat quietly, visiting with friends or watching silently.

Maybe I'll always be this way from now on. Maybe this is the new me.

Just Put One Foot in Front of the Other

Grief is an interesting thing. It seems to have a life all its own, uncontrolled by your thoughts, emotions, needs . . . Grief does what grief needs. It's like being possessed by something other than yourself that seems to be able to take hold of your actions and force you to do things that you would never choose.

Many years ago, when I lost my first grandparent, I remember being at work in the days that followed, reading a newspaper, not even thinking about my Grandpa, when tears began to flow, unchecked, down my cheeks. We all know that we can force emotion or tearful sentiment by dwelling on sad thoughts. But I wasn't even thinking about him. It was as if grief was in no way connected to MY brain - it just DID things that seemed to be beyond my control.

Losing my mother-in-law has been different, but no less mind-boggling. I'm much older now, have a husband and children who need my support, and HAVE to stay focused to be a responsible parent. But I find myself zoning out and have difficulty completing tasks, getting "fuzzy-headed" and forgetting what I'm in the middle of doing, being unbelievably tired and disinterested in just about everything, and just wanting to curl up in a ball and sleep, yet unable to make my mind stop long enough to catch even a few winks. Again, I feel like my body is being controlled by someone else, that I'm a marionette at the beck and call of this thing we call "grief".

While we were in West Virginia, I shifted into high gear. I felt an overwhelming need to take care of my father-in-law; to leave him with a freezer full of home-cooked meals portioned out, a clean house that won't need touching up for quite some time, and organized cabinets that will be easy for him to use. I spent hours, working from fairly early in the day until late at night reorganizing and cooking. I got massive amounts of work accomplished and was very focused. I kept telling myself there would be time to grieve when I got home. I'm home now and, like it or now, the process has begun. I've tried to push it aside and focus on a very busy life and schedule, but it won't be denied.

People keep asking me how Don is doing; after all, it was HIS mother that died. I tell them I have no idea. Don is normally quiet and I seldom know what he's thinking, but his usual quietness has been mild in comparison to the man I'm living with right now. We went out to the Lake with friends today, celebrating Daelyn and his buddy, Kolbe's, First Communion. Don sat away from everyone else, didn't join in the conversation, and spent awhile off walking by himself. On the way to the Lake, in the van, I told him that people were asking how he's doing and explained that I don't know what to say.

"I don't know what to tell you to tell our friends," he said. "I don't know how I'm doing."

"Are you just numb still?" I asked him.

"I think that's what's happening," he responded. Then, a few minutes later, added quietly, "And Mother's Day is next weekend . . ."

Grief takes many different shapes. Deanna chewed me out yesterday when I was gone for an hour and she didn't know where I was. I had told Dane where I was going, just walking across the street to talk to a friend, but he forgot. After I got a little tired of Deanna fussing at me and told her to stop, she welled up with tears.

"You could have dropped dead somewhere from a heart attack and I wouldn't have even known," she blurted out, then ran from the room crying. I hadn't realized that her grief was causing her to fear suddenly losing someone else she loves. It looks different from my zoning out and lack of concentration. It even looks different from Don's detached quietness.

We're all dealing as best we can. The good news is that we're dealing. The bad news is that I have no idea how long it will take us. Grief is a strange bedfellow.

Deep Sorrow

At 4:35 this afternoon, I got a call from Don's father. He had been working at the church all morning and returned home around 3 p.m. to find Don's mother on the kitchen floor. He called 911, but she was already dead. The phone was laying near her - it appears she tried to call for help, but we believe she had a massive heart attack and died before she could make the call.

I'm trying to get laundry done now and packing so we can leave during the night. After calling Don at work, telling the children, and calling my parents, I called our dear friend, Nicki, who used to live with us. She immediately came over and walked me and the children through the remainder of the day. While I took Deanna down to the school to get her books to take with us so she can stay caught-up on schoolwork, Nicki began a list at home of all the details we needed to tend to. As Don thought of things, he'd call them out and Nicki would write them down. By the time I got home, they had quite a nice list.

As I made each phone call to arrange replacements for teaching Sunday School or chaperoning the Field Trip, people volunteered to help with other things. I was able to mark about 2 items off my list for every one call I made. It was amazing.

I'm still numb, staying very focused on getting the work done. Don has said very little to me, but I'm sure he's still in a state of shock, also. Deanna posted her thoughts, very deep and sad, on her Blog, and we had a chance to talk about how she was doing. All she can think about is all the things she wanted to do with her grandma in the future and won't get to now.

As I was tucking Dane in, I scooted him over and climbed in bed with him. He had gone off to bed without being told or asked, and I was concerned that was him fading into the woodwork. I asked him how he was doing.

"It's going to be so different now, Mommy," he said. "Grandma always kept the candy dishes filled and made cookies for us when we came to visit. There's not going to be anyone to do that now."

Each of us are beginning to feel our loss in our own ways. I keep thinking of all the years with the children she'll miss and how Daelyn never got to stay for his week with them. He barely knew Grandma and never got his "special" time with her. For years, I've said that I was thankful Don's parents were so much younger than mine, because when mine were gone, I'd still have a set of parents. Both of mine have outlived her. I just can't quite get my mind around that.

I keep thinking of little things. Dane's worried about the candy dish, I'm worried about the dog and the pond. What's Grandpa going to do with Sassy, Grandma's dog? And she was the one who always reminded him to feed the fish in the pond. I was taking Dane's clothes out of his dresser drawer and ran across a pair of pajamas that are too long. I pulled them out of the dresser and added them to the pile of things to take, thinking, "Mom and I can hem these while I'm there."

I've thought about the amythst earrings that I bought her for Christmas this year that match the bracelet I gave her last year and the Healing Garden products that I've stashed away for her. She was so much a part of our lives and thoughts, it will be quite sometime before the realization begins to sink in that there will be no more Christmases with her, no more shared recipes, no more loving advice and kind ear to bend when I'm struggling.

