A couple of Posts ago, I mentioned a book study I'm doing, "A Mother's Rule of Life". Going is very slow. We've discovered that everything gets scheduled on Fridays, interfering with our chosen meeting time; Grandparent's Day at school, days off school unexpectedly, Black Friday, Retreats, etc. We've haven't been able to move ahead any in 3 months.
The upside to spending so much time on the same chapter is REALLY getting to work on that area. I put together my "portfolio", my place to keep all my notes and lists, and have that working very well. I mentioned that I've been tackling cleaning out and getting rid of stuff. That's still true. We had a yard sale in October (or was it September) and Don brought down from the attic everything we had stored that we no longer need. I was amazed how many children's clothes we still had. Anyway, I was determined to not put anything back in the attic, so the furniture, clothes, and other items that hadn't sold in the yard sale have been taking up the whole living room.
I finally contacted a friend who said he could use the changing table and dresser for a Retreat House he's trying to furnish. Then my friend, Kelly, took a day and helped me sort and organize boxes and boxes of stuff. We loaded up her van twice with items for Good Will and she dropped them off for me. Then we made a trip to a Second-Hand store and another trip to Good Will. I was left with a box of small items that I wanted to donate to the Kindergarten class at our school for their Treasure Chest, two boxes that still needed sorting, and a few items I wanted to keep.
Yesterday, we bought our tree and rearranged the furniture in the living room so we could fit our tree comfortably in the corner. I still have one more box to sort, but, other than that, the living room is cleaned out. Nothing is going back into the attic.
It's a good feeling to get rid of things that have cluttered our closets, bedrooms, attic, and lives for years. But there's always more to do. I'm just thankful that I can now enjoy the fireplace and want to move my gift-wrapping stuff into the living room so I can wrap to my heart's content while enjoying the fireplace.
Slow progress, but any progress at all is better than none.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Okay, that's a LITTLE odd!
Deanna's taking a class this semester called "Life Skills". It's an updated, unisex version of Home Economics. They did units on Hunting Safety and gardening, including building and planting a box garden. They are now working on sewing.
Their first sewing project is a throw pillow. When it's done, they'll be making pajama pants. They went on a field trip to a fabric store to pick our their material and notions. But, first, they have to hand-stitch a design on their throw pillows.
Each student was asked to submit a scale drawing of their pillow design. This week, they're learning all the different stitches so they can embroider their designs next week. Deanna demonstrated the "lazy daisy", the "running stitch", the "chain stitch", the "satin stitch", and several others to me this evening.
"There's just one problem with this class, though, Mom," she said softly during a quiet moment as I looked over her stitches.
"What's that, Honey?" I asked her.
"It's just not right to hear the boys bragging about how 'beast' their embroidery is."
Their first sewing project is a throw pillow. When it's done, they'll be making pajama pants. They went on a field trip to a fabric store to pick our their material and notions. But, first, they have to hand-stitch a design on their throw pillows.
Each student was asked to submit a scale drawing of their pillow design. This week, they're learning all the different stitches so they can embroider their designs next week. Deanna demonstrated the "lazy daisy", the "running stitch", the "chain stitch", the "satin stitch", and several others to me this evening.
"There's just one problem with this class, though, Mom," she said softly during a quiet moment as I looked over her stitches.
"What's that, Honey?" I asked her.
"It's just not right to hear the boys bragging about how 'beast' their embroidery is."
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Another Stab at Order
I'm on a cleaning binge, which makes my family VERY happy!! I've joined a Women's Book Study Group and we're exploring the book, "A Mother's Rule of Life". The book tackles the complicated subject of bringing order to every aspect of our lives as mothers.
The more I read, the more I'm energized to get organized. This is a perpetual odyssey for me. I feel like I'm on the hunt for The Holy Grail.
I haven't really accomplished huge amounts yet, but the little things that I've been able to tackle have left me with anticipation of still more to come. Yesterday, I cleaned out Daelyn's closet. It began as a simple hunt for empty hangars to use for the clean laundry. But his closet was so disorderly, I decided to neaten it. Well, if you're going to take the time to neaten it, I reasoned, you might as well get rid of the things that don't fit any longer. The really good news about this task, though, is that I bagged up all his ill-fitting clothes, included several bags that Don packed up last year and a bag of shoes that the children had gathered that no longer fitted, and delivered them to a friend's house. She has several young boys and will be able to use some of the clothes. I encouraged her to pass along what she didn't need, but FOUR BAGS are OUT of my house!!! YAY!!
The day before, I tackled Don's side of our bathroom counter. I plan on finished the bathroom today. Before that, I tackled the Den, which now is able to be used once again. If I get any extra time today, I need to begin working on the living room, which still have the refuse from the Yard Sale several weeks ago, untouched.
The key to organizing, for me, is not just to clean, but to get RID of stuff. We accumulate more stuff than you can ever imagine. So the four bags leaving my house was a huge victory to me. A friend of mine has suggested that we go to a Second-Hand store that specializes in children's items to rid my living room of the nicer items that didn't disappear in the Yard Sale, such as the changing table and the crib set. Maybe we can tackle that next week. I hope so.
It feels good to bring order but I can only keep order if I spend some time at home, which seldom happens. This has been a good week; lots of days home to clean. But that's not always the case. The point of "A Mother's Rule of Life" is to arrange your life so that, even if nothing else is accomplished in the home, order still prevails. We'll see how well it works for me. I'm only on Chapter 3.
The more I read, the more I'm energized to get organized. This is a perpetual odyssey for me. I feel like I'm on the hunt for The Holy Grail.
I haven't really accomplished huge amounts yet, but the little things that I've been able to tackle have left me with anticipation of still more to come. Yesterday, I cleaned out Daelyn's closet. It began as a simple hunt for empty hangars to use for the clean laundry. But his closet was so disorderly, I decided to neaten it. Well, if you're going to take the time to neaten it, I reasoned, you might as well get rid of the things that don't fit any longer. The really good news about this task, though, is that I bagged up all his ill-fitting clothes, included several bags that Don packed up last year and a bag of shoes that the children had gathered that no longer fitted, and delivered them to a friend's house. She has several young boys and will be able to use some of the clothes. I encouraged her to pass along what she didn't need, but FOUR BAGS are OUT of my house!!! YAY!!
The day before, I tackled Don's side of our bathroom counter. I plan on finished the bathroom today. Before that, I tackled the Den, which now is able to be used once again. If I get any extra time today, I need to begin working on the living room, which still have the refuse from the Yard Sale several weeks ago, untouched.
The key to organizing, for me, is not just to clean, but to get RID of stuff. We accumulate more stuff than you can ever imagine. So the four bags leaving my house was a huge victory to me. A friend of mine has suggested that we go to a Second-Hand store that specializes in children's items to rid my living room of the nicer items that didn't disappear in the Yard Sale, such as the changing table and the crib set. Maybe we can tackle that next week. I hope so.
It feels good to bring order but I can only keep order if I spend some time at home, which seldom happens. This has been a good week; lots of days home to clean. But that's not always the case. The point of "A Mother's Rule of Life" is to arrange your life so that, even if nothing else is accomplished in the home, order still prevails. We'll see how well it works for me. I'm only on Chapter 3.
Wednesday, October 05, 2011
Belated Birthday Blessings
Last Monday was Don's birthday. I wanted to write a Post honoring him, but life got in the way. Then, yesterday, when I sat down to write, I read the beautiful tribute to her mother-in-law that my friend, Kelly, wrote. Pretty hard to compete with that. And eloquent words just don't flow when I think of Don. I decided to take another stab at it today and, maybe, just put my thoughts in plain words, without the eloquence and beauty that some of my other friends seem to be able to pen.
When I first met Don, I was immediately attracted to him. He's a quiet man, but you catch a sense of extreme strength hovering just below the surface. He has a wonderful, gleaming smile and eyes that twinkle when he's kidding or poking fun at someone. His gentleness is one of the first things that is apparent about him. Strength and gentleness - hmm! No wonder I was attracted to him.
On our very first date, I realized that he's a man that's in control. He was confortable, confident, and very, very funny. Don has a fabulous sense of humor, but in a very quiet way. If you're not watching for it, you'll never experience it. One of the things I realized early on in our relationship was that, when passion was gone or we were too old to care about those things, Don would keep life fun for me. His humor and approach to life would linger until death. I love being with him. He makes everyday chores seem like family time at the park. He'll walk by me in the kitchen while I'm doing dishes and deadpan about some crazy thing he just saw outside. He clips articles from magazines and newspapers and leaves them at our places at the table - last week, there was an article in an SRS Newsletter about an alligator they call "Mr. Stumpy". He and his mate have parented approximately 500 young and Don included a picture of Stumpy with one of his hatchlings riding on his back. What makes the story funny is that Deanna's terrified of alligators and Don's determined to break her of her fear. For her 13th birthday, when we honored her at an Assembly at school, Don brought (unbeknownst to me - it was HIS thing with his daughter, not mine) a stuffed alligator with a chicken inside it. He explained that alligators were nothing to be afraid of - they were just chickens wearing alligator suits. He's bought Deanna alligator pencil holders and worked very hard at assuaging her fear through humor.
Which brings me to the next point; Don LOVES his children. I'm not sure I've ever seen a man so in love with his family. He buys Christmas presents for each of the children just from him. He thinks about it for months and comes up with the perfect idea, then goes out alone to buy the presents, wraps them himself, and refuses to even tell me what he bought them. Time after time, it turns out to be the perfect gift, but it's always something that has to do with HIS relationship with them. I buy the presents from "us", he buys the presents from Daddy. Several years ago, he started giving them an end-of-school gift, also. This shocked me. To me, the end of school was gift enough. But Don is so proud of the effort his children put into school and the grades they make that he felt they needed a reward at the end of the school year, so he always buys them something special to begin the summer.
Many years ago, when the children were young, I noticed that Don would come out to the van as we were leaving for trips with things tucked behind his back. It didn't take me long to discover that he always picks up something special for the children before road trips or vacations. If it'll be a long drive, he buys them a new movie. If we're going to the beach and he thinks there will be downtime or bad weather, he brings some Lego project for them to complete together. He always buys them new beach toys - every year. There's always something special hidden away for them when they get bored. None of these things are usually expensive. Don shops the clearance aisles and stashes away things when he can get them for a song. It's not the money he spends, it's the thought he puts into each gift.
He's always been a tremendous help to the children with school work. He leaves anything to me that he feels requires "artistic ability" (which I find laughable, because the artistic genes definitely come from HIS side of the family), but math, science, even helping edit writing projects are all things he's willing to take on. Since starting high school, he's spent hours with Deanna, helping her with physics, computer skills, explaining the concepts in Algebra and, more importantly, teaching her how to use the laptop more effectively. The evening of the first day of school, I found him sprawled on Deanna's bed working side-by-side with her on her homework.
Don has never felt threatened by me. I'm a very strong, opinionated woman, but he's way stronger. My family laughs often because, as they say, Don lets me think I'm in charge and make decisions when he doesn't really care about them, but just when I think he's not paying attention and I get a little heavy-handed, out pops the "in-control" Don to set me straight and bring proper order back into our family life. He rules the roost with an iron hand, albeit an invisible one. My father told me years ago that he didn't think Don ever told me "no". I laughed. Don tells me no all the time. But I learned two years into our marriage that there is no changing his mind, so I don't talk about the things to which he says no. I tried manipulating, getting angry, the silent treatment, and every other device known to woman. Nothing worked. When Don says no, the answer is no - period. He's impervious to my feminine wiles.
On the other hand, Don has incredible wisdom. I love talking to him. He always sees things from a very different perspective than mine. When I have a problem or can't quite think through something, I'm quick to run to Don. He usually has the perfect solution and, normally, it's something that would never have crossed my mind. And he's able to mention these things in such a gentle, kind way that I never feel ordered around. He just speaks wisdom and I hear it for what it is.
Once, when we were going through a particularly difficult time with one of our children, Don suggested me taking the children to his parents' for 3 months. He told me I could homeschool them there, but that would get the child out of the difficult situation and give them a little break. I scoffed. "I can't move in with your parents!! Have you even asked them? They couldn't handle us being there for 3 months. Besides, the children couldn't miss 3 months of school!" I dismissed his suggestion without a second thought. A week later, we got the offer to go to England - for 3 months. We took the kids out of school and I homeschooled them there. The child got the needed break and God worked around my shortsightedness and my dismissal of my husband's idea. Now, of course, I can see that God probably wanted us in West Virginia and was speaking through my husband but, because of my stubbornness, he had to work another way that was more palatable to me. After our return from England, while visiting my in-laws, I told Mom about this. She was quick to tell me that I should have come there; that those are her grandchildren and she'd make do.
"Anytime you need to get away, Honey, you come here. Three months would have been fine with me."
Does this man that I love and respect so much have faults? Yes, of course, just like all humans. But he's so-o-o-o-o-o perfect for me, so truly God's choice for me. When we announced our engagement, some friends that knew us both well expressed surprise.
"You two have absolutely NOTHING in common," they said. That's true. Don loves the mountains, I love the beach. He loves Mexican, I love Italian. He's quiet and doesn't like groups. I'm energized by social contact and come alive entertaining large groups. He likes bland foods, I like flavorful. He likes simple, I like complicated. He's dark, I'm fair. The list of differences goes on and on. Truly, the only things we had in common were our love of God, our senses of humor, and our love and respect for each other. But that was enough. We've made a wonderful life together, mostly because of him.
My friend, Jim Guinan, is fond of jokingly saying about his wife, "She's the gorilla of my dreams!" Along those same lines, Don may not be perfect, or anything like me, but he's the Manta 'o MY dreams.
Happy Belated Birthday, my love. I'm looking forward to many more.
When I first met Don, I was immediately attracted to him. He's a quiet man, but you catch a sense of extreme strength hovering just below the surface. He has a wonderful, gleaming smile and eyes that twinkle when he's kidding or poking fun at someone. His gentleness is one of the first things that is apparent about him. Strength and gentleness - hmm! No wonder I was attracted to him.
On our very first date, I realized that he's a man that's in control. He was confortable, confident, and very, very funny. Don has a fabulous sense of humor, but in a very quiet way. If you're not watching for it, you'll never experience it. One of the things I realized early on in our relationship was that, when passion was gone or we were too old to care about those things, Don would keep life fun for me. His humor and approach to life would linger until death. I love being with him. He makes everyday chores seem like family time at the park. He'll walk by me in the kitchen while I'm doing dishes and deadpan about some crazy thing he just saw outside. He clips articles from magazines and newspapers and leaves them at our places at the table - last week, there was an article in an SRS Newsletter about an alligator they call "Mr. Stumpy". He and his mate have parented approximately 500 young and Don included a picture of Stumpy with one of his hatchlings riding on his back. What makes the story funny is that Deanna's terrified of alligators and Don's determined to break her of her fear. For her 13th birthday, when we honored her at an Assembly at school, Don brought (unbeknownst to me - it was HIS thing with his daughter, not mine) a stuffed alligator with a chicken inside it. He explained that alligators were nothing to be afraid of - they were just chickens wearing alligator suits. He's bought Deanna alligator pencil holders and worked very hard at assuaging her fear through humor.
Which brings me to the next point; Don LOVES his children. I'm not sure I've ever seen a man so in love with his family. He buys Christmas presents for each of the children just from him. He thinks about it for months and comes up with the perfect idea, then goes out alone to buy the presents, wraps them himself, and refuses to even tell me what he bought them. Time after time, it turns out to be the perfect gift, but it's always something that has to do with HIS relationship with them. I buy the presents from "us", he buys the presents from Daddy. Several years ago, he started giving them an end-of-school gift, also. This shocked me. To me, the end of school was gift enough. But Don is so proud of the effort his children put into school and the grades they make that he felt they needed a reward at the end of the school year, so he always buys them something special to begin the summer.
Many years ago, when the children were young, I noticed that Don would come out to the van as we were leaving for trips with things tucked behind his back. It didn't take me long to discover that he always picks up something special for the children before road trips or vacations. If it'll be a long drive, he buys them a new movie. If we're going to the beach and he thinks there will be downtime or bad weather, he brings some Lego project for them to complete together. He always buys them new beach toys - every year. There's always something special hidden away for them when they get bored. None of these things are usually expensive. Don shops the clearance aisles and stashes away things when he can get them for a song. It's not the money he spends, it's the thought he puts into each gift.
He's always been a tremendous help to the children with school work. He leaves anything to me that he feels requires "artistic ability" (which I find laughable, because the artistic genes definitely come from HIS side of the family), but math, science, even helping edit writing projects are all things he's willing to take on. Since starting high school, he's spent hours with Deanna, helping her with physics, computer skills, explaining the concepts in Algebra and, more importantly, teaching her how to use the laptop more effectively. The evening of the first day of school, I found him sprawled on Deanna's bed working side-by-side with her on her homework.
Don has never felt threatened by me. I'm a very strong, opinionated woman, but he's way stronger. My family laughs often because, as they say, Don lets me think I'm in charge and make decisions when he doesn't really care about them, but just when I think he's not paying attention and I get a little heavy-handed, out pops the "in-control" Don to set me straight and bring proper order back into our family life. He rules the roost with an iron hand, albeit an invisible one. My father told me years ago that he didn't think Don ever told me "no". I laughed. Don tells me no all the time. But I learned two years into our marriage that there is no changing his mind, so I don't talk about the things to which he says no. I tried manipulating, getting angry, the silent treatment, and every other device known to woman. Nothing worked. When Don says no, the answer is no - period. He's impervious to my feminine wiles.
On the other hand, Don has incredible wisdom. I love talking to him. He always sees things from a very different perspective than mine. When I have a problem or can't quite think through something, I'm quick to run to Don. He usually has the perfect solution and, normally, it's something that would never have crossed my mind. And he's able to mention these things in such a gentle, kind way that I never feel ordered around. He just speaks wisdom and I hear it for what it is.
Once, when we were going through a particularly difficult time with one of our children, Don suggested me taking the children to his parents' for 3 months. He told me I could homeschool them there, but that would get the child out of the difficult situation and give them a little break. I scoffed. "I can't move in with your parents!! Have you even asked them? They couldn't handle us being there for 3 months. Besides, the children couldn't miss 3 months of school!" I dismissed his suggestion without a second thought. A week later, we got the offer to go to England - for 3 months. We took the kids out of school and I homeschooled them there. The child got the needed break and God worked around my shortsightedness and my dismissal of my husband's idea. Now, of course, I can see that God probably wanted us in West Virginia and was speaking through my husband but, because of my stubbornness, he had to work another way that was more palatable to me. After our return from England, while visiting my in-laws, I told Mom about this. She was quick to tell me that I should have come there; that those are her grandchildren and she'd make do.
"Anytime you need to get away, Honey, you come here. Three months would have been fine with me."
Does this man that I love and respect so much have faults? Yes, of course, just like all humans. But he's so-o-o-o-o-o perfect for me, so truly God's choice for me. When we announced our engagement, some friends that knew us both well expressed surprise.
"You two have absolutely NOTHING in common," they said. That's true. Don loves the mountains, I love the beach. He loves Mexican, I love Italian. He's quiet and doesn't like groups. I'm energized by social contact and come alive entertaining large groups. He likes bland foods, I like flavorful. He likes simple, I like complicated. He's dark, I'm fair. The list of differences goes on and on. Truly, the only things we had in common were our love of God, our senses of humor, and our love and respect for each other. But that was enough. We've made a wonderful life together, mostly because of him.
My friend, Jim Guinan, is fond of jokingly saying about his wife, "She's the gorilla of my dreams!" Along those same lines, Don may not be perfect, or anything like me, but he's the Manta 'o MY dreams.
Happy Belated Birthday, my love. I'm looking forward to many more.
Tuesday, October 04, 2011
One Small Step . . .
I'm a bit of an organization freak. Most people who've seen my house might not believe this, but it's true. I make my Menus a month to six weeks at a time, then make my grocery list weekly from my menus. I have a master list of things I like to cook and I pull that out when planning my menus. I have a menu for school year breakfasts, Monday through Friday, with variations from week to week. I have a school year lunch menu - what I put in lunchboxes each school day, again, with variations noted. I have a snack menu that I fill out for about 4 weeks at a time, planning out what the children can have everyday for their after-school snack. I have a chore list for each of the children, a detailed daily morning and afternoon schedule for the boys (Deanna's exempt since she's proven she can schedule her own time quite well), and a clip on my fridge that holds Invitations, notes from teachers, carpool schedules for events . . . anything to which I might need to refer again. Also posted on the fridge is my monthly schedule with appointments, after-school activities, evening commitments, and whatever else I need to do outside of the house.
So it should come as no surprise that I've perfected planning for a trip. When our children were little, going out to dinner was such a hassle that we seldom ventured out. The kids would get fussy, service might be slow and they'd start screaming from hunger or fatigue. It was impossible to eat out and get them home in time for bed. We adjusted our lifestyle accordingly, and there it has stayed.
We almost never eat out, even when on vacation. I try to plan ONE night out while vacationing just so I don't have dinner preparations and clean-up. But, the majority of the time, I'm in the kitchen preparing three meals a day while everyone else is relaxing, enjoying the pool or beach, etc. I try hard to prepare as many meals in advance as possible and freeze them, making preparation minimal. But there's still warming up, making side-dishes, and all the other preparation tasks that come with eating at home.
I start my planning process with a menu. I plan breakfast, lunch, and dinner for each day we'l be gone, including snacks, desserts, beverages. Then, from the menus, I put together a Master Food List. This includes everything I need to make each of the items on the menu. For instance, salt and pepper and butter would be on my Master Food List but not necessarily on my menu. Once I have my master food list, I go through it and mark all the items I plan on taking from home. Next, I transfer these items to a Kitchen Packing List so I can mark them off once they're packed. The remaining items on my master list get transferred to a Grocery List and put in my purse so it's handy after we arrive at our destination.
This all may seem like a lot of work, but it's the only thing that keeps me sane. Twice, when packing for trips, major problems have arisen. Once, I had a miscarriage and was released from the hospital the day we were to leave on our trip. Another time, I was hospitalized for a severe sinus infection and put on IV antibiotics with the possibility of surgery looming over me. The doctors decided to release me so I could go to the beach with my family if I promised to have sinus surgery upon my return. I got home from the hospital the night before we were scheduled to leave on vacation. In both of these instances, there were no lists. I was packing by the seat of my pants. Needless to say, we had numerous daily trips to the grocery store and several meals we couldn't pull off because I wasn't going to buy a dozen eggs that we couldn't use to get the one that we needed or a 5-lb. bag of sugar so I could sweeten my coffee. I am totally convinced that the only way to prepare for a trip where we will be cooking is the very extremely ordered way to which I am accustomed.
We are planning a short visit for the Beach this weekend for a Reunion. Thus, a menu, a packing list, and a grocery list was needed. I sat down this morning and knocked it all out. Now I just have to do the packing, make the brownies and cookies, make a few preparations for Deanna's birthday cake to take with me, and I'll be ready to tackle the trip peacefully. It's amazing how much peace a little organization can give me.
I say this very tongue-in-cheek as I glance up from the computer screen to my house. We had a yard sale Saturday and there is only a small, tight path between the boxes and bags through the hallways, the living room, and the dining room. Disarray and disorder surrounds me, yet I can be at peace because I have my lists for the trip prepared.
The bottom line is I'll take whatever I can get right now. And, it seems the most I can get is a packing list. Thank goodness for that.
So it should come as no surprise that I've perfected planning for a trip. When our children were little, going out to dinner was such a hassle that we seldom ventured out. The kids would get fussy, service might be slow and they'd start screaming from hunger or fatigue. It was impossible to eat out and get them home in time for bed. We adjusted our lifestyle accordingly, and there it has stayed.
We almost never eat out, even when on vacation. I try to plan ONE night out while vacationing just so I don't have dinner preparations and clean-up. But, the majority of the time, I'm in the kitchen preparing three meals a day while everyone else is relaxing, enjoying the pool or beach, etc. I try hard to prepare as many meals in advance as possible and freeze them, making preparation minimal. But there's still warming up, making side-dishes, and all the other preparation tasks that come with eating at home.
I start my planning process with a menu. I plan breakfast, lunch, and dinner for each day we'l be gone, including snacks, desserts, beverages. Then, from the menus, I put together a Master Food List. This includes everything I need to make each of the items on the menu. For instance, salt and pepper and butter would be on my Master Food List but not necessarily on my menu. Once I have my master food list, I go through it and mark all the items I plan on taking from home. Next, I transfer these items to a Kitchen Packing List so I can mark them off once they're packed. The remaining items on my master list get transferred to a Grocery List and put in my purse so it's handy after we arrive at our destination.
This all may seem like a lot of work, but it's the only thing that keeps me sane. Twice, when packing for trips, major problems have arisen. Once, I had a miscarriage and was released from the hospital the day we were to leave on our trip. Another time, I was hospitalized for a severe sinus infection and put on IV antibiotics with the possibility of surgery looming over me. The doctors decided to release me so I could go to the beach with my family if I promised to have sinus surgery upon my return. I got home from the hospital the night before we were scheduled to leave on vacation. In both of these instances, there were no lists. I was packing by the seat of my pants. Needless to say, we had numerous daily trips to the grocery store and several meals we couldn't pull off because I wasn't going to buy a dozen eggs that we couldn't use to get the one that we needed or a 5-lb. bag of sugar so I could sweeten my coffee. I am totally convinced that the only way to prepare for a trip where we will be cooking is the very extremely ordered way to which I am accustomed.
We are planning a short visit for the Beach this weekend for a Reunion. Thus, a menu, a packing list, and a grocery list was needed. I sat down this morning and knocked it all out. Now I just have to do the packing, make the brownies and cookies, make a few preparations for Deanna's birthday cake to take with me, and I'll be ready to tackle the trip peacefully. It's amazing how much peace a little organization can give me.
I say this very tongue-in-cheek as I glance up from the computer screen to my house. We had a yard sale Saturday and there is only a small, tight path between the boxes and bags through the hallways, the living room, and the dining room. Disarray and disorder surrounds me, yet I can be at peace because I have my lists for the trip prepared.
The bottom line is I'll take whatever I can get right now. And, it seems the most I can get is a packing list. Thank goodness for that.
Monday, October 03, 2011
It Happens to the Best of Us
On the way home from church yesterday, driving down the big hill in North Augusta, Daelyn asked thoughtfully,
"Mom, is THAT thing a tree or something else?"
We all glanced up at the towering "thing". I've never been able to figure that out myself. It looks like a pine tree, but the branches don't start until very near the top and it's really, really tall.
"Honey, I have no idea," I responded. "It looks like a tree, but I just don't know for sure."
Don cut through the confusion.
"It's a radio tower that they disguised to LOOK like a tree," he explained - - which led to much quiet thoughtfulness.
Finally, I asked the question.
"If they intended to make it look like a tree, why didn't they put branches all the way up?"
"I don't know," Don said. "But they must have tried to disguise it because of some type of city ordinance or something."
Daelyn, in true Daelyn fashion, responded quietly, "Maybe they ran out of funding."
"Mom, is THAT thing a tree or something else?"
We all glanced up at the towering "thing". I've never been able to figure that out myself. It looks like a pine tree, but the branches don't start until very near the top and it's really, really tall.
"Honey, I have no idea," I responded. "It looks like a tree, but I just don't know for sure."
Don cut through the confusion.
"It's a radio tower that they disguised to LOOK like a tree," he explained - - which led to much quiet thoughtfulness.
Finally, I asked the question.
"If they intended to make it look like a tree, why didn't they put branches all the way up?"
"I don't know," Don said. "But they must have tried to disguise it because of some type of city ordinance or something."
Daelyn, in true Daelyn fashion, responded quietly, "Maybe they ran out of funding."
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Child #4
As I sat at the computer this afternoon, Donovan walked in, perched under my chair, and began chewing heartily.
"What do you have, Pup?" I asked. I reached down and came up with a lollipop stick, the Dum-Dum still intact down to the wrapper. I frowned at Donovan who was looking up at me sheepishly.
About an hour later, I heard Donovan walk briskly down the hallway. I glanced up just in time to see him stop at the corner to the back hallway and look suspiciously my direction.
"Stop right there," I hollered to him as he dropped yet another Dum-Dum. Obviously, he knew better or he would have happily munched it.
"Where's he getting all this candy?" I asked Daelyn.
"I think you left some candy on the table when you cleaned out the candy jar last night, Mom." I headed into the kitchen to check out the situation. Yes, there were still a couple of remaining pieces, which I put away, but only after I found Donovan sitting in a chair purveying the territory as I walked in.
Still later, Donovan wandered into the Den. He was chewing and tossing his head back.
"What do you have THIS time?" I asked him. When he refused to answer, I put my hand in front of his mouth.
"Drop it!" I commanded. No response.
As he tilted his head and cut his eyes to the side so he could see me, I pried his mouth opened and pulled out - - a Starburst. I have no idea how I managed to miss another candy, but he must've worked pretty hard to find it on the table amidst the paper, Deanna's diaorama, etc.
"Good grief," I yelled. Deanna glanced quietly at me and commented,
"Mom, that dog eats more candy than us kids."
At least he tries.
"What do you have, Pup?" I asked. I reached down and came up with a lollipop stick, the Dum-Dum still intact down to the wrapper. I frowned at Donovan who was looking up at me sheepishly.
About an hour later, I heard Donovan walk briskly down the hallway. I glanced up just in time to see him stop at the corner to the back hallway and look suspiciously my direction.
"Stop right there," I hollered to him as he dropped yet another Dum-Dum. Obviously, he knew better or he would have happily munched it.
"Where's he getting all this candy?" I asked Daelyn.
"I think you left some candy on the table when you cleaned out the candy jar last night, Mom." I headed into the kitchen to check out the situation. Yes, there were still a couple of remaining pieces, which I put away, but only after I found Donovan sitting in a chair purveying the territory as I walked in.
Still later, Donovan wandered into the Den. He was chewing and tossing his head back.
"What do you have THIS time?" I asked him. When he refused to answer, I put my hand in front of his mouth.
"Drop it!" I commanded. No response.
As he tilted his head and cut his eyes to the side so he could see me, I pried his mouth opened and pulled out - - a Starburst. I have no idea how I managed to miss another candy, but he must've worked pretty hard to find it on the table amidst the paper, Deanna's diaorama, etc.
"Good grief," I yelled. Deanna glanced quietly at me and commented,
"Mom, that dog eats more candy than us kids."
At least he tries.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Peanuts, Wherefore Art Thou?
On the way up to the mountains, we passed dozens of those little shops cut into the side of mountains or barely hanging off the edge of a cliff. We chose one that looked easy to access and stopped to look around, buy Deanna's coveted Apple Butter, and take a short break from windy mountain roads.
Inside, we noticed they had boiled peanuts for sale; three kinds, in fact. You could choose from Regular, Cajun (spicy) or Salt and Vinegar. The latter didn't sound very appealing until the store owner gave me a sample. They were absolutely addictive. We bought two cupsful and Dane got the Regular, most of which we ended up throwing out, but the Salt and Vinegar were gobbled down.
On the trip home, we looked for that place again to buy more, but it was too late in the day and everything was closed. We've talked about those Salt and Vinegar Boiled Peanuts a lot in the months since.
Last Friday, I took my father grocery shopping at the military base. The weather has cooled down tremendously and they had a big display of green peanuts. Those Salt and Vinegar ones sprang to mind, so I bought a big bag and brought them home, tossed them in the crockpot with salt, cold water, and vinegar, and started 'er up. I cooked them through the night on Friday and, by Saturday, we had a batch ready for feasting, which we all did. Dane had a friend over and I'd hear the back door open, then the lid of the crockpot opening. We all enjoyed them tremendously.
Late in the morning, Don walked into the kitchen. Deanna and I were standing around the crockpot sucking the juice out of peanuts, then shelling them and downing the soft nuts inside.
"Hope you enjoy them," he said, "because the peanut crop failed and peanut prices are going to skyrocket. I read that 1 lb. of peanut butter will cost $10!"
I looked at Deanna, her eyes got wide, and, within a couple of hours, we were at the grocery store buying (you guessed it) more green peanuts.
We bought 15 lbs. I've been cooking and freezing boiled peanuts (with salt and vinegar) ever since. I figure if I buy them now, before the prices are impacted, go ahead and cook them, then freeze them, we'll have peanuts to get us through the whole winter. On a cool weekend, as a special treat for the children, I can pull a bag out of the freezer, throw them in the crockpot, and - VOILA!! Hot, vinegar and salt boiled peanuts - for nothing, except the hassle of cooking them now.
I feel like we've got a factory going here. I realized very early on that the crockpot wasn't a large enough capacity to get them all done before mold set into them, so I now have my large kettle going on the stove as well as my stockpot AND the crockpot. But, once the batches I'm working on now are done, I only have one more small batch to do, and it'll fit in the crockpot.
The plus side to all this work, of course, is unlimited boiled peanuts throughout the day. When the work is finally done, the stove and the kettles are cleaned and put away, I'm sure the children and I are going to go through boiled peanut-withdrawal.
Good thing we don't have to worry about it just yet!
Monday, September 19, 2011
Whew!! What a Summer!
In case anyone was wondering, we had quite the Summer. It began in June with Dane's week at Scout Camp. Camp this year was in the North Georgia Mountains and we drove Dane up on a Sunday as a family. We spent the week pining for him and he celebrated his 12th birthday while there.