And now I'm just rambling. I need to finish packing, but it's hard to pull myself away from these thoughts. I'm sure I'll have many more over the next few weeks as I begin to better understand the loss we've suffered.

Carole Doughty, my mother-in-law, was a loving, kind, charitable woman who treated me as a beloved daughter. The very things we loved about her the most are the things that make her death so hard to accept. But we have wonderful memories. I just wish we had more of them.

The Miracle of Reagan

My nephew's wife, Rachel, is passing through town on her way to visit Chad (her husband) who is in specialized Army training in North Carolina. She and her two babies spent the night at Grandma and Grandpa's house and I got to visit with them for a few minutes last night.

Her daughter, Reagan, is our latest miracle baby. She was born in trauma, having aspirated myconium before birth. She was very sick and they didn't expect her to live. She had gotten an infection from the feces, which had spread to her blood while still in the womb.

They put her on a machine that recycled her blood, cleaning it out, then pumping it back into her body, in addition to other life-support equipment. After an extended period of time on the blood machine, she began having little mini-strokes and had numerous brain bleeds. The situation looked hopeless, but her parents never lost hope.

I took my mother and sister to visit our little baby in the ICU Unit at Birmingham Children's Hospital, fearful that might be the only time I saw her this side of Heaven. She was absolutely precious, with red hair and blue eyes, but her skull was distended twice it's size and we knew the fluid was impacting her brain. It was a hard visit, but we were able to talk with her and love on her.

Well, she lived. It was a miracle. The swelling in her head eventually went down but the doctors told Chad and Rachel there was no way to know how significant her brain had been damaged through this trauma. We would just have to wait and see what developmental milestones she missed.

She'll be 2 this August, and has missed NO milestones. She's an active, happy, SMART little girl, full of life and excitement. As I sat there this morning, watching her tuck her head under her arm to grin at me while she was pulling Great-Grandma's sweaters out of their neatly folded stack, I discovered that I just wanted to watch her and ponder God's goodness. When children are active or, later, rebellious, it's so easy to lose our perspective and forget what miracles they really are. Each one is a gift from God, a miraculous creation, but some bear the stamp of being even more miraculous, like Reagan.

My three were all incredible miracles. It's easy to forget that in the throes of life, but I do find myself gazing at them often, thinking about the fullness in my life because of God's gracious gift to me of these three beautiful children. My heart absolutely bursts with love for them, and I know they feel that.

As I watch Reagan, I just want her to know a couple of things: God loves her and saved her very life; there has to be a marvelous purpose for the great miracle of her, completely healed; we love her more than we will ever be able to express to her.

If she can get those three things firmly planted in her mind, she'll be far ahead of most of us and right where she needs to be.

Taking Humor a Little Too Far

Admittedly, we're a fun family. We enjoy being together so much that just about anything can be fun for us. Several weeks ago, on the way home from church, Don filled up his car at a gas station that has a car wash. You would've thought we were on vacation to hear the hoops and hollers as we went through. We love life, especially when we're together.

But I think the following is taking enjoying being together just a little too far.

We're sitting around the table eating dinner last night. For a minute or two, there was absolute silence. Then, out of nowhere (totally random, as Deanna would say), Dane yelled,

"Nuclear missiles!"

Daelyn cracked up, as did Dane. Deanna got tickled at how much they were laughing and burst into laughter herself. I couldn't be the odd man out, so I laughed, too. As we sat around the table, immersed in our own ridiculous humor, I shook my head.

When you enjoy being together, I suppose ANYTHING can be funny.

A Day of Peace

Despite the sickies who've been home from school and church over the last few days, I feel so peaceful. Dane stayed home Friday with a headache, nausea, and aching throat. Deanna came into the my bathroom while I was in there Sunday morning, rummaged through my drawer looking for a thermometer, then began telling me how bad she felt. I took the boys to church by myself. This morning, after checking on Daelyn after 7:00 to make sure he was up, I heard him coughing uncontrollably and decided to keep him home.

But I had the most peaceful Saturday I can remember in a very long time. I slept in, trying to recoup some of my lost rest from the last several weeks, then did a couple of things with the boys that they've been begging to do, including a library run. I did some laundry and some housecleaning chores, watched a movie with Deanna, then managed a short nap. I got up in time to make a nice dinner, clean up the kitchen, and we headed over to Kelly's house for a bonfire (or bonefire, as Deanna and I thought Dane said, but he claims he didn't).

Although Sunday was busy, it was also very peaceful. And today has been a wonderful day. I've gotten some cleaning and organizing done, most of the laundry finished, and had a very peaceful day, moving from room to room, despite Daelyn being under foot.

It's been an unexpected oasis in a life of craziness. And just what I needed to steady myself before launching into the last 6 weeks of school! A deep breath, a smell of Easter lilies, and a clean den - YAY!!

She's Slain Us All!

This afternoon, during Daelyn's soccer game, I went and got Ainsley, my dear friend's 8 month old daughter. I snuggled her, held her, then spotted someone I needed to speak with, so I tucked her under my arm and headed across the backyards.

While visiting, the games finished. Daelyn came over by me and was playing with some friends.

Me: "Daelyn, I have to take Ainsley back to Aunt Kelly and then we're walking home. You can either walk with me or I'll drop her off, then pick you up on my way back."

Daelyn: "I'll stay here and play."

Me: "Okay. But be ready to go after I give Ainsley back." I started to walk away, when Daelyn hollered to me.

Daelyn: "WAIT, Mama!! I need to tell her goodbye!"

He kissed her head, rubbed his face against her forehead and soft hair, smiled at her and, generally, just loved on her. He took her out of my arms and hugged her close.