Next, we spent 2 1/2 weeks at Grandpa Doughty's. Don and Deanna were with us for a week, then they returned home so Deanna could go to camp. Dane, Daelyn and I stayed behind so Dane could work for Grandpa at the Crafts Fair he attends over the 4th of July. Deanna was going to be at camp and Don was going back to work, so I kept Daelyn, also, and he and I played while Dane and Grandpa worked the Crafts Fair. We went down to the Fair on Saturday and spent a good portion of the day enjoying the crafts, foods, smells, sights, and sounds. I spelled Dane in Grandpa's booth so he and Daelyn could fish for awhile. The whole time spent with Grandpa was wonderful and very restful.
Deanna returned from camp before the boys and I got home from Grandpa's. We came home just long enough to can some pickles, wash clothes, and head back out again, this time to Panama City Beach to visit my sweet niece, Alicia, and her husband, Randy, who live one block off the beach and have a guest house. I believe I wrote about that trip, also, here.
Upon our return, we had just 10 days to put away the beach stuff, do laundry again, and prepare for Daelyn's week at Horse Camp. We spent a lot of time at the pool and harvesting the garden during that 17 days and enjoyed the lazy summer schedule.
But shortly after Horse Camp ended, we repacked the van and headed to Washington, DC to visit my niece, Lydia, and her husband, Dan. They married last summer and we spent a few days touring D.C. It finally occurred to us that we probably will visit at least once a year while Lydia lives there, so we should pace ourselves and begin to see more than just the typical touristy things. We carefully planned a few stops for this trip and gave them full days so we could really get the feel of them. But, mostly, we enjoyed spending time with Lydia. She had encouraged us to visit in August, when Congress is on break, because it would be easier for her to take time off. I've avoided D.C. during August my entire life because of the heat, but we actually had a cold spell and the weather was pleasant. There were no crowds and very little wait to get into all the things we wanted to see, which was a very nice surprise. Lydia was off work the whole time we visited, and we spent long hours just wasting time with her. The kids really got to know their cousin and we reconnected after many years of short, perfunctory visits together. It was wonderful and something we'll try again next year.
We had just one week after our return from D.C. to get ready for school. Thank goodness, we had started earlier in the summer. I had compiled a thorough list of all the children's school needs, then hit the tax-free shopping weekend held in South Carolina. I divided the master list into three parts (must have been while Daelyn was at Horse Camp, because he wasn't with us), gave one each to Deanna and Dane, and we hit different areas of the school supplies section at the Wal-Mart just across the river in S.C. We accomplished the shopping in record time and it was much more peaceful than usual. Then I put together another list with the items we couldn't find so we could look for them over the next few weeks. Once home, the kids helped me sort and organize, and we bagged up each child's supplies and labeled their bags with their names - - all ready for the first day of school!!! Yay!!!
And a good thing, too, because we spent the last week of summer vacation in Hilton Head, S.C. at our condo - our family vacation. Having a place at the beach so close to home allows us to host lots of friends and family, and this year was no different. We had visitors planned every single day except Sunday for the whole week, which was a little exhausting, but fun.
We arrived home Saturday evening the weekend before school was to start on Tuesday. And that was one summer to remember.
The good thing about this summer was that we were never home long enough for boredom to set in. When the children WERE home, they enjoyed spending time with their friends, riding bikes, swimming, playing, doing all the "normal" summer things. But, just about the time they'd begin to start formulating the "b" word in their heads, we'd be off somewhere on another adventure. It was exhausting, but remarkable fun, and we took advantage of every single day of summer.
As the children get older, I'm all the more aware of how few of these we have left. Deanna started high school this year. Only have 3 more full summers with her before she's in the throes of college life and planning her summers for herself.
Without dwelling too much on that, the funny thing about this summer was that, after last year's trek to Hawaii, Don felt we needed a quiet three months without a long vacation. That's what this summer was all about. A close-to-home summer. Other than our annual one week vacation in Hilton Head, we had nothing planned - ha, ha!!
Next year, we're due for a big vacation again and my nephew in Atlanta, Alicia in Panama City Beach, and Lydia in D.C. will all have new babies. There's no way we're going to be home much.
Better get all the clothes washed up now!! Summer's a'comin'!
Next, we spent 2 1/2 weeks at Grandpa Doughty's. Don and Deanna were with us for a week, then they returned home so Deanna could go to camp. Dane, Daelyn and I stayed behind so Dane could work for Grandpa at the Crafts Fair he attends over the 4th of July. Deanna was going to be at camp and Don was going back to work, so I kept Daelyn, also, and he and I played while Dane and Grandpa worked the Crafts Fair. We went down to the Fair on Saturday and spent a good portion of the day enjoying the crafts, foods, smells, sights, and sounds. I spelled Dane in Grandpa's booth so he and Daelyn could fish for awhile. The whole time spent with Grandpa was wonderful and very restful.
Deanna returned from camp before the boys and I got home from Grandpa's. We came home just long enough to can some pickles, wash clothes, and head back out again, this time to Panama City Beach to visit my sweet niece, Alicia, and her husband, Randy, who live one block off the beach and have a guest house. I believe I wrote about that trip, also, here.
Upon our return, we had just 10 days to put away the beach stuff, do laundry again, and prepare for Daelyn's week at Horse Camp. We spent a lot of time at the pool and harvesting the garden during that 17 days and enjoyed the lazy summer schedule.
But shortly after Horse Camp ended, we repacked the van and headed to Washington, DC to visit my niece, Lydia, and her husband, Dan. They married last summer and we spent a few days touring D.C. It finally occurred to us that we probably will visit at least once a year while Lydia lives there, so we should pace ourselves and begin to see more than just the typical touristy things. We carefully planned a few stops for this trip and gave them full days so we could really get the feel of them. But, mostly, we enjoyed spending time with Lydia. She had encouraged us to visit in August, when Congress is on break, because it would be easier for her to take time off. I've avoided D.C. during August my entire life because of the heat, but we actually had a cold spell and the weather was pleasant. There were no crowds and very little wait to get into all the things we wanted to see, which was a very nice surprise. Lydia was off work the whole time we visited, and we spent long hours just wasting time with her. The kids really got to know their cousin and we reconnected after many years of short, perfunctory visits together. It was wonderful and something we'll try again next year.
We had just one week after our return from D.C. to get ready for school. Thank goodness, we had started earlier in the summer. I had compiled a thorough list of all the children's school needs, then hit the tax-free shopping weekend held in South Carolina. I divided the master list into three parts (must have been while Daelyn was at Horse Camp, because he wasn't with us), gave one each to Deanna and Dane, and we hit different areas of the school supplies section at the Wal-Mart just across the river in S.C. We accomplished the shopping in record time and it was much more peaceful than usual. Then I put together another list with the items we couldn't find so we could look for them over the next few weeks. Once home, the kids helped me sort and organize, and we bagged up each child's supplies and labeled their bags with their names - - all ready for the first day of school!!! Yay!!!
And a good thing, too, because we spent the last week of summer vacation in Hilton Head, S.C. at our condo - our family vacation. Having a place at the beach so close to home allows us to host lots of friends and family, and this year was no different. We had visitors planned every single day except Sunday for the whole week, which was a little exhausting, but fun.
We arrived home Saturday evening the weekend before school was to start on Tuesday. And that was one summer to remember.
The good thing about this summer was that we were never home long enough for boredom to set in. When the children WERE home, they enjoyed spending time with their friends, riding bikes, swimming, playing, doing all the "normal" summer things. But, just about the time they'd begin to start formulating the "b" word in their heads, we'd be off somewhere on another adventure. It was exhausting, but remarkable fun, and we took advantage of every single day of summer.
As the children get older, I'm all the more aware of how few of these we have left. Deanna started high school this year. Only have 3 more full summers with her before she's in the throes of college life and planning her summers for herself.
Without dwelling too much on that, the funny thing about this summer was that, after last year's trek to Hawaii, Don felt we needed a quiet three months without a long vacation. That's what this summer was all about. A close-to-home summer. Other than our annual one week vacation in Hilton Head, we had nothing planned - ha, ha!!
Next year, we're due for a big vacation again and my nephew in Atlanta, Alicia in Panama City Beach, and Lydia in D.C. will all have new babies. There's no way we're going to be home much.
Better get all the clothes washed up now!! Summer's a'comin'!
Sunday, September 18, 2011
My Memories of 9/11
As I sat down alone tonight to a very late dinner (my portion of the lovingly-prepared meal was gobbled up by some hungry children without consideration to Mama who ran out of the house in a mad rush for the meeting she almost missed completely), I grabbed the Funnies that were sitting, opened, to read. Apparently, I'm a week late because all of them were about 9/11.
Every Sunday, during the Prayers of the People at church, they announce the names of the people celebrating birthdays or anniversaries the next week. I try very hard to greet everyone I know after church with an upcoming birthday. As I was walking through the foyer, I ran into the husband of a woman whose name had been mentioned.
"Hey, Dick, when is Susan's birthday?" I asked.
"Today," he said, giving me a quick hug.
"Oh, goodness. I want to tell her Happy Birthday. Is she here?"
"No, Patti, since 9/11, Susan stays inside on her birthday and doesn't wish to celebrate it."
I understand the sentiment. All the children born on Pearl Harbor Day must have felt exactly the same for 30 or 40 years after that notorious date. Yet, I wondered if we didn't owe it to all the people who lost their lives that day to live ours to the fullest. Shouldn't we pick ourselves up, wash our faces, put on clean clothes, and be thankful we have a life to live?
As I'm sure each of us did last Sunday, I spent some time remembering where I was when "the event" (notice it's in lower case, not upper case letters - I refuse the dignify the murder of thousands of innocents by capital letters) took place. I was pregnant with Daelyn, my precious baby, and in the hospital. I was eating my breakfast quietly when my doctor, an Army-trained Ob/Gyn, walked into the room.
"Patti, you should have the T.V. on and be watching the news," she told me. "A plane just hit one of the twin towers."
"Oh, you've got to be kidding. How could that happen? Did something happen to the pilot? Wouldn't it have been on autopilot by then? Was it a terrorist attack?" My mind was reeling trying to grasp the concept of the Twin Towers being hit.
"I don't know," she responded. "Turn the T.V. on."
I did and, as she and I watched, the second plane hit the second tower. There was silence in my hospital room for several minutes. Then she quietly said,
"Well, I guess there's your answer."
As horrific as the whole scene on the T.V. was, I couldn't tear myself away. I laid in that hospital bed crying - crying for the victims, crying for their families, crying for the rescue workers, crying for all the people watching, like me, in shock, crying for the lost innocence of my country.
I tried repeatedly to reach my husband, who works at a Nuclear Facility that is always under alert to terrorist attack. I couldn't get through; the phone lines were overwhelmed by all the calls. As the news coverage unfolded, we heard about that other flights that had been taken over by terrorists. There were reports of a plane hitting the Pentagon and lots of other unsubstantiated rumors flying. I was petrified, thinking that SRS had been bombed and that was why I couldn't reach Don.
Suddenly, my phone rang, a sound that really jangled my already-frazzled nerves. I snatched it off the cradle, hoping against hope it was my husband reporting he was fine. Instead, I heard the voice of one of my sisters, Trina.
She was crying, too. All I could mumble was, "Trina!! Trina!!" amidst my tears.
"I'm coming, Hon," she said. "I don't want you to be alone with all this. I'm coming to sit with you."
It wasn't even necessary to explain how alone I felt; she knew. I wanted a hand to hold, someone's shoulder to cry into as I watch the carnage of 9/11. She was coming to be with me.
I've thought so often how much it meant to me that I didn't have to ASK someone to come to the hospital to be with me at such a difficult time. She knew. And she came.
As painful as that day was, and still is, I'm very thankful for my blood sisters and the love we share for each other. No explanation is necessary most of the time with them; they just instinctively understand.
While I'll never forget that day or the horror of watching people flinging themselves from upper story windows rather than burning up, all caught on live television, I'm ever so thankful for the men and women who risked their lives; those on the planes, those helping others out of the burning buildings, and those trying desperately to rescue others. Next year, I'll wash my face, put on clean clothes, and go out . . . but not before I call my sister, Trina.
Every Sunday, during the Prayers of the People at church, they announce the names of the people celebrating birthdays or anniversaries the next week. I try very hard to greet everyone I know after church with an upcoming birthday. As I was walking through the foyer, I ran into the husband of a woman whose name had been mentioned.
"Hey, Dick, when is Susan's birthday?" I asked.
"Today," he said, giving me a quick hug.
"Oh, goodness. I want to tell her Happy Birthday. Is she here?"
"No, Patti, since 9/11, Susan stays inside on her birthday and doesn't wish to celebrate it."
I understand the sentiment. All the children born on Pearl Harbor Day must have felt exactly the same for 30 or 40 years after that notorious date. Yet, I wondered if we didn't owe it to all the people who lost their lives that day to live ours to the fullest. Shouldn't we pick ourselves up, wash our faces, put on clean clothes, and be thankful we have a life to live?
As I'm sure each of us did last Sunday, I spent some time remembering where I was when "the event" (notice it's in lower case, not upper case letters - I refuse the dignify the murder of thousands of innocents by capital letters) took place. I was pregnant with Daelyn, my precious baby, and in the hospital. I was eating my breakfast quietly when my doctor, an Army-trained Ob/Gyn, walked into the room.
"Patti, you should have the T.V. on and be watching the news," she told me. "A plane just hit one of the twin towers."
"Oh, you've got to be kidding. How could that happen? Did something happen to the pilot? Wouldn't it have been on autopilot by then? Was it a terrorist attack?" My mind was reeling trying to grasp the concept of the Twin Towers being hit.
"I don't know," she responded. "Turn the T.V. on."
I did and, as she and I watched, the second plane hit the second tower. There was silence in my hospital room for several minutes. Then she quietly said,
"Well, I guess there's your answer."
As horrific as the whole scene on the T.V. was, I couldn't tear myself away. I laid in that hospital bed crying - crying for the victims, crying for their families, crying for the rescue workers, crying for all the people watching, like me, in shock, crying for the lost innocence of my country.
I tried repeatedly to reach my husband, who works at a Nuclear Facility that is always under alert to terrorist attack. I couldn't get through; the phone lines were overwhelmed by all the calls. As the news coverage unfolded, we heard about that other flights that had been taken over by terrorists. There were reports of a plane hitting the Pentagon and lots of other unsubstantiated rumors flying. I was petrified, thinking that SRS had been bombed and that was why I couldn't reach Don.
Suddenly, my phone rang, a sound that really jangled my already-frazzled nerves. I snatched it off the cradle, hoping against hope it was my husband reporting he was fine. Instead, I heard the voice of one of my sisters, Trina.
She was crying, too. All I could mumble was, "Trina!! Trina!!" amidst my tears.
"I'm coming, Hon," she said. "I don't want you to be alone with all this. I'm coming to sit with you."
It wasn't even necessary to explain how alone I felt; she knew. I wanted a hand to hold, someone's shoulder to cry into as I watch the carnage of 9/11. She was coming to be with me.
I've thought so often how much it meant to me that I didn't have to ASK someone to come to the hospital to be with me at such a difficult time. She knew. And she came.
As painful as that day was, and still is, I'm very thankful for my blood sisters and the love we share for each other. No explanation is necessary most of the time with them; they just instinctively understand.
While I'll never forget that day or the horror of watching people flinging themselves from upper story windows rather than burning up, all caught on live television, I'm ever so thankful for the men and women who risked their lives; those on the planes, those helping others out of the burning buildings, and those trying desperately to rescue others. Next year, I'll wash my face, put on clean clothes, and go out . . . but not before I call my sister, Trina.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Will All the Confused People Please Stand
While in Washington, DC last week, Deanna, Dane, and I caught the Metro back to my niece's house from the Air and Space Museum. We had to change lines at the next station. Deanna and I were sitting facing each other, while Dane stood near us. The Conductor came over the P.A. System.
"Next stop - Pentagon. Exit on the left, please."
Deanna, confused by my facing her in the car, looked at me with a quizzical expression and asked,
"Which left?"
"Next stop - Pentagon. Exit on the left, please."
Deanna, confused by my facing her in the car, looked at me with a quizzical expression and asked,
"Which left?"
Thursday, August 04, 2011
Eventful Week
I'm absolutely exhausted. Daelyn has been in Horse Camp all week. I have to rise at 6:30 to get him up, fed and dressed, dress myself, make his lunch, and get him out the door. Camp is on the military base and it takes 20 minutes to get there, if they wave us through, up to 50 or 60 if they decide we look suspicious and need to have our car searched. Camp starts at 8 a.m., but the kids get to brush their horses and mess around in the stables if they arrive before 8, so there's always a push to arrive early.
We try to get out the door by 7:10, arriving at camp by 7:30 (when the Gate Guards are merciful). I drop Daelyn off, sign him in, kiss him goodbye, then linger for a few minutes and watch him lovingly brushing his strawberry rone mare, Shortcake, or Shorty, for short. She's the Alpha Female and, as Dane lovingly commented, when the Camp Director told us that she follows behind all the horses when they take their trail rides so she can run up and bite any of the horses that get out of line, she's a lot like our little Daelyn.
Then I have to rush home to pick up Deanna and head to Volleyball practice at the school. Twice this week, I've had appointments right after dropping her off, which has added a little extra pressure to my morning. Then it's home again until 10:30, when she needs to be picked up.
You know, I'm accustomed to rising early and taking the children to all their appointments. I guess the reason this is so exhausting for me is trying to keep up with everyone's schedules. I'm grabbing 15 minutes here to start dinner, 10 here for loading a few dishes in the dishwasher. I haven't eaten breakfast or lunch all week (except for our lunch date with the girl and her mother who will be Dane's dance partner in Social this year). The only wash that's gotten done are the loads essential to make sure Daelyn had blue jeans for camp and Deanna had work-out clothes for volleyball practice. I feel like I've absolutely met myself coming all week.
Add to that the possibility that the sizeable amount of money Don and I invested in a property might have been a Scam, this rash on my arm is itching constantly after a full 5 weeks of dealing with it and seeing two separate doctors about it, the emergency run to a Podiatrist when Deanna's big toe turned blue and they had to drill a hole in the nail and she fell apart when blood spurted out the holes, Dane and Daelyn have been miserable apart from each other but can't stop fighting when they're finally together at the end of the day, and the fact that all of us have had about as much activity as any group of people can stand, I consider it quite a feat that we're still living together and on speaking terms, even it the word "speaking" might be code for "yelling".
I have, however, appreciated watching my children this week. Deanna explained to me that Dane had a bad attitude because he was over-tired. Dane appealed to me to let Daelyn play with the ipod he had just gotten in the mail, even though I had told him no and he was making me pay for it. And all of the children have, at one time or other, intervened in a fight to bring calm and reason. When Deanna made us late today to pick up Daelyn because she didn't hear me and thought we were going shopping and we were both angry and yelling, Dane hollered at both of us to "back off and cool down". Usually, I'm the voice of reason. This week, all of us have been.
At times like these, it occurs to me that my children might actually make it to adulthood without me taking them out early. Despite the stress.
We try to get out the door by 7:10, arriving at camp by 7:30 (when the Gate Guards are merciful). I drop Daelyn off, sign him in, kiss him goodbye, then linger for a few minutes and watch him lovingly brushing his strawberry rone mare, Shortcake, or Shorty, for short. She's the Alpha Female and, as Dane lovingly commented, when the Camp Director told us that she follows behind all the horses when they take their trail rides so she can run up and bite any of the horses that get out of line, she's a lot like our little Daelyn.
Then I have to rush home to pick up Deanna and head to Volleyball practice at the school. Twice this week, I've had appointments right after dropping her off, which has added a little extra pressure to my morning. Then it's home again until 10:30, when she needs to be picked up.
You know, I'm accustomed to rising early and taking the children to all their appointments. I guess the reason this is so exhausting for me is trying to keep up with everyone's schedules. I'm grabbing 15 minutes here to start dinner, 10 here for loading a few dishes in the dishwasher. I haven't eaten breakfast or lunch all week (except for our lunch date with the girl and her mother who will be Dane's dance partner in Social this year). The only wash that's gotten done are the loads essential to make sure Daelyn had blue jeans for camp and Deanna had work-out clothes for volleyball practice. I feel like I've absolutely met myself coming all week.
Add to that the possibility that the sizeable amount of money Don and I invested in a property might have been a Scam, this rash on my arm is itching constantly after a full 5 weeks of dealing with it and seeing two separate doctors about it, the emergency run to a Podiatrist when Deanna's big toe turned blue and they had to drill a hole in the nail and she fell apart when blood spurted out the holes, Dane and Daelyn have been miserable apart from each other but can't stop fighting when they're finally together at the end of the day, and the fact that all of us have had about as much activity as any group of people can stand, I consider it quite a feat that we're still living together and on speaking terms, even it the word "speaking" might be code for "yelling".
I have, however, appreciated watching my children this week. Deanna explained to me that Dane had a bad attitude because he was over-tired. Dane appealed to me to let Daelyn play with the ipod he had just gotten in the mail, even though I had told him no and he was making me pay for it. And all of the children have, at one time or other, intervened in a fight to bring calm and reason. When Deanna made us late today to pick up Daelyn because she didn't hear me and thought we were going shopping and we were both angry and yelling, Dane hollered at both of us to "back off and cool down". Usually, I'm the voice of reason. This week, all of us have been.
At times like these, it occurs to me that my children might actually make it to adulthood without me taking them out early. Despite the stress.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Summer
Why is it that two unnamed children think it's perfectly acceptable to lounge on the couches in jammies at 9:30 a.m. watching cartoons on TV while I yell constantly at them to clean their rooms, walk the dog, finish their chores...?
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Fun, fun, fun
Alicia has an aversion to the word "fun", which she pointedly mentioned to us after I commented how "fun" lunch had been at the restaurant on the beach.
"Why does everything have to be 'fun'?" she asked. The kids and I just looked at each other.
Okay, I understand that life is more than just the sum total of fun experiences. We all need to learn responsibility and discipline. Our relationship with the Lord is far more important than having a good time. But, I still maintain that all of these things can be fun if you just have the right attitude.
When I was younger, fun wasn't as paramount. But now, as an older mom, I really want life to be fun - for me AND my children.
Lunch should be fun, riding in the car should be fun, being together as a family must always be fun. I'm just sorry for Alicia that she doesn't get this.
"Why does everything have to be 'fun'?" she asked. The kids and I just looked at each other.
Okay, I understand that life is more than just the sum total of fun experiences. We all need to learn responsibility and discipline. Our relationship with the Lord is far more important than having a good time. But, I still maintain that all of these things can be fun if you just have the right attitude.
When I was younger, fun wasn't as paramount. But now, as an older mom, I really want life to be fun - for me AND my children.
Lunch should be fun, riding in the car should be fun, being together as a family must always be fun. I'm just sorry for Alicia that she doesn't get this.
Panama City Beach and Shell Island
We had an interesting experience Monday. We were in Panama City Beach, Florida visiting my niece, Alicia, who lives there. Her husband, Randy, has a nice boat and he took the day off work Monday to take us out in the Gulf.
We had the boat in the water and were heading out by 10:15. First, Randy took us to see dolphins. A large group of small boats, mostly tours, had collected in the area where the dolphins "hang out" and people were in the water, hoping to snorkel with the dolphins who were surfacing around them. We decided to move away from the crowd and, when we did, a mother and baby dolphin swam right up to our boat and around us several times. They were so close we could have reached out and touched them if the boat hadn't been sitting so high in the water. The mother actually made eye contact with us. Alicia said she thinks the dolphins like being around people, because they always come near the boats. The baby was beautiful and the mother had a white nose. It was a really fun experience.
After playing with the dolphins for a while (Randy got in the water with them, but none of us reacted quickly enough to do it), we moved the boat right off the coast of Shell Island, a small, uninhabited island in the Gulf, and anchored. The water was crystal clear, a pretty aqua, and the children and I quickly donned masks and snorkels and headed towards the beach. We snorkeled for a couple of hours, finding amazing shells and chasing crab. Alicia and Randy walked down the white sand beach. Deanna filled her bucket with spiral shells. Then Randy took Deanna out deeper and showed her a school (I guess that's what you call them, because they do seem to travel in large groups) of sand dollars. Most were alive and there were a lot of babies, but some were dead and white. Those we collected. I was amazed at how many small ones we found, smaller than a penny but perfect in every way.
The number of white, bleached sand dollars we found made me think about the report Dane did on coral reefs that are dying in record amounts due to global warming. The higher water temperatures are causing a chemical reaction to occur which bleaches reefs and kills them. I don't know if we were witnessing the same effect or not, but it sure made me think.
At one point, we noticed that our feet were surrounded by schools of bait fish. They were nibbling on our pale skin. We tried very hard to discourage them, with no success. Then Dane got an idea. He baited his hook with a small piece of shrimp we had brought along, then dangled his fishing pole in the water. He got lots of nibbles, but his hook was too large for the small fish. Eventually, we got out a net and I worked with him, successfully nabbing one small fish. Dane put it in the pocket of his bathing suit, then continued fishing. (Randy made him release it later in the day. Apparently, they were uncertain if the little thing was going to make it, but it finally recovered and took off.)
After fishing and swimming off the beach at Shell Island for several hours, we loaded back up on the boat and went inland. We docked and walked down the docks to a restaurant, Tacky Jack's, and sat by the pool. We ordered lunch and ran back and forth to the pool while waiting for our food. It was quite an experience. When we were all full beyond belief, we walked back down the dock to the boat and headed in.
The day smacked of our vacation in Hawaii last summer - the color of the water, the snorkeling, the lazy do-whatever-you-want pace. It was truly what I consider A VACATION. And it was totally unexpected. We had gone down to Panama City Beach to visit Alicia; the fact that she lives on the beach was a plus, but we would've visited her anywhere she lived. When she told us upon our arrival that Randy had taken the day off so we could go out in the boat on Monday, I didn't particularly care. I've been on boats lots of times, and I thought this was just another boat trip. Then it turned out to be the highlight of our visit!
It's always good being with Alicia. We've been very close since she was born and have always had a special relationship. She's pregnant now with her first child and seeing her swollen belly and talking about pregnancy woes and childbirth brought more joy that I ever imagined. She and Randy have really settled in. They've found a new church where they're both happy and have done an incredible amount of work on the house, the cottage, and the yard. In the cottage, I spotted the coffee mugs that match my old plates, that I gave to Alicia when Don and I married and he refused to eat off rose-colored glass plates. There was a trivet on the kitchen counter that I gave her years ago. In her house, I found several carved wooden trivets hanging on the wall in the kitchen that had once been mine. I feel like my presence in her home is still felt, and I'm a part of her life, even so far away. It was a wonderful feeling.
So, we're home now, a little tired from the drive, but happy. We had a wonderful time, ate our fill of fresh shrimp, Dane got to fish, we boated, swam, played in the sand, and I read a great John Grisham book. We visited by the hour and watched movies. We played board games and relaxed. I even had wine a couple of evenings. We had a true vacation and enjoyed every second.
We had the boat in the water and were heading out by 10:15. First, Randy took us to see dolphins. A large group of small boats, mostly tours, had collected in the area where the dolphins "hang out" and people were in the water, hoping to snorkel with the dolphins who were surfacing around them. We decided to move away from the crowd and, when we did, a mother and baby dolphin swam right up to our boat and around us several times. They were so close we could have reached out and touched them if the boat hadn't been sitting so high in the water. The mother actually made eye contact with us. Alicia said she thinks the dolphins like being around people, because they always come near the boats. The baby was beautiful and the mother had a white nose. It was a really fun experience.
After playing with the dolphins for a while (Randy got in the water with them, but none of us reacted quickly enough to do it), we moved the boat right off the coast of Shell Island, a small, uninhabited island in the Gulf, and anchored. The water was crystal clear, a pretty aqua, and the children and I quickly donned masks and snorkels and headed towards the beach. We snorkeled for a couple of hours, finding amazing shells and chasing crab. Alicia and Randy walked down the white sand beach. Deanna filled her bucket with spiral shells. Then Randy took Deanna out deeper and showed her a school (I guess that's what you call them, because they do seem to travel in large groups) of sand dollars. Most were alive and there were a lot of babies, but some were dead and white. Those we collected. I was amazed at how many small ones we found, smaller than a penny but perfect in every way.
The number of white, bleached sand dollars we found made me think about the report Dane did on coral reefs that are dying in record amounts due to global warming. The higher water temperatures are causing a chemical reaction to occur which bleaches reefs and kills them. I don't know if we were witnessing the same effect or not, but it sure made me think.
At one point, we noticed that our feet were surrounded by schools of bait fish. They were nibbling on our pale skin. We tried very hard to discourage them, with no success. Then Dane got an idea. He baited his hook with a small piece of shrimp we had brought along, then dangled his fishing pole in the water. He got lots of nibbles, but his hook was too large for the small fish. Eventually, we got out a net and I worked with him, successfully nabbing one small fish. Dane put it in the pocket of his bathing suit, then continued fishing. (Randy made him release it later in the day. Apparently, they were uncertain if the little thing was going to make it, but it finally recovered and took off.)
After fishing and swimming off the beach at Shell Island for several hours, we loaded back up on the boat and went inland. We docked and walked down the docks to a restaurant, Tacky Jack's, and sat by the pool. We ordered lunch and ran back and forth to the pool while waiting for our food. It was quite an experience. When we were all full beyond belief, we walked back down the dock to the boat and headed in.
The day smacked of our vacation in Hawaii last summer - the color of the water, the snorkeling, the lazy do-whatever-you-want pace. It was truly what I consider A VACATION. And it was totally unexpected. We had gone down to Panama City Beach to visit Alicia; the fact that she lives on the beach was a plus, but we would've visited her anywhere she lived. When she told us upon our arrival that Randy had taken the day off so we could go out in the boat on Monday, I didn't particularly care. I've been on boats lots of times, and I thought this was just another boat trip. Then it turned out to be the highlight of our visit!
It's always good being with Alicia. We've been very close since she was born and have always had a special relationship. She's pregnant now with her first child and seeing her swollen belly and talking about pregnancy woes and childbirth brought more joy that I ever imagined. She and Randy have really settled in. They've found a new church where they're both happy and have done an incredible amount of work on the house, the cottage, and the yard. In the cottage, I spotted the coffee mugs that match my old plates, that I gave to Alicia when Don and I married and he refused to eat off rose-colored glass plates. There was a trivet on the kitchen counter that I gave her years ago. In her house, I found several carved wooden trivets hanging on the wall in the kitchen that had once been mine. I feel like my presence in her home is still felt, and I'm a part of her life, even so far away. It was a wonderful feeling.
So, we're home now, a little tired from the drive, but happy. We had a wonderful time, ate our fill of fresh shrimp, Dane got to fish, we boated, swam, played in the sand, and I read a great John Grisham book. We visited by the hour and watched movies. We played board games and relaxed. I even had wine a couple of evenings. We had a true vacation and enjoyed every second.
Monday, July 04, 2011
Ah, vacation!
The boys and I got home yesterday from two weeks at Grandpa Doughty's. It's wonderful to be home; the grass is tall and very green, unlike the burnt version we left behind two weeks ago and the garden is producing wildly. It's time to harvest my basil yet again and I'll get several jars of pickles from the cucs that were ripe yesterday. I brought fresh dill, corn-on-the-cob, and zucchini home from Grandpa's with me, so I have baking (zucchini bread), cooking, and preserving to tackle as soon as I get my breath.
I SLEPT last night, for the first time in 2 weeks. I don't know what happened to me at Grandpa's, but sleep wasn't one of them. I've always slept really well there before, but this time I had to take medicine for itching and was, generally-speaking, miserable for various reasons every night. Being in my own bed was wonderful.
Seeing Don, being able to really TALK to him (phones are a sorry alternative) and spending time with Deanna after being gone a full week from the two of them occupied the rest of my day yesterday. I have my family together again. The boys are thrilled to be home and can't stay out of the backyard. They've played with their friends until they've exhausted me just telling me where they're at.
But the dog and I are a little sad, as well. Donovan misses Sassy (Grandpa's dog) and the freedom to run outside whenever he wishes. Grandpa has a fenced-in yard and a doggie door and Donovan spent lots of time just laying on the deck outside, enjoying the sunny days. He must've smelled every square inch of yard, decking, and fencing at least a hundred times and barked incessantly (sometimes too much) to the two great danes that live behind Grandpa. Sassy has become really playful with him over the years until, now, she instigates playtime with him many times daily. Grandpa says she's never as young-acting as when we're there.
And I feel overwhelmed by the sheet volume of daily upkeep of my house. Grandpa's house is so peaceful and quiet. It really is a vacation for me being there. No phones ringing, no kids running in and out constantly. We sit as a family for lunch and dinner every day. Here, I'm lucky to see the children before dinner. I read a great book while there and almost finished a second novel. I crafted, canned, relaxed, slept, ran errands, and took the kids to do fun stuff. And there are so few daily chores. I did laundry a few times; that was easy. I set the table twice and day; that was easy. I cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, cleaned up the kitchen, and unloaded the dishwasher the next day. It was all easy. Places for everything. No hunting and reorganizing to just be able to put things away.
There's so little "stuff" that we take up there that there's almost nothing to need to put away. Neatening up took 5 minutes. Here, I can work for weeks and never find the end.