Me: "Enough already, Daelyn. Let me take the child home!"

But my eyes softened as the smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Is there anything sweeter than watching a child lavishly bestowing affection on a baby?

I think not.

Basketball Finals

The Elementary Intramural Basketball Finals were last night. Dane's team was competing for the championship. They play 4-on-4 and 2 10-minute halves. Though it's not quite a full-fledged basketball game, you'd never know it by watching these boys. They guard, dribble with both hands, weave in and out . . . generally, play like real basketball players.

We were excited about the championship, especially since Dane's team was playing. Don took off from work early so he could be there. We sat together in the stands critiquing the plays, rooting for Dane, and acknowledging good plays by both teams.

Dane's team played very well, but was one point down going into the last minute. With only 28 seconds left on the clock, Dane got the rebound, passed it to their dribbler, then headed down court to our basket. Ben (the appointed "dribbler") was heavily guarded, as was Dane, who was working hard to get into the open. Finally, Ben passed to another boy on the team who shot and missed. The opponent got the rebound.

We felt there was no chance. All they had to do was waste 15 seconds or so, since they were still one point ahead. I knew there was no hope for us.

But I should know by now to never say "no hope". The boy with the ball took a shot, missed, and Dane again got the rebound. With only 8 seconds left in the game, he passed to Ben and they headed down court. Ben moved slowly, as if he wasn't aware there were only seconds (less than 10) left on the clock. By the time he reached mid-court, the other team was all over him. It looked like time was going to run out with him still trying to find a clear shot or pass. Then, miraculously, he threw the ball high and out. Dane was standing at the perfect shot-distance from the basket and WAS COMPLETELY IN THE CLEAR!! The entire opposing team was guarding Ben. The ball fell neatly into Dane's hands who took a second, then shot a beautiful basket. As the ball cleared the basket, the buzzer sounded.

The stands went wild, including the spot where I was standing. Ben's father, Jimmy , looked down at me and Don, smiled and pointed in congratulations. I was thrilled beyond belief. Dane scored the final basket to win the game by one point in the final 3 seconds.

This morning, I stopped by the school office to take care of some business. The Elementary Administrative Assistant and the Middle School Principal/Athletic Director were standing in the office, talking with the secretary. When I walked up, she said,

"You're ears must've been burning. We were just talking about you."

"OH?" I asked.

"Well, Dane, anyway. Dennis was telling us about the game last night."

That's all they needed to say to launch me into my excited retelling of the events. I'm so proud of Dane. He kept his cool, played smartly, and won the championship for his team. I realize it took the whole team, but scoring that winning basket reminded me so much of the baseball game last summer (that I referenced above, next to Jimmy's name) when Dane pitched a no-run inning against his classmates' team. He's so quiet and unassuming, when he pulls off something like this, it's very unexpected and exciting.

Last night, after all the chores were done, I dropped in exhaustion on the couch and flipped on the T.V. Dane appeared around the corner in his pajamas.

"Mama, I'm too excited to sleep," he said. Join the crowd, my son.

A Time for Everything

I've been on a quest for several years now for some furniture. My problem is that I'm picky. I don't go into a store, look around, see something I like, and buy it. I think, ponder, pray, think some more, until I decide exactly what I want. Then I have to find that exact piece to be happy.

Despite the whole issue of perhaps doing this backwards, it's also very difficult. Styles disappear and reappear over years. For instance, I won't settle for end tables for my living room that don't have enclosed cabinets. I need the storage space (it's where I put our games) and I have to be able to close a door on it so it doesn't always have to look perfect. For about the last 10 years, the popular style has been open - no drawers or cabinets with doors. I've had to wait it out, hoping the styles would change back to enclosed cabinets sooner rather than later. I finally got my end tables, after about 8 years of shopping for them, the year before last. Now, the trend is moving back towards enclosed cabinets and drawers.

I've had the same issue with many other pieces of furniture. When I bought my end tables for the living room, I also bought a sofa table that matched. It's lovely and has three large drawers down the middle and enclosed cabinets on either end - just what I needed. The problem - I don't have the right sofa and, until I do, I didn't want to put the sofa table in the living room.

I put it against the back wall of our den, which needs an occasional table, but it's far too big for that location. It became painfully obvious within minutes of settling it in place that it's just too long. The heighth is perfect, but it's overwhelming large for the space where it temporarily lighted.

Now I have another problem. Don has taken over the cabinetry. All his computer papers, disks, and miscellaneous other stuff has found a home in the sofa table. When I move it to its permanent place, I am going to HAVE to replace it. But finding the perfect piece for that location is quite an issue. It needs to be about the same heighth as this one, but much shorter. However, we've got to have those cabinets for all of Don's computer stuff.

I've also been on the hunt for the perfect couch. I want a light-colored leather sectional with recliners. But not just any light-colored leather sectional will do. I'm picky about styles and I have to be able to arrange it in a "U" shape

Several years ago, I saw exactly what I wanted at a discount furniture outlet.

"That's the perfect one," I told Don. "We need to snatch it up!"

"If they have it here now, honey, I'm sure there are lots of them available other places. Let's look around."

Big mistake. One I'm sure he'll never make again. When we finally, many years later, find the perfect couch once again, I'm quite certain he won't be paying discount furniture outlet prices for it. He'll be lucky if he can buy it without having to auction off the house or children.

Yesterday, in my continuing quest, I visited (for the second time) a Bassett furniture store that's going out of business. No light-colored reclining leather sectionals, but I did find a leather and wrought iron stool which I bought as a footstool for the den. Last time I was in this store, with a friend, we diligently searched through EVERY piece. We tried out some leather couches, thinking perhaps I could substitute a couch and loveseat combination for my sectional. We also considered several fabric sectionals. But with Don and the children's allergies to dust, I'm really trying to avoid fabric furniture. The leather traps so much less dust and can be wiped down frequently. It just IS the way to go with the kinds of allergic problems with which we deal.