I guess I should just be thankful we have opportunities like that last two weeks. It was a wonderful reprieve. But, now, it's time to buckle down, unpack, catch up the laundry, sweep the floors, clean off the counters, and get rid of EVERYTHING I CAN along the way.
Another vacation in just over a week to visit my niece. I've gotta get the essentials done here so I can repack. But homecomings like this one convince me all the more that, come Fall and the return to school, I've GOT to downsize.
I SLEPT last night, for the first time in 2 weeks. I don't know what happened to me at Grandpa's, but sleep wasn't one of them. I've always slept really well there before, but this time I had to take medicine for itching and was, generally-speaking, miserable for various reasons every night. Being in my own bed was wonderful.
Seeing Don, being able to really TALK to him (phones are a sorry alternative) and spending time with Deanna after being gone a full week from the two of them occupied the rest of my day yesterday. I have my family together again. The boys are thrilled to be home and can't stay out of the backyard. They've played with their friends until they've exhausted me just telling me where they're at.
But the dog and I are a little sad, as well. Donovan misses Sassy (Grandpa's dog) and the freedom to run outside whenever he wishes. Grandpa has a fenced-in yard and a doggie door and Donovan spent lots of time just laying on the deck outside, enjoying the sunny days. He must've smelled every square inch of yard, decking, and fencing at least a hundred times and barked incessantly (sometimes too much) to the two great danes that live behind Grandpa. Sassy has become really playful with him over the years until, now, she instigates playtime with him many times daily. Grandpa says she's never as young-acting as when we're there.
And I feel overwhelmed by the sheet volume of daily upkeep of my house. Grandpa's house is so peaceful and quiet. It really is a vacation for me being there. No phones ringing, no kids running in and out constantly. We sit as a family for lunch and dinner every day. Here, I'm lucky to see the children before dinner. I read a great book while there and almost finished a second novel. I crafted, canned, relaxed, slept, ran errands, and took the kids to do fun stuff. And there are so few daily chores. I did laundry a few times; that was easy. I set the table twice and day; that was easy. I cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, cleaned up the kitchen, and unloaded the dishwasher the next day. It was all easy. Places for everything. No hunting and reorganizing to just be able to put things away.
There's so little "stuff" that we take up there that there's almost nothing to need to put away. Neatening up took 5 minutes. Here, I can work for weeks and never find the end.
I guess I should just be thankful we have opportunities like that last two weeks. It was a wonderful reprieve. But, now, it's time to buckle down, unpack, catch up the laundry, sweep the floors, clean off the counters, and get rid of EVERYTHING I CAN along the way.
Another vacation in just over a week to visit my niece. I've gotta get the essentials done here so I can repack. But homecomings like this one convince me all the more that, come Fall and the return to school, I've GOT to downsize.
Monday, June 27, 2011
The Human Jack-o-Lantern
Dane has lost 4 teeth in the last three weeks, including two since we've been at Grandpa Doughty's. The most recent one is a molar. I'm absolutely convinced that if he doesn't grow some teeth soon, the ones he has left in his mouth will end up turning sideways. He's even talking funny now, without teeth to press his tongue against. He's gained a strange lisp.
Daelyn, on the other hand, is starting Fourth Grade in the Fall and has yet to lose his first baby tooth. He thinks one is loose; Dane was trying to convince him to pull it during Church yesterday. I didn't particularly want him dripping blood from his mouth when we went up for Communion, so I banned him from pulling it until we were home. He seems to have forgotten about it now.
The Dentist always says that every child loses their teeth on their own schedule. I still have several of my baby teeth; no adult teeth replaced them, and I was lucky they were able to save the baby ones, or I'd have big gaps in my mouth. I found out recently that one of my sisters has been visiting the dentist because he's trying to save one of her baby teeth where she'll never have an adult tooth. This seems to be a very prevalent probem in our family.
It all stems from "the parents"! My father has 4 missing teeth, my mother has 3. Missing teeth is a genetic problem. I seem to have genetically inherited all 7 of the "missing family teeth". One of my sisters inherited only one. I don't know about the rest of the family, but my childrens' pediatric dentist is watching them all very carefully for genetically-missing teeth.
It might be a while before we know Dalyn's status, but we're all hoping Dane gets his adult teeth, and gets them soon. None of us are too thrilled with the idea of having a human jack-o-lantern in the family.
Daelyn, on the other hand, is starting Fourth Grade in the Fall and has yet to lose his first baby tooth. He thinks one is loose; Dane was trying to convince him to pull it during Church yesterday. I didn't particularly want him dripping blood from his mouth when we went up for Communion, so I banned him from pulling it until we were home. He seems to have forgotten about it now.
The Dentist always says that every child loses their teeth on their own schedule. I still have several of my baby teeth; no adult teeth replaced them, and I was lucky they were able to save the baby ones, or I'd have big gaps in my mouth. I found out recently that one of my sisters has been visiting the dentist because he's trying to save one of her baby teeth where she'll never have an adult tooth. This seems to be a very prevalent probem in our family.
It all stems from "the parents"! My father has 4 missing teeth, my mother has 3. Missing teeth is a genetic problem. I seem to have genetically inherited all 7 of the "missing family teeth". One of my sisters inherited only one. I don't know about the rest of the family, but my childrens' pediatric dentist is watching them all very carefully for genetically-missing teeth.
It might be a while before we know Dalyn's status, but we're all hoping Dane gets his adult teeth, and gets them soon. None of us are too thrilled with the idea of having a human jack-o-lantern in the family.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
I Bet It Made His Night
We're at Grandpa Doughty's and went out to dinner last night at Outback. It's been much cooler here in Parkersburg, WV than our typical 101 at home. I realized, once we were seated in the restaurant, that I should have brought a winter coat; it was like a meat locker inside.
Finally, after waiting about 20 minutes for our hot food to arrive, I couldn't stand it any longer and took my brown cloth napkin and someone else's and draped them over my arms. Deanna passed me her purse to put in my lap, thinking the fabric might help warm me up a little.
The family seemed to get quite a kick out of my napkin-draped arms. As we were goofing around, I put a napkin over my head, gazed out through the small slit left as it fell around my face, and uttered,
"You have no idea how strong the dark side of the force is . . ." Just as I was laughing diabolically, the waiter appeared with our meals.
Grandpa tried to quickly warn me, but I couldn't get the napkin off my head in time.
The waiter smiled politely, handed me my HOT coffee, then reached to a neighboring tablee for sugar.
"Here's some sugar for your coffee, Darth," he said.
Everybody's a comic.
Finally, after waiting about 20 minutes for our hot food to arrive, I couldn't stand it any longer and took my brown cloth napkin and someone else's and draped them over my arms. Deanna passed me her purse to put in my lap, thinking the fabric might help warm me up a little.
The family seemed to get quite a kick out of my napkin-draped arms. As we were goofing around, I put a napkin over my head, gazed out through the small slit left as it fell around my face, and uttered,
"You have no idea how strong the dark side of the force is . . ." Just as I was laughing diabolically, the waiter appeared with our meals.
Grandpa tried to quickly warn me, but I couldn't get the napkin off my head in time.
The waiter smiled politely, handed me my HOT coffee, then reached to a neighboring tablee for sugar.
"Here's some sugar for your coffee, Darth," he said.
Everybody's a comic.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Not a Question about our Mental Condition
On the way home from the mountains, we stopped at a Pizza Hut for dinner. The children and I all love parmesan cheese and use it very liberally on our pizza. A friend taught me to take the top off the shaker so you can "really" cover your pizza thoroughly.
When Deanna reached for the parmesan, Don beat her to it. Then he began covering her pizza for her. When she complained, he shook parmesan onto her hands, then the table around her plate, a little over her shoulder . . .
She got to giggling. Daelyn and I watched quietly. We decided not to ask for Don to pass the shaker, afraid he'd give us a similar treatment. We waited patiently for him to finish, which took quite some time. Deanna was laughing and shaking her hands, trying to get all the parmesan off them.
Daelyn and I shook our heads.
"Daddy, you're crazy," he said. I agreed vigorously.
Just then, the waitress approached our table.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
We all turned and looked blankly at her. Obviously, we were not okay. In fact, in general, our family is anything but okay. We're crazy, mixed-up, and fun, but not okay. She looked back at our strange expressions, obviously confused at our response. When I finally realized she was asking if we needed anything, I cracked up.
"We are DEFINITELY NOT okay," I told her, then pointed to the pile of parmesan on the table in front of Deanna.
The poor girl; she seemed like a nice sort. I felt very bad for her. How can anyone prepare to wait on a family like ours?
Thank goodness, she had a good sense of humor and seemed to understand the expressions on our faces. But the question, "Are you okay" will never again hold quite the same meaning for us.
When Deanna reached for the parmesan, Don beat her to it. Then he began covering her pizza for her. When she complained, he shook parmesan onto her hands, then the table around her plate, a little over her shoulder . . .
She got to giggling. Daelyn and I watched quietly. We decided not to ask for Don to pass the shaker, afraid he'd give us a similar treatment. We waited patiently for him to finish, which took quite some time. Deanna was laughing and shaking her hands, trying to get all the parmesan off them.
Daelyn and I shook our heads.
"Daddy, you're crazy," he said. I agreed vigorously.
Just then, the waitress approached our table.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
We all turned and looked blankly at her. Obviously, we were not okay. In fact, in general, our family is anything but okay. We're crazy, mixed-up, and fun, but not okay. She looked back at our strange expressions, obviously confused at our response. When I finally realized she was asking if we needed anything, I cracked up.
"We are DEFINITELY NOT okay," I told her, then pointed to the pile of parmesan on the table in front of Deanna.
The poor girl; she seemed like a nice sort. I felt very bad for her. How can anyone prepare to wait on a family like ours?
Thank goodness, she had a good sense of humor and seemed to understand the expressions on our faces. But the question, "Are you okay" will never again hold quite the same meaning for us.
Our Mountain Trek
We took Dane to Boy Scout camp yesterday in the mountains of North Georgia. The other boys went up in two vans driven by the Scout leaders who are spending the week up there. I decided about a week ago that I needed to explain to Dane that we weren't going to take him to Camp this year.
Me: "Son, you know, the boys are all riding together in vans to Camp this year."
Dane: "Well, Mom, seems how I'm going to be away from you for a whole week and I'm going to be there for my birthday and not able to celebrate it at home with you, I'll just ride with you and Dad in our van."
I dropped the topic. Later that night, I discussed it with Don.
Don: "Do you think he understood that you were telling him we weren't going?"
Me: "I dunno. I was trying to break it to him gently. But it sure sounds like he wants us to take him."
Don: "Maybe you ought to try again and, this time, be a little clearer. Tell him that we weren't planning on going."
Me: "But we took him to Camp LAST year!"
Don: "Yes, honey, but that was a 50 minute drive. This is a 3 1/2 hour, one way."
Me: "But if we don't take him, I won't get to see his cabin and the dining hall and look things over good so I understand what he's talking about when he tells us all about Camp."
Don: "You DO realize that it's Pentecost Sunday, don't you. If we take him to Camp, we'll miss Pentecost. Try again to explain to him that we didn't plan on taking him."
So, the next day (does this smack of "Little Bunny Foo-Foo?) . . .
Me: "Dane, Son, I wanted to talk with you again about Camp."
Dane: "What is it, Mom?"
Me: "Well, Daddy and I were not planning on driving you up this year. They're taking all the boys up in Vans and there aren't any other parents going."
Dane, shocked: "What do you mean, 'not planning on driving up'? You HAVE to go up and look everything over. You have to see my cabin and stuff. Besides, if you don't go, then I won't get to drive up with Deanna and Daelyn, and I'm going to be away from them for a whole week . . . No, I think you and Dad need to drive me up. We can follow the other vans."
Sounds pretty clear to me. We weren't going, we are now. I broke the news to Don later that night. He just laughed. My son knows me pretty well, apparently.
So, we trekked up to the North Georgia mountains. It was beautiful, Dane was excited, and we trudged up the hill to the campsite with the boys.
"Aunt Patti, will you hold my money for me?"
"Aunt Patti, where do you think we should put our clothes?"
"Aunt Patti, did you see the bath house up there on the hill?"
Most of the boys didn't seem the least bit surprised that we were there, although I definitely felt a little out-of-place. On our way up the mountain to their campsite, it began raining; not just a gentle rain, but a monsoon. The Georgia red clay was rushing in torrents down the path. We were soaked completely through and the Guides suggested we take refuge inside the cabins. Deanna, Daelyn and I stood around in Dane's cabin, talking with the other boys. Then I noticed Dane standing in the doorway, talking quietly with his father. They talked in soft tones for about 20 minutes. I never caught a single word, but it warmed my heart watching father and son, there together, sharing a few moments before we parted for the week.
We were on the road about 9 hours total, but it was worth every minute to see those precious twenty shared between parent and child. In those few moments, Dane seemed much older than his soon-to-be 12 and more like a young man heading off for college. I was painfully reminded of how few years we have left with him.
I'm awfully thankful we took him, after all. And I'm even more thankful that he wanted us to. I expect there will be precious few of those opportunities in the near future.
Me: "Son, you know, the boys are all riding together in vans to Camp this year."
Dane: "Well, Mom, seems how I'm going to be away from you for a whole week and I'm going to be there for my birthday and not able to celebrate it at home with you, I'll just ride with you and Dad in our van."
I dropped the topic. Later that night, I discussed it with Don.
Don: "Do you think he understood that you were telling him we weren't going?"
Me: "I dunno. I was trying to break it to him gently. But it sure sounds like he wants us to take him."
Don: "Maybe you ought to try again and, this time, be a little clearer. Tell him that we weren't planning on going."
Me: "But we took him to Camp LAST year!"
Don: "Yes, honey, but that was a 50 minute drive. This is a 3 1/2 hour, one way."
Me: "But if we don't take him, I won't get to see his cabin and the dining hall and look things over good so I understand what he's talking about when he tells us all about Camp."
Don: "You DO realize that it's Pentecost Sunday, don't you. If we take him to Camp, we'll miss Pentecost. Try again to explain to him that we didn't plan on taking him."
So, the next day (does this smack of "Little Bunny Foo-Foo?) . . .
Me: "Dane, Son, I wanted to talk with you again about Camp."
Dane: "What is it, Mom?"
Me: "Well, Daddy and I were not planning on driving you up this year. They're taking all the boys up in Vans and there aren't any other parents going."
Dane, shocked: "What do you mean, 'not planning on driving up'? You HAVE to go up and look everything over. You have to see my cabin and stuff. Besides, if you don't go, then I won't get to drive up with Deanna and Daelyn, and I'm going to be away from them for a whole week . . . No, I think you and Dad need to drive me up. We can follow the other vans."
Sounds pretty clear to me. We weren't going, we are now. I broke the news to Don later that night. He just laughed. My son knows me pretty well, apparently.
So, we trekked up to the North Georgia mountains. It was beautiful, Dane was excited, and we trudged up the hill to the campsite with the boys.
"Aunt Patti, will you hold my money for me?"
"Aunt Patti, where do you think we should put our clothes?"
"Aunt Patti, did you see the bath house up there on the hill?"
Most of the boys didn't seem the least bit surprised that we were there, although I definitely felt a little out-of-place. On our way up the mountain to their campsite, it began raining; not just a gentle rain, but a monsoon. The Georgia red clay was rushing in torrents down the path. We were soaked completely through and the Guides suggested we take refuge inside the cabins. Deanna, Daelyn and I stood around in Dane's cabin, talking with the other boys. Then I noticed Dane standing in the doorway, talking quietly with his father. They talked in soft tones for about 20 minutes. I never caught a single word, but it warmed my heart watching father and son, there together, sharing a few moments before we parted for the week.
We were on the road about 9 hours total, but it was worth every minute to see those precious twenty shared between parent and child. In those few moments, Dane seemed much older than his soon-to-be 12 and more like a young man heading off for college. I was painfully reminded of how few years we have left with him.
I'm awfully thankful we took him, after all. And I'm even more thankful that he wanted us to. I expect there will be precious few of those opportunities in the near future.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Embarrassing the Kids
On the way to Dane's baseball game earlier this week, the kids asked me about our dear family friend, Uncle Claude. This man was like a grandfather to me. He had been stationed in Germany with my father before Mom and Dad even married and, once they did, he and his wife lived in the same apartment building. Over many years, my parents lost track of him, only to rediscover him here in Augusta when my father was transferred to Ft. Gordon.
Anyway, I loved Uncle Claude. He was the kind of person who teaches with everything he says to you. He talked my father into buying me a horse (one he had found that he thought was reasonably priced and appropriate for me), then kept my horse at his farm for me. I could call him at work any afternoon and tell him I wanted to ride and he'd swing by on his way home and pick me up. I would follow him around as he did his chores, talking the whole time, ride for a while, then go in and wash up for dinner. After dinner, Uncle Claude would always call me in to sit on his lap and tell him everything that was on my mind. I'd snuggle in close as he sat in his big chair and pour out all my worries, concerns, etc. He was like salve for any wounds I had.