A couple of weeks ago, I bought a new, COMFORTABLE bench for our dining room, which I love, and am moving the old natural wood Parson's Bench into my bedroom to sit at the foot of my bed. I originally bought it for my bedroom, but that was before some furniture my parents sent down to me took up it's space. It will replace my teakwood carved Hope Chest, which will move into the far end of the living room, in front of the double windows, and serve as a window seat.

I guess I'm making progress - slow but sure. I still need my couch, the occasional table for the den, and a piece of furniture to replace the bookshelf Don uses for storage of envelopes, checks, magazines, etc., that is an eyesore. And a nice computer table that we can close up when the piles of stuff that have taken up permanent residence near the computer threaten to overwhelm me. When that's all done, I need to find a new dining room table and chairs with a matching china cabinet.

Just a few little things. But, if I take them one at a time, I think it's all do-able.

In the right season.

That Little Old Pine Tree

When Dane was in Second Grade, his class went on a field trip to a tree farm. Each child came home with an evergreen sapling. Dane proudly planted it in the front yard and we've babied it for several years now. During the growing season, Dane will sometimes come into the house twice in one week and beg me to go out and look at it.

"It's so much bigger than the last time you looked, Mom," he'll plead. Inevitably, I go outside, ooh and aah about how big it's gotten, examine the new growth, and stand at a distance while Dane measures himself against it for the millionth time, smiling and nodding.

Last winter, I decided the little evergreen needed some shaping up. If it's going to grow into a beautiful front yard Christmas tree, we need to work on it. While Dane was at school one day, I trimmed it - the higher branches shorter, the lower ones longer, to give it that nice conical shape that's a requirement for all real Christmas trees.

When Dane came home from school, he had a FIT!!! I had trimmed the top back.

"Honey," I tried to explain, "it was gangly. The top needed to be trimmed back so it will fill out. You want a nicely rounded tree, not a tall, skinny one."

The convincing didn't go well. All Dane could see was that his much-beloved heighth had taken a hit. For the next week, I probably caught him in the front yard measuring himself against it at least a dozen times. Finally, after about a month, he admitted to me quietly,

"Mama, my tree really does look better. You were right to trim it. It's growing better now and looks healthier."

I know it must've been a hard statement for him to make, but it was true. The tree was growing much faster, looked cleaner and neater and, in general, seemed much happier since its trimming.

This year, just before the hint of Spring, I took my scissors to the tree yet again. However, this time, I was smart enough to hide the evidence. I got rid of all the pieces I had cut off before Dane got home from school.

He didn't even notice. But he brought up something about his garden and I erroneously thought he was talking about his tree, and made some remark that tipped him off. Shortly thereafter, I saw him looking it over closely.

When he came back into the house, I eyed him suspiciously, waiting for the maelstrom of frustration and comments about how short it was again. None came. Instead, Dane walked into the kitchen and said,

"My pine tree really looks good, Mom. It's beginning to take on a nice shape. I can't wait to see how it likes its trimming this year."

Boy, was I shocked. But my son is accepting the facts of life. We all need shaping and pruning, and are much happier once the job is completed. Yes, we may groan and whine as the shears are cutting and we may mourn that particularly tall spike on the top that was cut back, but the satisfaction of being put back in order quickly overcomes the memories of the pruning.

I think there must be an analogy here somewhere . . .

Another Installment in the Donovan Saga

A friend came by the house a couple of weeks ago to visit and, of course, Donovan began jumping up, trying to greet her.

Me: "Daelyn, take the dog and lock him up in the bathroom, please."

Daelyn obediently disappeared with the dog. I noticed the boy didn't return and then realized he was staying in the bathroom with his beloved pet. About 20 minutes later, they both re-appeared in the kitchen.

Me: "DAELYN! I told you to put Donovan in the bathroom. Honey, he's going to jump up on Aunt Laura."

Daelyn: "I DID take him to the bathroom, Mom. But Donovan and I had a long discussion and he has agreed to not jump up on Aunt Laura anymore if I let him out of the bathroom."

How do you respond to this kind of reasoning and love? With what's quickly becoming my "pat" answer.

Me: "Daelyn, you can't trust him. He lies."

The Flip Side

A couple of years ago, while watching 60 Minutes or 20/20, Andy Rooney did a spot on mixed nuts. He purchased several different brands of mixed nuts, then dumped them all out, separated them into types of nuts, and counted them.

The brand made no difference; essentially, every can had roughly the same breakdown of types of nuts. Most of the nuts were peanuts and the rest of the order has slipped my mind, but the thing I remember the most is that the fewest of nuts were pecans.

Andy Rooney said this didn't surprise him, that pecans are the rarest and, therefore, the most expensive nut. It surprised ME. I would've thought walnuts or Brazil nuts (he didn't include Macadamias in his count - they don't put them in cans of mixed nuts) were rarer and more expensive than pecans. But that's probably because I LIVE in pecan country.

Specifically, my house is in a pecan orchard. But we see pecan trees throughout the area when we go on trips. My children can even recognize pecan trees just from the leaves and the way the branches grow. This area of the south really is Pecan Central.

Every Fall, we pick them. The children sell them and make spending/Christmas money. I shell them and pack them away in the freezer for my baking. They're so common for us that I substitute them in recipes that call for peanuts. They taste wonderful and freeze great. You can even thaw them and refreeze over and over again without damaging the nut or the flavor.

We love our pecans. Every kid in the neighborhood knows how to do the pecan stomp - how to position a juicy, ripe nut on the cement and jump on it just right to shatter the shell without mutilating the meat, a fine art in this neck of the woods. We roast them, candy them, butter and salt them, eat them for snacks, bake with them . . . and all free of charge if we get out there and pick each Fall.