On the way to the game, we passed a landmark that reminded me of my Uncle Claude (who was really no relation to us) and I mentioned him to the children. They've heard about Uncle Claude many times, but Daelyn spoke up from the back seat.
"Is Uncle Claude still alive, Mama?" he asked.
We buried Uncle Claude many years ago, when Deanna was just a toddler and before Daelyn was even born.
"No, honey. He died, and I cried," I said.
From the front seat of the van, Deanna chimed in a sing-song voice, "My Aunt Sue had a beard, and it felt weird . . . Oosta!!"
For those of you who may not recognize this little ditty, it's from one of the Veggie Tales movies. Larry is lying on a psychiatrist's couch and singing about his Aunt kissing him and having to be hospitalized for his lips - very silly song.
The song really is catchy and I found myself shouting "oosta" whenever I saw anything significant. This followed me right into Dane's game.
For several weeks now, Deanna has laughed about the way the Umpires announce a strike. They yell something that in no way resembles, "Strike!" Usually, it sounds more like "paugh", but the Umpire on Monday actually said, "Ike".
As we sat in the stands, Deanna and I began laughing about "ike" as we counted them . . . "one ike, two ikes" we said. While we were talking quietly, the brother of one of Dane's teammates yelled,
"Ike Three!!!! Yeah!!"
Deanna looked at me, eyes wide with shock, and began to laugh.
"That's just plain scary, Mom. You're rubbing off on people."
I just couldn't help myself. I turned around and said to the young man,
"Once they get three ikes, it's an 'oosta'!"
Each time our pitcher retired a batter, I'd shout, "oosta" at the top of my lungs. When we moved into the other half of the inning and our batters were walked or came into home, I'd yell "oosta". By the middle of the game, this group of young men were yelling for ikes and oostas right along with me.
I looked to my right, where Daelyn and Dane's friend, J.P., were sitting. They had moved to a discreet distance away from me. Deanna, sitting on my left, was also scooting down the bleachers in the opposite direction. But the real kicker was when Dane came across home plate and I shouted "oosta" into the air. He walked up to the fence, looked pointedly at me, and said,
"I am NOT related to you. I do NOT know you" before walking into the dugout.
Now, how do you like that? I entertain my children during a boring baseball game and none of them want to be identified with me. The other kids that really weren't related to me were having a wonderful time. It was great fun shouting for ikes and oostas.
I was a little tamer tonight; downright quiet by our family's standards. No ikes or oostas to be had. I was at Daelyn's game alone while Deanna and Don watched Dane's final game of the season, and it just wasn't near as fun to yell ridiculous things into the air without children to embarrass sitting around me.
I have to have an audience - preferrably one that's related to me.
Anyway, I loved Uncle Claude. He was the kind of person who teaches with everything he says to you. He talked my father into buying me a horse (one he had found that he thought was reasonably priced and appropriate for me), then kept my horse at his farm for me. I could call him at work any afternoon and tell him I wanted to ride and he'd swing by on his way home and pick me up. I would follow him around as he did his chores, talking the whole time, ride for a while, then go in and wash up for dinner. After dinner, Uncle Claude would always call me in to sit on his lap and tell him everything that was on my mind. I'd snuggle in close as he sat in his big chair and pour out all my worries, concerns, etc. He was like salve for any wounds I had.
On the way to the game, we passed a landmark that reminded me of my Uncle Claude (who was really no relation to us) and I mentioned him to the children. They've heard about Uncle Claude many times, but Daelyn spoke up from the back seat.
"Is Uncle Claude still alive, Mama?" he asked.
We buried Uncle Claude many years ago, when Deanna was just a toddler and before Daelyn was even born.
"No, honey. He died, and I cried," I said.
From the front seat of the van, Deanna chimed in a sing-song voice, "My Aunt Sue had a beard, and it felt weird . . . Oosta!!"
For those of you who may not recognize this little ditty, it's from one of the Veggie Tales movies. Larry is lying on a psychiatrist's couch and singing about his Aunt kissing him and having to be hospitalized for his lips - very silly song.
The song really is catchy and I found myself shouting "oosta" whenever I saw anything significant. This followed me right into Dane's game.
For several weeks now, Deanna has laughed about the way the Umpires announce a strike. They yell something that in no way resembles, "Strike!" Usually, it sounds more like "paugh", but the Umpire on Monday actually said, "Ike".
As we sat in the stands, Deanna and I began laughing about "ike" as we counted them . . . "one ike, two ikes" we said. While we were talking quietly, the brother of one of Dane's teammates yelled,
"Ike Three!!!! Yeah!!"
Deanna looked at me, eyes wide with shock, and began to laugh.
"That's just plain scary, Mom. You're rubbing off on people."
I just couldn't help myself. I turned around and said to the young man,
"Once they get three ikes, it's an 'oosta'!"
Each time our pitcher retired a batter, I'd shout, "oosta" at the top of my lungs. When we moved into the other half of the inning and our batters were walked or came into home, I'd yell "oosta". By the middle of the game, this group of young men were yelling for ikes and oostas right along with me.
I looked to my right, where Daelyn and Dane's friend, J.P., were sitting. They had moved to a discreet distance away from me. Deanna, sitting on my left, was also scooting down the bleachers in the opposite direction. But the real kicker was when Dane came across home plate and I shouted "oosta" into the air. He walked up to the fence, looked pointedly at me, and said,
"I am NOT related to you. I do NOT know you" before walking into the dugout.
Now, how do you like that? I entertain my children during a boring baseball game and none of them want to be identified with me. The other kids that really weren't related to me were having a wonderful time. It was great fun shouting for ikes and oostas.
I was a little tamer tonight; downright quiet by our family's standards. No ikes or oostas to be had. I was at Daelyn's game alone while Deanna and Don watched Dane's final game of the season, and it just wasn't near as fun to yell ridiculous things into the air without children to embarrass sitting around me.
I have to have an audience - preferrably one that's related to me.
Saturday, June 04, 2011
A Day at the Lake
I had the best time today that I've had in a very long time and, for those of you who know me, I ALWAYS have a good time, so today had to have been FABULOUS (which it, of course, was)!!!!
A group of 50 - 75 of us all went to a park on the recreational lake thirty minutes from here. One of the men had rented a Pavilion at a State Park (at least, I think it was a State Park) and every family who attended pitched in $5 to help cover the cost. All of us brought our own food: meat for the grill, side dishes, and drinks. Each family ended up having their own table, but we walked from table to table offering tastes of this, a bite of that, a spoonful of a favorite recipe. Some people, like us, went out early. We had planned to leave by 10:15, but it was closer to 11:15 before we actually got on the road. By the time we arrived, there were already about 8 families there. Throughout the day, more arrived. It seemed like there was a constant influx of new folks.
Some people, like us, stayed late. They cooked dinner rather than lunch and enjoyed the waning hours of sunlight. In my rush this morning, I asked the children to all help pack up. One of the boys was responsible for the condiments, another was given the task of packing up our meat. I had planned to take Cheddarwurst and Polish Sausage. When we arrived and Don went to throw our meat on the grill, we discovered that the appointed child had also brought along a package of Angus hot dogs, which served us very well when we stayed so late we needed dinner. Don, in his infinite wisdom, had purchased extra buns, so we had enough for both meals.
So, "you spent the day at the Lake; how nice" you might say. But that wouldn't begin to explain our day. A friend brought his ski boat and two of his double inner tubes. Another brought 8 kayaks for our enjoyment. Moms sat on the beach together talking while watched all the youngsters playing together in the water or digging in the sand. Dads played cards in the Pavilion, laughing and telling stories. A group of tweens (Dane included) went from kayaks to tubing to swimming, and back again in a gaggle. I moved from group to group, socializing with people I see daily but seldom have time to talk with. At one point, a group of us gals commandeered the kayaks and all took off together out into the lake. We splashed each other, explored a rocky area, and just laid out on the water, enjoying the sun and fellowship. I swam until my eyes ached, spending time with both Daelyn and Deanna. I tubed on two separate trips, with both Deanna and Daelyn, and rode in the boat with several good friends. I laughed, told stories, listened, joked, fellowshiped, ate, laughed some more, and had the most fun I can remember in recent history. My arms ache from tubing and kayaking, my head aches from sun glinting off water, my lip aches where I bit it when I hit an especially rough patch of wake, and my eyes ache from suntan lotion and lake water. But I'm content, tired, and happy.
During one of our tubing trips, our good friend, Ken, stopped the boat for a swim. We all dove in and the tubers rolled off into the water. All the women gathered together, most of us talking at the same time. One of my dear friends and neighbors commented that she had smiled so much today that her cheeks actually hurt. It wasn't only ME that was having a wonderful time.
We were one of the last families to leave the lake. It just was too much fun to end any earlier. We're all exhausted and I keep thinking that this is only the start of the summer. It's hard to imagine that we might have even more of these days yet to come.
The thing that made our day so much fun was not that we were at the lake, although that was awesome. Not that we had a ski boat and kayaks, although they were amazing. Not that the weather was perfect, although I'm sure that contributed. No, the thing that made the day so special was the relationships, the people who were there with us. Spending time with special friends in a setting other than the usual.
I'm exhausted but so very content. It was a lovely day for all of us. The next time we get a call that someone has reserved a shelter and we're invited to come, we may have to camp out there the night before to be sure we don't miss a single minute. They're just too precious to waste these days.
A group of 50 - 75 of us all went to a park on the recreational lake thirty minutes from here. One of the men had rented a Pavilion at a State Park (at least, I think it was a State Park) and every family who attended pitched in $5 to help cover the cost. All of us brought our own food: meat for the grill, side dishes, and drinks. Each family ended up having their own table, but we walked from table to table offering tastes of this, a bite of that, a spoonful of a favorite recipe. Some people, like us, went out early. We had planned to leave by 10:15, but it was closer to 11:15 before we actually got on the road. By the time we arrived, there were already about 8 families there. Throughout the day, more arrived. It seemed like there was a constant influx of new folks.
Some people, like us, stayed late. They cooked dinner rather than lunch and enjoyed the waning hours of sunlight. In my rush this morning, I asked the children to all help pack up. One of the boys was responsible for the condiments, another was given the task of packing up our meat. I had planned to take Cheddarwurst and Polish Sausage. When we arrived and Don went to throw our meat on the grill, we discovered that the appointed child had also brought along a package of Angus hot dogs, which served us very well when we stayed so late we needed dinner. Don, in his infinite wisdom, had purchased extra buns, so we had enough for both meals.
So, "you spent the day at the Lake; how nice" you might say. But that wouldn't begin to explain our day. A friend brought his ski boat and two of his double inner tubes. Another brought 8 kayaks for our enjoyment. Moms sat on the beach together talking while watched all the youngsters playing together in the water or digging in the sand. Dads played cards in the Pavilion, laughing and telling stories. A group of tweens (Dane included) went from kayaks to tubing to swimming, and back again in a gaggle. I moved from group to group, socializing with people I see daily but seldom have time to talk with. At one point, a group of us gals commandeered the kayaks and all took off together out into the lake. We splashed each other, explored a rocky area, and just laid out on the water, enjoying the sun and fellowship. I swam until my eyes ached, spending time with both Daelyn and Deanna. I tubed on two separate trips, with both Deanna and Daelyn, and rode in the boat with several good friends. I laughed, told stories, listened, joked, fellowshiped, ate, laughed some more, and had the most fun I can remember in recent history. My arms ache from tubing and kayaking, my head aches from sun glinting off water, my lip aches where I bit it when I hit an especially rough patch of wake, and my eyes ache from suntan lotion and lake water. But I'm content, tired, and happy.
During one of our tubing trips, our good friend, Ken, stopped the boat for a swim. We all dove in and the tubers rolled off into the water. All the women gathered together, most of us talking at the same time. One of my dear friends and neighbors commented that she had smiled so much today that her cheeks actually hurt. It wasn't only ME that was having a wonderful time.
We were one of the last families to leave the lake. It just was too much fun to end any earlier. We're all exhausted and I keep thinking that this is only the start of the summer. It's hard to imagine that we might have even more of these days yet to come.
The thing that made our day so much fun was not that we were at the lake, although that was awesome. Not that we had a ski boat and kayaks, although they were amazing. Not that the weather was perfect, although I'm sure that contributed. No, the thing that made the day so special was the relationships, the people who were there with us. Spending time with special friends in a setting other than the usual.
I'm exhausted but so very content. It was a lovely day for all of us. The next time we get a call that someone has reserved a shelter and we're invited to come, we may have to camp out there the night before to be sure we don't miss a single minute. They're just too precious to waste these days.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Not Too Impressive
The High School Principal, who is also a nationally-renowned Math teacher, spent an hour a day last week with the 8th Graders, preparing them for their move to the high school. He taught them how to use their Texas Instrument Calculators as well as other things so they can hit the ground running in September.
We dearly love this man, Mr. Funsch, but he CAN be a little intimidating. First of all, he's a high school teacher. Second, he's the Principal. Third, he is tall, thin, and imposing. And fourth, he smiles sparingly and appears stern most of the time, despite his incredible sense of humor, which Deanna has yet to experience.
Deanna has been with me when I've joked and bantered with him and she's well aware of the esteem with which Don and I both hold him. She felt it was very important to also show respect and, more than anything, she wanted his first impression of her in school to be very positive. Truthfully, she wanted him to think she was smart, self-assured, and attentive.
She sat very straight while with him. She told me she hung on his every word, never taking her eyes off him, pen poised above paper to jot down any important tidbit he might bestow on them. She was focused, concentrating, and trying very hard to seem intelligent and thoughtful.
"So," Mr. Funsch said the first day, "let's count off by fours. Faith, you're #1."
When Faith stared blankly at him, he said, "Just say 'One', Faith," which she did. Then he pointed at Deanna.
She smiled triumphantly. "FIVE!"
When he didn't move on, her brow furrowed. Then she noticed he was holding up two fingers for her to see.
"Four?" she asked. When I talked with him about this incident later, he said she had also suggested seven as the answer to counting off by fours.
Gently, ever so patiently, he said, "Two."
Deanna hung her head in shame. So much for impressing the High School Principal. Now he thinks she can't count to two.
Obviously, Deanna thought counting off by fours, if Faith started with 1, meant 5, 9, 13 . . . Mr. Funsch, however, meant 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4 . . .
By the time Deanna got home from school, she could clearly see the humor in this whole situation and laughed hysterically when telling me the story. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to joke with Mr. Funsch about my first child to encounter him as a teacher, so I gave him a call.
"I heard you had a little problem with the eighth grade today," I said. He, obviously, was still wearing his teacher/principal hat, and didn't get that I was kidding.
"No," he countered. "What do you mean?"
"They had difficulty counting by fours," I explained further.
Finally, he realized what I was talking about.
I continued. "So, you thought you'd be teaching them about their T.I.'s, but I bet you never thought you'd have to teach them to count to 2 first."
"It's not going to be a problem," he said. "I'm not the slightest bit worried."
Then he paused.
"I have them divided into groups now. No need for them to count anymore!"
We dearly love this man, Mr. Funsch, but he CAN be a little intimidating. First of all, he's a high school teacher. Second, he's the Principal. Third, he is tall, thin, and imposing. And fourth, he smiles sparingly and appears stern most of the time, despite his incredible sense of humor, which Deanna has yet to experience.
Deanna has been with me when I've joked and bantered with him and she's well aware of the esteem with which Don and I both hold him. She felt it was very important to also show respect and, more than anything, she wanted his first impression of her in school to be very positive. Truthfully, she wanted him to think she was smart, self-assured, and attentive.
She sat very straight while with him. She told me she hung on his every word, never taking her eyes off him, pen poised above paper to jot down any important tidbit he might bestow on them. She was focused, concentrating, and trying very hard to seem intelligent and thoughtful.
"So," Mr. Funsch said the first day, "let's count off by fours. Faith, you're #1."
When Faith stared blankly at him, he said, "Just say 'One', Faith," which she did. Then he pointed at Deanna.
She smiled triumphantly. "FIVE!"
When he didn't move on, her brow furrowed. Then she noticed he was holding up two fingers for her to see.
"Four?" she asked. When I talked with him about this incident later, he said she had also suggested seven as the answer to counting off by fours.
Gently, ever so patiently, he said, "Two."
Deanna hung her head in shame. So much for impressing the High School Principal. Now he thinks she can't count to two.
Obviously, Deanna thought counting off by fours, if Faith started with 1, meant 5, 9, 13 . . . Mr. Funsch, however, meant 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4 . . .
By the time Deanna got home from school, she could clearly see the humor in this whole situation and laughed hysterically when telling me the story. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to joke with Mr. Funsch about my first child to encounter him as a teacher, so I gave him a call.
"I heard you had a little problem with the eighth grade today," I said. He, obviously, was still wearing his teacher/principal hat, and didn't get that I was kidding.
"No," he countered. "What do you mean?"
"They had difficulty counting by fours," I explained further.
Finally, he realized what I was talking about.
I continued. "So, you thought you'd be teaching them about their T.I.'s, but I bet you never thought you'd have to teach them to count to 2 first."
"It's not going to be a problem," he said. "I'm not the slightest bit worried."
Then he paused.
"I have them divided into groups now. No need for them to count anymore!"
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Train, Lifeguard, and Nose
I was enroute to baseball practice a couple weeks ago when I heard a funny whistling sound in the van.
"Do you hear that?" I asked the boys.
"Hear what?" they both asked.
"That whistling sound." I was sure they were feigning ignorance. It was a very noticeable, frustrating sound.
"Does it sound like 'this'," Daelyn asked, making a strange noise, " 'cause that's my throat."
"No, son, it's not a throat sound. It sounds like a whistle."
Dane piped up immediately. "It's the seal on this window, Mom. I've noticed it's been making noise lately when we're driving fast and the air whistles through the window."
I glanced over to the passenger door. The seal around the door/window was, indeed, drooping down. I gave Dane instructions to push it back into place to eliminate that irritating sound. He complied.
A few minutes later, the same sound. I looked at the passenger door again. No, the seal was still intact right where it should be.
"That wasn't it, Dane. I still hear it."
After a moment's pause, Dane said, "Does it sound like 'this'?" There it was - that annoying 'wind whistling through the window' sound.
"YES!! That's it!!" I gleefully responded.
When Dane didn't say anything, I tilted my head and looked sideways at him. He had a big grin on his face as his eyes met mine.
"That's my Nose Whistle, Mom,"
"Do you hear that?" I asked the boys.
"Hear what?" they both asked.
"That whistling sound." I was sure they were feigning ignorance. It was a very noticeable, frustrating sound.
"Does it sound like 'this'," Daelyn asked, making a strange noise, " 'cause that's my throat."
"No, son, it's not a throat sound. It sounds like a whistle."
Dane piped up immediately. "It's the seal on this window, Mom. I've noticed it's been making noise lately when we're driving fast and the air whistles through the window."
I glanced over to the passenger door. The seal around the door/window was, indeed, drooping down. I gave Dane instructions to push it back into place to eliminate that irritating sound. He complied.
A few minutes later, the same sound. I looked at the passenger door again. No, the seal was still intact right where it should be.
"That wasn't it, Dane. I still hear it."
After a moment's pause, Dane said, "Does it sound like 'this'?" There it was - that annoying 'wind whistling through the window' sound.
"YES!! That's it!!" I gleefully responded.
When Dane didn't say anything, I tilted my head and looked sideways at him. He had a big grin on his face as his eyes met mine.
"That's my Nose Whistle, Mom,"
Tuesday, May 03, 2011
It's Finally the Yard's Turn
I had given up all hope of having a garden this year. Life on Coumadin meant giving up many things. I worked hard to convince myself that it didn't matter, one year without a garden would be just fine. I made a decision to hit Farmer's Markets hard, get great prices on excellent produce, and can, can, can. It just wouldn't be the fruit of MY hands and yard I would can.
Then, the amazing news came that I could discontinue Coumadin. It still took at least a week to work it all out of my system, but I turned a corner during Holy Week. I woke up one morning, wide awake, at 6:45 a.m., before my alarm clock began bellowing at me. This used to happen in my life, but was a very faded dream in recent history.
My father-in-law came for Easter and I called him in advance and asked for his help putting a box garden in a spot on the side of the house. I have one box garden, and I put another in about 3 years ago for Dane. But there was just enough space for a third, and I desperately wanted the extra garden. I have a huge garden against the back fence, but it hasn't been worked in two years and it's so overgrown, you can't even see the dog if he gets in there. Weeds are about thigh-high and I couldn't imagine ever finding the time to clean it up, till it, and plant it. The ONLY possibility was above-ground gardening, in rich, fertile soil that could be turned easily with a hand trowel and watered along with the other two box gardens.
Grandpa and Dane worked very hard and put in a beautiful box for me, lined with landscape fabric on the bottom and sides. I began filling it with topsoil, manure, compost, etc. immediately. Then, it happened. I went to Lowe's, bought some vegetable plants, and PUT IN MY GARDEN!!
I've been like a driven woman. Ever chance I get, I'm in the yard. I've been weeding, putting mulch around the trees and plants, pruning, neatening, sweeping . . . For years, my yard has looked like a cross between a jungle and a tenement. It could easily have been transplanted into the Slums. But slowly, EVER so slowly, it's improving. I'm getting more done each year to clean it up and beautify it. This year, I just can't stay out of the yard.
I'll decide I need to get laundry done or clean a particular room. Then the dog needs to tinkle, so I take him out. Before I even realize what I'm doing, I'm off on some outdoors project.
It feels amazing to be able to work outside, to have the energy to invest in the yard. Truth is, the weather is so hot in Georgia during most of the summer that the only yardwork I do has to be completed in the Spring, while it's still mild enough to be out of doors. I realize that whatever doesn't get done over the next few weeks likely won't get done until next year.
So, I work with a vengeance. And the yard is beginning to show evidence of care - yippee!!
There's always more to do, but, as I told Don last night, the inside of the house if falling down around our ears. If I don't hurry up and get the outside done, we won't have a house to come into. I've got more laundry than you can even imagine and cleaning chores that will take until Christmas to accomplish.
But I'm very happy as I survey the accomplishment of my hands. I don't know if anyone else will even notice, but I know what I've done, and am pleased.
Then, the amazing news came that I could discontinue Coumadin. It still took at least a week to work it all out of my system, but I turned a corner during Holy Week. I woke up one morning, wide awake, at 6:45 a.m., before my alarm clock began bellowing at me. This used to happen in my life, but was a very faded dream in recent history.
My father-in-law came for Easter and I called him in advance and asked for his help putting a box garden in a spot on the side of the house. I have one box garden, and I put another in about 3 years ago for Dane. But there was just enough space for a third, and I desperately wanted the extra garden. I have a huge garden against the back fence, but it hasn't been worked in two years and it's so overgrown, you can't even see the dog if he gets in there. Weeds are about thigh-high and I couldn't imagine ever finding the time to clean it up, till it, and plant it. The ONLY possibility was above-ground gardening, in rich, fertile soil that could be turned easily with a hand trowel and watered along with the other two box gardens.
Grandpa and Dane worked very hard and put in a beautiful box for me, lined with landscape fabric on the bottom and sides. I began filling it with topsoil, manure, compost, etc. immediately. Then, it happened. I went to Lowe's, bought some vegetable plants, and PUT IN MY GARDEN!!
I've been like a driven woman. Ever chance I get, I'm in the yard. I've been weeding, putting mulch around the trees and plants, pruning, neatening, sweeping . . . For years, my yard has looked like a cross between a jungle and a tenement. It could easily have been transplanted into the Slums. But slowly, EVER so slowly, it's improving. I'm getting more done each year to clean it up and beautify it. This year, I just can't stay out of the yard.
I'll decide I need to get laundry done or clean a particular room. Then the dog needs to tinkle, so I take him out. Before I even realize what I'm doing, I'm off on some outdoors project.
It feels amazing to be able to work outside, to have the energy to invest in the yard. Truth is, the weather is so hot in Georgia during most of the summer that the only yardwork I do has to be completed in the Spring, while it's still mild enough to be out of doors. I realize that whatever doesn't get done over the next few weeks likely won't get done until next year.
So, I work with a vengeance. And the yard is beginning to show evidence of care - yippee!!
There's always more to do, but, as I told Don last night, the inside of the house if falling down around our ears. If I don't hurry up and get the outside done, we won't have a house to come into. I've got more laundry than you can even imagine and cleaning chores that will take until Christmas to accomplish.
But I'm very happy as I survey the accomplishment of my hands. I don't know if anyone else will even notice, but I know what I've done, and am pleased.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Beyond the Obvious
My heart is full today. The song, "Great is Thy Faithfulness" keeps going around and around in my head. The Lord has been SO merciful and faithful to me.
Years ago, when yet a single, I would get so discouraged when I saw no potential mate on the horizon. At times, I was peaceful, enjoying being single and the freedom that came with that state in life. At others, I was a basket-case, wondering why NO ONE loved me unconditionally. (Of course, I mean no one other than God.)
One thing was certain - I would not marry anyone who wasn't God's perfect choice for me. I had watched some marriages struggle and fail. I knew I could be happy single but realized that being in a bad (or the wrong) marriage would take a toll on me, the cost of which could not be calculated. I preferred to be happy on and off as a single than miserable in a marriage, so I waited.
My friend, Jane, and I would get together regularly to pray. Around the new year, we would list the big prayers the Lord laid on our hearts in a book she kept in a drawer, then faithfully pray for those requests throughout the course of the next year. Year after year, we saw God honor these prayers and answer them in ways that were unimaginable to us. One year, when we gathered, another single friend, who was in a dating relationship, joined us. After praying for a while, Jane asked the Lord to speak to us, and we stood in silence for several minutes. Then Jane told us that she felt she had a word from the Lord that one of the three of us would be either married or headed towards marriage by the same time the following year. The other single woman confirmed the Word, saying she had heard the same one.
Jane and I both looked at our friend. It seemed pretty clear she was the one who would be marrying soon. We were very excited for her and all rejoiced that one of us would soon be moving into a different season in our lives. Since neither Jane nor I were dating, nor had any possibilities at the time, this all seemed quite reasonable. Our friend also felt she was the one for whom the Word was intended.
Turns out, it was me. Don and I began dating the end of August of the following year and, by the end of December, were very serious and both knew we were headed towards marriage. Both of those friends are still single. I WAS THE ONE that Word was meant for.
Don is God's perfect choice for me. I often say he's perfect; not in a human sense, but certainly perfect for me. Then, he gave me these precious children. Again, there are difficult times when I wonder how I'm going to survive until they're grown, but the good times are SO good that they outweigh the hard times. Don has always been able to provide well for our family, so I've been able to be a stay-at-home Mom, which is one of God's great mercies. I get to go on Field Trips, substitute at the school, drop my children off and pick them up every day. I get to stop by a friend's house for coffee in the morning, hit Wal-Mart at 8:30 when the parking lot is still empty, get yardwork done while it's still relatively cool outside. There are so many more blessings that God has poured out on me; not the least of which is still having both my parents living on the same road as me, two sisters in town that I talk with almost daily, many close friends who love and encourage me, and Alleluia, the Community that the Lord has loved me enough to allow me to be a part of.
Why shouldn't my heart be filled to overflowing? He loves me the most, as my Deanna would say. He loves me in little and big ways. He cares about the small things, like what color I paint the den, and makes His protecting hand clearly visible in large issues, such as my health. He is a great and might God, but not too big to notice even the small things that lay heavy on our hearts.
And isn't that truly what unconditional love is about? To love someone enough that you're concerned even about the seemingly insignificant things that affect them.
God has given me so much, but the greatest miracle, and the one for which I'm the MOST thankful, is that he's shown me HIS unconditional love through husband and children. He really is enough, but it took marriage and a family for me to see that HIS love is the greatest I will ever experience and meets my deepest needs.
Great is Thy faithfulness, O God, my Father!!!
Years ago, when yet a single, I would get so discouraged when I saw no potential mate on the horizon. At times, I was peaceful, enjoying being single and the freedom that came with that state in life. At others, I was a basket-case, wondering why NO ONE loved me unconditionally. (Of course, I mean no one other than God.)
One thing was certain - I would not marry anyone who wasn't God's perfect choice for me. I had watched some marriages struggle and fail. I knew I could be happy single but realized that being in a bad (or the wrong) marriage would take a toll on me, the cost of which could not be calculated. I preferred to be happy on and off as a single than miserable in a marriage, so I waited.
My friend, Jane, and I would get together regularly to pray. Around the new year, we would list the big prayers the Lord laid on our hearts in a book she kept in a drawer, then faithfully pray for those requests throughout the course of the next year. Year after year, we saw God honor these prayers and answer them in ways that were unimaginable to us. One year, when we gathered, another single friend, who was in a dating relationship, joined us. After praying for a while, Jane asked the Lord to speak to us, and we stood in silence for several minutes. Then Jane told us that she felt she had a word from the Lord that one of the three of us would be either married or headed towards marriage by the same time the following year. The other single woman confirmed the Word, saying she had heard the same one.
Jane and I both looked at our friend. It seemed pretty clear she was the one who would be marrying soon. We were very excited for her and all rejoiced that one of us would soon be moving into a different season in our lives. Since neither Jane nor I were dating, nor had any possibilities at the time, this all seemed quite reasonable. Our friend also felt she was the one for whom the Word was intended.
Turns out, it was me. Don and I began dating the end of August of the following year and, by the end of December, were very serious and both knew we were headed towards marriage. Both of those friends are still single. I WAS THE ONE that Word was meant for.
Don is God's perfect choice for me. I often say he's perfect; not in a human sense, but certainly perfect for me. Then, he gave me these precious children. Again, there are difficult times when I wonder how I'm going to survive until they're grown, but the good times are SO good that they outweigh the hard times. Don has always been able to provide well for our family, so I've been able to be a stay-at-home Mom, which is one of God's great mercies. I get to go on Field Trips, substitute at the school, drop my children off and pick them up every day. I get to stop by a friend's house for coffee in the morning, hit Wal-Mart at 8:30 when the parking lot is still empty, get yardwork done while it's still relatively cool outside. There are so many more blessings that God has poured out on me; not the least of which is still having both my parents living on the same road as me, two sisters in town that I talk with almost daily, many close friends who love and encourage me, and Alleluia, the Community that the Lord has loved me enough to allow me to be a part of.
Why shouldn't my heart be filled to overflowing? He loves me the most, as my Deanna would say. He loves me in little and big ways. He cares about the small things, like what color I paint the den, and makes His protecting hand clearly visible in large issues, such as my health. He is a great and might God, but not too big to notice even the small things that lay heavy on our hearts.
And isn't that truly what unconditional love is about? To love someone enough that you're concerned even about the seemingly insignificant things that affect them.
God has given me so much, but the greatest miracle, and the one for which I'm the MOST thankful, is that he's shown me HIS unconditional love through husband and children. He really is enough, but it took marriage and a family for me to see that HIS love is the greatest I will ever experience and meets my deepest needs.
Great is Thy faithfulness, O God, my Father!!!
Friday, April 08, 2011
Batter Up!!!
Daelyn had his firth baseball practice last night. He plays with the Recreation Department. We received a call from his coach the previous night telling us that they will have practice DAILY for the next two weeks. Apparently, they're a championship team and he wants to whip these boys into shape early.
Daelyn was thrilled. So happy, in fact, that he begged out of soccer yesterday. All he can think about is baseball. All I can think about is that we have two other children, a ton of other activities, and his brother is also playing baseball with the Rec Department at a different field a 20-min. drive away.
After the practice last night, as Don and I were preparing for bed, I commented that the thought of these daily practices is a little overwhelming.
"You don't actually have to go to every practice, Honey," he said. The very words sent chills up and down my spine.
Now, I've gotten a lot of freedom from thinking I need to be at school sporting events. The children are surrounded by friends, adults they love and trust, and coaches that know them well and are committed to our family. If I can't make a school game, there's always another parent that can take my child and/or pick them up. I NEVER stay at school sports practices; drop 'em off, try and arrange carpooling for pick-ups. If the carpools can't be arranged, I know the coach will stay with them until I arrive to spirit them home again. But THIS??? THIS is totally different. I don't know these coaches. I don't know ANY of the parents. He's only 9 years old and there's no phone anywhere nearby. My blood runs cold just thinking that the practice may end early for whatever reason and my son has no way to contact me.
No, I will not be "dropping him off" at practice while I do other things EVERY DADGUM NIGHT OF THE WEEK FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS.
We'll just have to figure it out. Maybe his sister can stay with him if I have to run his brother to his practice and I can leave my cellphone with her. Although, if SHE has my cell, then I have nothing to receive a call on.
Not a great situation any way you cut it. So, while Daelyn's stoked and Don's nonchalant, I'm worried. I'm just not sure how I'm going to swing all of this. I've decided I'm going to do what I can and, if he misses a practice or two, baseball IS NOT the sum total of our life. Actually, it's a very small part.
That's what I keep telling myself.
Daelyn was thrilled. So happy, in fact, that he begged out of soccer yesterday. All he can think about is baseball. All I can think about is that we have two other children, a ton of other activities, and his brother is also playing baseball with the Rec Department at a different field a 20-min. drive away.
After the practice last night, as Don and I were preparing for bed, I commented that the thought of these daily practices is a little overwhelming.
"You don't actually have to go to every practice, Honey," he said. The very words sent chills up and down my spine.