On my way home from dropping the kids off at school today, I was sneezing and thinking about the layer of yellow pollen covering EVERYTHING. Car colors have been obliterated. I had to run the windshield wipers this morning to be able to see out of the van window. Last night, while taking Donovan out to tinkle, I made the mistake of laying my palm down on the deck railing. YUCK! It was covered in yellow dust.

Nothing gets by unscathed. It seeps into everything, including our lungs. It's more than a nuisance - it's a health hazard. All the children are feeling puny. Dane came home from baseball practice last night with such a bad headache that when I went into his room to take him a dose of Ibuprofen, his clothes were in a blob next to the bed and he was already halfway to dream land. Daelyn refused dinner last night and breakfast again this morning - he feels bad. Deanna's dragging around like the walking dead. I can't stop sneezing and, generally, am just sluggish. We all feel crumby and I'm sure the yellow sludge everywhere is playing a big part.

Then it hit me: this is the price we pay for those lovely pecans. The yellow pollen is pecan dust. I'm sure, in other areas void of pecan trees, they don't run into the Yellow Haze every spring like us. We have to suffer through the spring pollen to be able to enjoy pecans throughout the year.

It's a trade-off. Is it worth it? I guess it depends on which day you ask me. But, the bottom line is this: it is what it is. This is where I live, and I'm not moving because of pecan pollen. This is what the trees do, and I'm certainly not going to change them. It is what it is.

Time to pull out that extra dose of allergy meds.

Another Negative

With the temps topping out in the 90's already (for those of you who don't live in Augusta, yes, it's true!), I don't think there's any chance of growing a spring garden. I have to move right into our summer garden if I'm going to do any gardening at all.

Maybe I can try lettuce in the Fall this year!

Maundy Thursday

Tonight, after the scriptures were read, the sermon was preached, dinner together (as part of the Liturgy) was finished, we had taken Communion, and the foot-washing ceremony completed, we moved into the Sanctuary to continue our Maundy Thursday Service.

As we knelt and responsively recited Psalm 22, the Altar Servers slowly and methodically stripped the Altar and Sanctuary. The Icon of St. Bartholomew, the Patron Saint of our Congregation, was covered in a black mesh cloth. The burlap covering the Altar was removed, folded, and put away. The prayer book and cross on the Altar, the burlap adornment and Bible on the Ambo were all removed. As we neared the end of Psalm 22, Fr. David looked around, walked to the back wall, and blew out the flame of the Holy Candle. It's amazing how much the loss of that little flame seemed to darken the Altar area.

We bowed our heads for a final prayer and, at the end, as we were just raising our heads, a black cloth was pulled from the top of the cross down over it. The effect was shocking. In silence, the congregation made their way out of the Sanctuary.

My spirit is stilled. My heart is waiting. As I sit here typing, I'm very aware that the hour is near when Jesus was betrayed by one of His beloved. At this very moment, Jesus was probably praying and sweating blood in the Garden of Gethsemane on the Mount of Olives. So many of our religious holidays don't take place on the actual day that they occurred, but this one is different. We can trace the exact date of the Passover and know the weekend that Jesus was crucified.

Daelyn will be taking his first Communion on Easter Sunday, in honor of Christ's resurrection. But, tonight, there is little joy as we await the hour of His death. It is a somber time, one in which we contemplate the great sacrifice that was made for us.

Lord, deliver me of my sin. Make me fresh and clean and help me to stand anew before you, worthy of the price you paid for me.

Amen.

Stranger Than Fiction

I took the children to a local park yesterday for a picnic. We laid out towels with blankets over top, anchored Donovan around a tree, and pulled out the fried chicken, mac and cheese, and biscuits. While we were stuffing ourselves and visiting, we noticed a Park employee drive up near us in a golf cart. The garbage can closest to us was falling over.

He jumped off the cart and ran to the garbage can, righting it into it's normal position. As we watched, the golf cart took off by itself, leaving him behind. It was pointed down a hill and began picking up speed as it tore through the parking lot. We all sat staring in silence, watching the scene unfold before us like a tape from America's Funniest Home Videos.

The guy turned around and realized that his golf cart was a good 20 feet away from him. He took off at a tear, chasing it down as it moved faster and faster. Finally, about half way down the parking lot, he dove for the front seat, sprawled across it, quickly sat up, and regained control. We all looked around at each other. Our eyes were bulging and smirks tugged at the corners of our mouths. Finally, one of us began to laugh and we all burst out.

I honestly think this is one of the funniest things I've ever seen; the look on the guy's face when he realized the golf cart was moving, rapidly, away from him, was priceless. The whole scene was surreal, looking more like a Ben Stiller movie than real life. Certainly, it was unexpected.

They say real life is usually more bizarre than fiction. In this instance, it was at least as funny as something made up. It was one of those moments that families share and never forget, one of those bonding experiences that help define the personality of your life together.

I have to admit, though - I still looked around for a camera or Peter Sellers peeking out from behind a tree.

Shrouded Truths

Several years ago, Don bought me the "Passion of the Christ". When the kids asked the inevitable question, they were told they would have to be "MUCH" older before I would allow them to see it. Last year, I invited Deanna to watch it with me on Good Friday to help her spiritually connect with the meaning of Easter. It was a hard movie for her to watch (which is how most of us feel about it), but it had the desired affect, really impacting her mood on Friday and adding to her joy on Sunday.

Dane asked if he could watch it this year, but I'm still not sure. It's less about age and more about spiritual maturity. I haven't made a decision yet, but, in the meanwhile . . .

The boys and I were snuggling on my bed tonight, having one of our just-before-bed chats when Daelyn mentioned that he had seen Jesus' face. I told him that the Shroud of Turin contained Jesus' image, then had to explain what the Shroud of Turin was.

Both boys were fascinated, so we moved into the Den and plopped down in front of the computer. I Googled the Shroud and page after page of images popped onto the screen. Eventually, I found videos on youtube that were from a T.V. special. It explained this whole thing far better than I ever could. Deanna joined us and we all sat in silence, mesmerized by the images and the science.

During one particularly interesting segment, a scientist explained the blood stains. He went on to show a replica of the instrument used for scourging and matched the pieces perfectly to the wounds visible on the back of the Shroud. Daelyn asked quietly, "Mama, why did they do that to Jesus?"

I realized that, for probably the first time ever, Daelyn was confronted with the wounds Jesus suffered during his Passion. How do you explain to an almost-eight year old something even wisened adults can't quite articulate? I said something like, "No one really knows, honey," and Daelyn continued to watch, seemingly satisfied with my non-answer.

After the children scampered off to bed, I sat at the computer thinking about this experience. Daelyn is FAR too young for "The Passion", but the video on the Shroud may have served the same purpose.

On our way to the Zoo tomorrow (the children are out on Spring Break and I want to do some fun things with them before we reach Good Friday), I want to take advantage of the drive to talk about Christ's passion. Perhaps Daelyn will understand it better, or, at least, it will be more meaningful to him, after having seen the images on the Shroud. I think this is an excellent opportunity to focus my children on the somber, penitential attitude of Lent.

It seems the Lord has provided the perfect opportunity, once again, to aid my children in their spiritual walk. Now if I can just cooperate!

A Microcosm of Family Dynamics

We stopped on the way out of Wal-Mart to pick up a McDonald's snack wrap for each of us this evening after Dane's baseball practice and our shopping trip to pick up new bats and balls. I sent Deanna ahead with money and our order while Dane and I checked out, then we joined her and Daelyn.

When I finished my wrap, I sprinkled a few french fries onto the wax paper and grabbed a salt packet, generously salting my fries.

"That's too much salt, Mama," Dane chided. "I'm going to tell Grandpa next time I see him that you used too much salt."

"Not if I punch you in the nose first," Daelyn responded.

"Boys!" Deanna curtly corrected, then noticed me grinning.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," I explained, then added, "It's just that brief conversation was a perfect example of each of your personalities. Dane was going to "tell" on me, Daelyn was going to punch him, and you corrected everyone."

The children all paused for a moment to think about that, then cracked up as they realized I was right.

Even in miniature, they're still the same people.

And they wonder why I always seem to know how they're going to react!?!

Perspective

I've been pondering lately the concept of perspective. How you feel about things changes dramatically depending on the perspective from which you're viewing it.

For instance, $200 might seem like a hefty gas bill for a trip to D.C., but the same $200 spent on a plane ticket may feel like a steal. In both cases, the cost is $200 to go from here to there and back again. But one "feels" high, the other, reasonable.

Last year, I spent a small fortune on my garden. It was a worthwhile expense for me. However, this year, I'm starting plants from seed and the cost for those bedding plants at Lowe's seems astronomical to me.

When we bought Donovan, we were very careful to not discuss his cost. He was a VERY expensive dog. We knew that most people would not understand spending this amount of money on a pet. But God had provided the money for us just when we needed it, the perfect puppy for us in the breed we had decided would be best for the children, taking into consideration their health problems, and free transportation from the breeder's home in Arkansas to Atlanta. We even got a $300 discount off the price quoted to us by all the other Border Terrier breeders. We sucked in our breath a little when writing the check, but we've not had a single doubt since the moment we laid eyes on him that God hand-picked this little dog for our family.

I was talking with a person today that lives, as she states it, "hand-to-mouth". It's a true statement. There have been times that this woman only had pennies left to provide for her family and farm animals, but God has always met their needs. Today, she stopped by to pick up a check from me for a joint business venture (honey bees). I cleaned out my closet several weeks ago and had put aside a few tops for her that I thought she might be able to use. After we talked on the phone this morning, and I knew she was coming by, I pulled out the shirts and put them on the table. When she arrived, I told her I thought perhaps she could use them. She smiled and laughed.

"God's timing," she said, "is always perfect! We've been so busy with the animals and the yard that I haven't had a chance to do laundry and I'm out of clothes." They were things I was throwing out, but to her, they were a God-send.

As she glanced at the check, her face lit up. I had included a little extra as a gift. She profusely thanked me, then was very quiet, and I could tell that little bit of money meant the world to her. It was almost insignificant to me; something we would easily spend without even a thought.

For a child used to making "C's" in school, a "B" would be a victory. But Deanna cried when she brought home an 89 in Science at the beginning of last year. Middle School and the standards expected by her teachers was a huge shock to my little A+ student. She's brought all her grades up to her typical level, but that 89, which would have thrilled some of her friends, was a huge let-down for her.

The way we evaluate everything in life depends on our perspective. It occurred to me today, while pondering the look on my friend's face as she saw my check, that maybe I need a change of perspective sometimes. When I'm frustrated with my children, perhaps a little time with someone else's will calm me down. When my household chores feel overwhelming, I ought to think about those single moms who work a full day, then try and keep up the chores in the evening and on weekends.

There's always a different perspective from ours. And, often, looking at any situation from a new angle will help us see it very differently.

So, as I walk by the dustballs in the hallway this week, I'm going to choose to remember the panic I lived through when Dane, at 9, had to have his 3rd sinus surgery. No carpets to absorb the dust means accumulation on the hardwood floors. But I much prefer dust in the halls to the Waiting Room outside an O.R.

It's all in my perspective.

Shifting Into "GO"

I got an e-mail today from a friend with details about the Y's week-long Summer Camp. I knew that she had looked into it last year, but preferred to send her son if he knew someone else that was going. I had to stifle a laugh when I got the e-mail from her this year.

I don't know what happens to our summers. By the time the iris' are peeking their little heads out of the dirt, our summers are already so packed it's scary to think about. It's been this way ever since the children started spending time alone with their Grandparents each summer.

I like to have at least one long week with Don's parents during the summer months. It's a great opportunity to unwind, relax, do crafts, visit, spend time with the children . . . in short, a VACATION! Add Deanna spending a week (and the transportation back and forth) and Dane getting his time and that's 3 weeks already spoken for, right off the bat. We tried Daelyn last year, but it was just too hard for him, so we've decided to give that a few more years before trying again.

In addition to time with family, we always have at least one trip to a vacation destination per summer, often more than one. When Don and I go for our Gold Crown Survey while visiting our condo in Hilton Head Island, they always give you this "sales sphiel": "If you could get two week's vacation for the price you paid for your one, wouldn't you want to do that?" We always, in unison, vehemently shake our heads and say, "NO!" We can barely manage to fit in all the vacations we have now. They always look at us like we're crazy, but Don has to work sometime!

This summer, we're taking our long-awaited trip to Hawaii. We started planning it two years ago, reserving a condo in December of 2008 for a week this August. Once we got our Frequent Flier tickets, I began to process of filling in our other accomodations, which has been both fun and exciting.

When we planned this trip, we figured we'd spacebank our condo and just have one long, nice vacation. That was before my niece, who lives in Washington, D.C., got engaged and planned the wedding for June 4. It was also before my other niece got married and moved to Panama City Beach and began comparing dates for our "visit" even before the engagement ring was correctly sized. Before my dear, close friend, Fr. John, was transferred back down to Savannah, his hometown, and pointedly mentioned numerous times that his family HAS a beach house on Tybee Island ("Just let me know when you can come for a visit, P.D.")

Of course, we'll be visiting Alicia, who has a stand-alone apartment behind their house and lives, like, across the street from the beach. Certainly, we'll be at Lydia's wedding in D.C., and make a week's vacation out of it while we're there so as to take advantage of the 10-hr. drive. Without a doubt, we'll be visiting Fr. John - and the summer, while the children are out of school, is the perfect time.

Add to that Dane's birthday and Father's Day (both in June), the 4th of July, Dane and Daelyn's baseball league that runs into the summer, teaching Deanna to cook, gardening and canning, crafts, making and wrapping Christmas presents . . .

Whew! It's not that I'm complaining, mind you. I'm thankful that our lives are so full. Occasionally, I do see other children that are bored during the summer. We can't imagine boredom at our house. There are days Deanna prays for rain so she can just curl up with a good book.

And I LOVE the summer - time with my children, time to pursue activities and tasks that can't be accomplished during the school year. Running through sprinklers, staying up late to watch the International Space Station as it nears our atmosphere, digging in the dirt and getting filthy, then taking a nice bubble bath to wash away the cares and the mud, the sound of laughter throughout the yard and the house, activity, fun, developing new skills and gifts in the children - all wonderful activities in which to involve ourselves.

One thing I've learned, though. A plan is vital. Without a plan, days end up being spent in front of Game Cubes or the T.V. Mom gets absolutely no work done and children get grumpy. Swim dates, crafts days, canning chores, and all the other things that are important to us have to be scheduled.

So, I'm fastening my seatbelt right now. Things are already beginning to gear up. I have plants popping up from the seeds that need transplanting and Daelyn needs a new bat and glove. Deanna's already dreaming of days full of reading and the boys are looking forward to endless hours in their tree fort.

I just am hoping to get through summer unscathed.

I Guess, Eventually, You Have to Admit to It

I survived my surgery. But it's amazing how sore I was. By Saturday night, my throat and neck hurt, my ribs, back and stomach hurt, my abdomen had sharp, shooting pains and dull throbbing pain, and my calves hurt.

Someone said, "You just don't bounce back quite as fast when you're 'older'." I guess I've reached that hallmark in life - I'm "older".

Saturday night, I sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, carefully put my breathing mask on my face, checked to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything important around my alarm clock (where I put ALL critically important things), switched off my lamp, laid carefully down and gently covered up. I was laying completely still since moving just made me ache more, when Don and the dog came to bed.

They have this nighttime routine. The dog attacks Don, Don fights him off while allowing a few well-placed kisses. After they scuffle for a few minutes, Don shooes Donovan down to the bottom of the bed and they both settle down to sleep, Donovan curled up on my legs.

Needless to say, the activity on the other side of the bed was ill-placed. After cringing silently for several minutes while Donovan thumped against me and Don shoved and prodded, I finally lost my temper.

"Could you two PLEASE settle down!! I ache from the top of my head to the tip of my toes and you're jostling me. PLEASE!!! STOP!!"

The dog immediately made for the end of the bed. Don silently continued his routine of preparing for bed, but made an effort to still the bouncing from his side.

This morning, as I made breakfast for the children, Don peered around the corner into the kitchen.

"Feeling any better today, Mommy?" he asked.

"Yes," I responded enthusiastically. "I feel MUCH better. But I'm going to take it easy today and stick around the house, keep my feet up, rest, do laundry. . . that sort of thing."

No response, but I thought I saw a smile. Daddy's ready to have Mommy back, instead of this sore, grumpy woman who had surgery on Friday - the "older" woman.

Acquaintances Far and Wide

Don has kidded me for years about how many people I know in Augusta. It seems like every time we go out, I run into someone I know. That's no surprise. I've lived in Augusta since 1973! Between Elementary, High School, College, work, church and general life over the years, of course I've met a lot of people.

Don says the issue isn't "having met" a lot of people; the issue is that 4 million residents are my closest friends. I always laugh at his exaggeration, but the truth is, when I make friends, they seem to remember me. I'm a somewhat boisterous, happy person and I remember almost everyone I've ever met and go out of my way to speak to them. When we were in England, Don was always remarking that he couldn't figure out how we got to know so many people. Everywhere we went, strangers would speak to me. One man even gave me a lapel pin he was WEARING after we met on a tram ride once. Liverpool, Manchester, York, the Hotel where we stayed for the first 10 days . . . strangers would even stop me on the street of our little village and inquire how we were doing.

When we went to London, we were waiting for the train one day. Don was standing further down the platform from me and the children. As I observed him, I understood why no one ever spoke to him. He was completely unapproachable - arms crossed, eyebrows bent inward, looking like he'd bite your head off. I made eye contact with everyone, smiled, nodded a little greeting. People would see me smile at them, notice the children, and immediately stop to talk.

So, it was no big surprise yesterday when we went to the St. Patrick's Day Parade and I knew a lot of people. I went to a Catholic high school in town, after all, and at least half the student body was of Irish descent. As floats rolled by with the family name blazened across the side, I'd look for classmates. Naturally, I saw many.

"That's Mary Wright. We went to high school together," I'd tell Deanna as she looked on with one eyebrow raised.

"There's the Bowles' Family float. I went to school with Ralph, but I don't see him on the float," I said as another went by.

Several people came out of the Parade crowd to hug me on the side of the road. Many of them knew it was my birthday and greeted me accordingly. Others were just old friends that I hadn't seen in awhile.

At one point, I noticed Deanna shaking her head. I find this SO-O-O-O very funny. I EXPECT to know a lot of people at the Parade - I've lived in Augusta a very long time. But Deanna's quiet, like her father, and is always surprised at how many people I know. I was careful to explain the relationship I had to each of them, most of them being classmates from high school.

After about the 12 person I knew went by, I noticed a marching band from one of the local high schools. A friend of ours from church is the Band Director at a local high school, and I noticed him walking along beside the band on the side closest to me. I yelled to him,

"Hey, Scott!"

He turned immediately and ran over to hug me. We chatted for a minute, then he ran ahead to catch up with his band. I looked over at Deanna.

"He goes to church with me," I smirked.

"I know that, Mother. He goes to church with me, too."

"See, honey! You know someone in the Parade, too!"

She gave me an indulgent look. Yes, she knew one person. But she's only lived in Augusta 13 years and has led a very sheltered life. Give it another 25 - 30 years and I bet she'll know a ton of people in the Parade, too. Unless, of course, she continues to be like her father.

The Innocence of Youth

Someone told me a hilarious story today. Seems a fairly young man with high blood pressure was told by his doctor that he should have a glass of red wine daily.

"Just have a small glass in the evening before bed. It should help with your blood pressure issues," his doctor said.

So, each evening he would drink his "prescribed" glass of wine. His toddler, after hearing the story repeated to various friends and family members, began referring to the wine as "Daddy's medicine".

"Daddy, you left your medicine glass in the living room last night," he would announce in the mornings.

This was all very innocent until they were in church one morning and the toddler noticed, for the first time, the Communion Wine.

In the loud, piercing voice that every parent hears in their nightmares, and at the quietest moment in the Worship Service, the child blurted out,

"Look, Daddy! They use the same medicine as YOU!"

The Discipline of Lent

I'm a little behind on my "40 Bags for 40 Days" Lenten project. I just rid the house of two bags that went on the calendar for Saturday, March 6 and last Monday, the 8th. However, getting rid of 40 bags has been a little slow for me because I haven't been willing to just throw them out. It seems my Lenten Penance has taken on a little different twist.

Years ago, as a good Methodist, I decided to add positive disciplines into my life for Lent rather than trying to give up things. One year, I wrote a letter every day during Lent. I had a friend, a young Army Officer, that was stationed in Korea and was desperately lonely. The daily letters went to him. I was amazed that I was able to keep it up for 40 days. Some of the letters were short, but he got something in the mail continuously.

One year, I visited nursing homes every Sunday during Lent. I didn't know anyone there; I just went, socialized with lonely people and did a lot of touching and hugging. It's been my experience that older people, especially those put in care homes, crave personal contact. I spent my Lent touching.

There was another year that I decided I needed to improve my prayer life. I wanted to follow in the footsteps of John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, who prayed every hour on the hour when awake. He trained himself and truly was a man constantly in an attitude of prayer. I set a timer for myself and started off Lent really excited. By 10 days into the season, I realized that my brain had very effectively taught itself to tune out the alarm. I never even heard it. I don't know how Wesley accomplished this training, but it was a miserable failure for me.

Anyway, back to this year. I found myself cleaning out the children's drawers and closets and cleaning off the shelf in the laundry room where we always put things we've outgrown. As I began to bag up all these clothes, I realized that some of them were special to me. I didn't want to send them to Good Will or the Salvation Army. Some of the pieces were in excellent shape, and I began thinking: "Who do I know that could really benefit from these things?"

It began a whole new secondary discipline. The reason I've fallen behind on my Project is because I'm now sorting everything I plan to get out of the house into bags for different people I know that I think could use them. So far, 4 families have benefited from my 40 bags (or 20 so far for me, I think) and the clothes closet at my parents' church got a bag of children's clothes. A bag of books went to my sister for the Realtor's Yard Sale she's been lassoed to head and a bag of food-stuffs from our pantry went into a collection barrel at the school for the mountain people served by the Missionaries of Charity in Kentucky. Some sugar-free items left on the counter by my sister after her visit with us are being delivered to a classmate of one of my children that's diabetic today and a few other food items are finding new homes with people who can appreciate and use them.

All-in-all, even though I've fallen a little behind, I'm very pleased with the results of my Lent. I've been focused on ridding our home of useless items while blessing others. I'm starting to feel a little freer and, man, is it addictive.

I still have lots more sorting and disposing to tend to, but I'm off to an excellent start and feel like I've really entered into the mindset of Christ this Lent.

Now if I can just get through the toys.