Now, I've gotten a lot of freedom from thinking I need to be at school sporting events. The children are surrounded by friends, adults they love and trust, and coaches that know them well and are committed to our family. If I can't make a school game, there's always another parent that can take my child and/or pick them up. I NEVER stay at school sports practices; drop 'em off, try and arrange carpooling for pick-ups. If the carpools can't be arranged, I know the coach will stay with them until I arrive to spirit them home again. But THIS??? THIS is totally different. I don't know these coaches. I don't know ANY of the parents. He's only 9 years old and there's no phone anywhere nearby. My blood runs cold just thinking that the practice may end early for whatever reason and my son has no way to contact me.
No, I will not be "dropping him off" at practice while I do other things EVERY DADGUM NIGHT OF THE WEEK FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS.
We'll just have to figure it out. Maybe his sister can stay with him if I have to run his brother to his practice and I can leave my cellphone with her. Although, if SHE has my cell, then I have nothing to receive a call on.
Not a great situation any way you cut it. So, while Daelyn's stoked and Don's nonchalant, I'm worried. I'm just not sure how I'm going to swing all of this. I've decided I'm going to do what I can and, if he misses a practice or two, baseball IS NOT the sum total of our life. Actually, it's a very small part.
That's what I keep telling myself.
Thursday, April 07, 2011
Snickering Evil
This summer, while we were in Hawaii, I received a call from the Elementary Principal. The fourth grade teacher had been diagnosed with cancer, which I was aware of. At first, it seemed that it was really not a big issue but, during the summer, the picture changed a little for her and her doctors wanted her to start chemo. She needed to go to half-time at school and they were looking for someone to teach the other half-day in the 4th grade.
Don and I talked about it. I was inclined for volunteer for a couple of months to give them a little wiggle-room in finding someone for the rest of the year, but Don reminded me that I was going to have knee surgery, which hadn't yet been scheduled, and I couldn't make a commitment to anything with that hanging over my head.
The Principal was able to find someone to teach in the afternoons but, the Friday before school started, the regular teacher had her first chemo treatment and had a pretty rough time. The doctors told her it would just get worse with subsequent treatments.
The first day of school was pretty tough and she had to leave the Opening Assembly to go back to her classroom and rest. After Assembly, I headed for the Elementary Wing to see if I could help. She was in her classroom, so I bopped in and asked if she needed me to sub for her. She gladly accepted.
A very long story to get to a short truth: I fell in love with the 2010-2011 4th Grade Class. I ended up subbing for them that whole first week and a day or two of the next week, until they worked out a second 1/2 day teacher to replace their regular one who really needed to take the year off. They are an absolute delight. There are some children that are a challenge, but I love each and every one of them; they have become MY class.
Several weeks ago, I got a message on the answering machine from their afternoon teacher. It went something like this:
"Patti, I know you're having some problems and you may not be up to this; I even hesitated to call you, but these kids just LOVE you. I need a substitute. If you can't do it, please feel free to say 'no', but I just wanted to give you a call and see. They love you so much."
I called her back and reassured her that she should ALWAYS call me first when it comes to the 4th grade. I committed to two days of subbing in the afternoon two weeks ago.
The second day was their Play Practice day. Every year, the 4th grade students perform a Shakespearean play. The play varies from year to year. This year's choice was "Much Ado About Nothing". The teacher left a script and notes on what they should work on and I had such fun with them. We practiced speaking slowly, loudly, and distinctly; we worked on entrances and exits; we spent some time on body movement and expression. It was a dream for an English major that fell in love with Shakespeare in elementary school herself.
Their performance was last Friday. I got a call that morning from the mother of one of the students to remind me, not that I needed a reminder. I was picking up hot Krispy Kreme doughnuts for Daelyn's class for his birthday surprise, so I picked up an extre 2 1/2 dozen for the 4th grade for their Cast Party.
They were superb. I've never seen the audience so engaged at a 4th grade play. We clapped everytime the actors left the stage. We laughed readily and easily, and very often. The students seemed to be naturals, pausing until clapping and laughter subsided and playing to the crowd. They obviously enjoyed themselves immensely, and the parents/aunts/cousins/siblings . . . LOVED it.
The comedic characters in the play were the head of the Watch, Dogberry, and his assistant, Verges. For these two parts, the teacher chose the quietest, shyest of the students. They found a voice they've never had before and were amazing. In the play, they are cautioned by the Governor to watch for "evil, sneaking about". Dogberry, who gets little right and is very confused, makes a strong case for why "evil snickers" and the play on words continues throughout the length of the performance.
We've adopted a new term around our house: snickering evil. Anytime something looks questionable, it's "snickering evil". That term is probably used daily by one of the members of the Doughty family. This morning, Deanna commented on the snickering evil of something or other.
I love that we have a family culture; that we have phrases that we use and all understand, that we have jokes that only make sense to us and no one else would really "get" them, that our shared experiences have created a oneness that's obvious in our humor and the way we talk. And, now, we have snickering evil to add to our repertoire of Doughty Family culture.
Thank you, 4th Grade, and I look forward to subbing for you this afternoon.
Don and I talked about it. I was inclined for volunteer for a couple of months to give them a little wiggle-room in finding someone for the rest of the year, but Don reminded me that I was going to have knee surgery, which hadn't yet been scheduled, and I couldn't make a commitment to anything with that hanging over my head.
The Principal was able to find someone to teach in the afternoons but, the Friday before school started, the regular teacher had her first chemo treatment and had a pretty rough time. The doctors told her it would just get worse with subsequent treatments.
The first day of school was pretty tough and she had to leave the Opening Assembly to go back to her classroom and rest. After Assembly, I headed for the Elementary Wing to see if I could help. She was in her classroom, so I bopped in and asked if she needed me to sub for her. She gladly accepted.
A very long story to get to a short truth: I fell in love with the 2010-2011 4th Grade Class. I ended up subbing for them that whole first week and a day or two of the next week, until they worked out a second 1/2 day teacher to replace their regular one who really needed to take the year off. They are an absolute delight. There are some children that are a challenge, but I love each and every one of them; they have become MY class.
Several weeks ago, I got a message on the answering machine from their afternoon teacher. It went something like this:
"Patti, I know you're having some problems and you may not be up to this; I even hesitated to call you, but these kids just LOVE you. I need a substitute. If you can't do it, please feel free to say 'no', but I just wanted to give you a call and see. They love you so much."
I called her back and reassured her that she should ALWAYS call me first when it comes to the 4th grade. I committed to two days of subbing in the afternoon two weeks ago.
The second day was their Play Practice day. Every year, the 4th grade students perform a Shakespearean play. The play varies from year to year. This year's choice was "Much Ado About Nothing". The teacher left a script and notes on what they should work on and I had such fun with them. We practiced speaking slowly, loudly, and distinctly; we worked on entrances and exits; we spent some time on body movement and expression. It was a dream for an English major that fell in love with Shakespeare in elementary school herself.
Their performance was last Friday. I got a call that morning from the mother of one of the students to remind me, not that I needed a reminder. I was picking up hot Krispy Kreme doughnuts for Daelyn's class for his birthday surprise, so I picked up an extre 2 1/2 dozen for the 4th grade for their Cast Party.
They were superb. I've never seen the audience so engaged at a 4th grade play. We clapped everytime the actors left the stage. We laughed readily and easily, and very often. The students seemed to be naturals, pausing until clapping and laughter subsided and playing to the crowd. They obviously enjoyed themselves immensely, and the parents/aunts/cousins/siblings . . . LOVED it.
The comedic characters in the play were the head of the Watch, Dogberry, and his assistant, Verges. For these two parts, the teacher chose the quietest, shyest of the students. They found a voice they've never had before and were amazing. In the play, they are cautioned by the Governor to watch for "evil, sneaking about". Dogberry, who gets little right and is very confused, makes a strong case for why "evil snickers" and the play on words continues throughout the length of the performance.
We've adopted a new term around our house: snickering evil. Anytime something looks questionable, it's "snickering evil". That term is probably used daily by one of the members of the Doughty family. This morning, Deanna commented on the snickering evil of something or other.
I love that we have a family culture; that we have phrases that we use and all understand, that we have jokes that only make sense to us and no one else would really "get" them, that our shared experiences have created a oneness that's obvious in our humor and the way we talk. And, now, we have snickering evil to add to our repertoire of Doughty Family culture.
Thank you, 4th Grade, and I look forward to subbing for you this afternoon.
Tuesday, April 05, 2011
Tongue Twister
On the way to Dane's baseball practice last night (which turned out to not really be a practice), we were stopped at a light. To our right was a large drugstore, an Eckerd or Walgreens, or something or other. What struck me was a BLUE BOX sitting in front of it with the words "Blockbuster" emblazoned across it.
The children noticed it first and we all had a good laugh.
"I guess Blockbuster is trying to compete with Red Box," I commented, slurring my words hopelessly. But that gave me an idea.
"Hey, guys, bet you can't say 'Blockbuster Blue Box' five times!"
I couldn't even successfully do it twice. The second time, it always came out 'Blockbuster Blue Blox'.
The children tried, repeatedly (and I DO mean repeatedly; it kept them occupied for about 10 solid minutes). Dane finally succeeded, after many attempts, to do it 3 times in a row. Neither Deanna nor I had any success, and the original challenge of 5 times, we decided, was an impossibility.
You try it. Say "Blockbuster Blue Box' 3 times fast and see what a mess you end up with.
Just a normal Monday afternoon on the road with the Doughty's.
The children noticed it first and we all had a good laugh.
"I guess Blockbuster is trying to compete with Red Box," I commented, slurring my words hopelessly. But that gave me an idea.
"Hey, guys, bet you can't say 'Blockbuster Blue Box' five times!"
I couldn't even successfully do it twice. The second time, it always came out 'Blockbuster Blue Blox'.
The children tried, repeatedly (and I DO mean repeatedly; it kept them occupied for about 10 solid minutes). Dane finally succeeded, after many attempts, to do it 3 times in a row. Neither Deanna nor I had any success, and the original challenge of 5 times, we decided, was an impossibility.
You try it. Say "Blockbuster Blue Box' 3 times fast and see what a mess you end up with.
Just a normal Monday afternoon on the road with the Doughty's.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
More rain than I can take
It's been raining for days. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, because we normally have drought conditions by June and, maybe this year, we'll miss the bullet. But it's so dark and drab outside and everything's muddy. Add to that Daelyn's baseball try-outs, which have already been rescheduled from Monday night til tonight and Dane's baseball practices tomorrow night and Saturday, and I'm spending way too much time calling around to find out if things are canceled.
About ten days ago, we had rain one evening. I could have sworn that I saw the plants growing the next day. They had gotten so much bigger just from one good rain that I can't wait to see what Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday night, and Wednesday rain will do for them.
I don't have my garden in yet, which is a travesty, especially with all this great natural watering. But things are hectic around here, as usual, and on the days I've had time, it's been raining. I'll have to get my work done in the house this week so I can spend some concerted time and energy on the gardens on Saturday.
Daelyn's birthday is Friday, and there are lots of preparations to be made, mostly outside, which can't be done. But, if I survive, I should have Saturday afternoon to work on gardening.
Our dryer went out over a week ago. I honestly don't know what people did before modern conveniences. Don put a clothes line across the living room for me so I can dry clothes, but EVERYTHING has to be ironed. I mean everything. The elementary school boys uniform consists of khaki pants and white polo shirts. In 6 years of elementary school for Dane and 4 so far for Daelyn, I've never once ironed a polo shirt - until this week, and I've ironed every single one in the last several days.
I've just left the ironing board up in the den. I bought the second set of parts for the dryer yesterday in the hopes Don would put it back together last night, since I have to wash P.E. uniforms. As I was crawling into bed, I asked the "dreaded" question: "Can I use it?" The answer was not affirmative.
I didn't quite understand what he has yet to do, but he said something about having to move the washing machine back out (I keep pushing it back in place so I can use it) so he can get behind the dryer to put it back together. It looks put together; I guess that might just be the front.
So, I suppose I'll have to do one more load of Chinese laundry before we again have a dryer. I've tried very hard to not complain; I figure if Don is spending every evening working on it, taking up his precious time to try and repair the one we have, then it must be important to him that we not buy a new one. The least I can do is try and have a good attitude.
I'm going to put on my smile and go do a much-needed load of wash, then plug the iron back in. More school pants, underwear, T-shirts, etc. need to be touched up before marching out the door on children.
Fun, fun, fun. I just LOVE these rainy days.
About ten days ago, we had rain one evening. I could have sworn that I saw the plants growing the next day. They had gotten so much bigger just from one good rain that I can't wait to see what Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday night, and Wednesday rain will do for them.
I don't have my garden in yet, which is a travesty, especially with all this great natural watering. But things are hectic around here, as usual, and on the days I've had time, it's been raining. I'll have to get my work done in the house this week so I can spend some concerted time and energy on the gardens on Saturday.
Daelyn's birthday is Friday, and there are lots of preparations to be made, mostly outside, which can't be done. But, if I survive, I should have Saturday afternoon to work on gardening.
Our dryer went out over a week ago. I honestly don't know what people did before modern conveniences. Don put a clothes line across the living room for me so I can dry clothes, but EVERYTHING has to be ironed. I mean everything. The elementary school boys uniform consists of khaki pants and white polo shirts. In 6 years of elementary school for Dane and 4 so far for Daelyn, I've never once ironed a polo shirt - until this week, and I've ironed every single one in the last several days.
I've just left the ironing board up in the den. I bought the second set of parts for the dryer yesterday in the hopes Don would put it back together last night, since I have to wash P.E. uniforms. As I was crawling into bed, I asked the "dreaded" question: "Can I use it?" The answer was not affirmative.
I didn't quite understand what he has yet to do, but he said something about having to move the washing machine back out (I keep pushing it back in place so I can use it) so he can get behind the dryer to put it back together. It looks put together; I guess that might just be the front.
So, I suppose I'll have to do one more load of Chinese laundry before we again have a dryer. I've tried very hard to not complain; I figure if Don is spending every evening working on it, taking up his precious time to try and repair the one we have, then it must be important to him that we not buy a new one. The least I can do is try and have a good attitude.
I'm going to put on my smile and go do a much-needed load of wash, then plug the iron back in. More school pants, underwear, T-shirts, etc. need to be touched up before marching out the door on children.
Fun, fun, fun. I just LOVE these rainy days.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Gratefulness for Our School
I haven't posted in a very long time (nearly a year), but something struck me so strongly this morning that I wanted to write about it.
In a nutshell, I'm thankful for our school.
Now, the long version.
Yesterday morning, when I went to check on the children, Dane was still in bed, sound asleep, despite the noise all over the house. He was just exhausted. He's dealing with that "coughing thing" again; the non-stop wheezing and coughing that happens to him when his asthma gets exacerbated by a respiratory thing. He's coughing so much, he's unable to sleep well and is just slap worn out.
I decided to let him sleep and take him into school late when he woke up naturally. By the time he woke up and went through his morning coughing spell, I decided he needed MORE sleep and that his coughing would likely be disruptive at school, so I kept him home. He took a nice nap, which is almost unheard-of for him, and spent most of the day laying around, resting and coughing, complaining of his chest hurting.
When I dropped the children off at school this morning, one of his teachers (that he has for 2 classes and is the Dean of Girls and the Mama of the Middle School) was in the parking lot, so I stopped to talk with her. I told her what he's dealing with and that you should feel free to call me to pick him up if his coughing got too bad. As I drove away, it HIT me like a ton of bricks.
If we didn't have our school, my son might be in Public school. Now, I'm not dis-ing Public school. My tax dollars help pay for them. But, in Georgia, you can't keep a child home from school without a doctor's excuse. Gone are the days of parental decision-making. The state has taken that right away. Now, only doctors can decide if a student needs to stay home from school. I understand that so many parents have abdicated that right and allowed their children to be truant without good reason, that the state felt it must step in. But I could not keep Dane home to sleep and cough without disrupting class without dragging him into a doctor's office, paying a co-pay, and hoping that the doctor agreed with me. That is, if he were in Public school.
Suddenly, I had an image in my mind of the Public school I went to for a couple of years. In the middle of the picture was my sweet Dane. It, quite literally, sent chills up and down my spine. My children have teachers that are a part of their daily lives. When the kids have questions, we can call their teachers at home for help. When the dog ate their Science Fair project this year, I e-mailed their Science teacher, who was in Utah at the time, and he promptly responded, explaining that his cell phone coverage was spotty but he could get his e-mail, and asking me to please e-mail him ALL the details so he could advise us. IN UTAH!! ON VACATION!! His response saved the day and the project.
And it's not just that the teachers are "available". They really care about the children. They talk with me about issues of concern, things they see that I might not. They discuss progress and how best to meet the needs of each child. They spoil when my kids need it, Aunt or Uncle when my children need that, discipline when that's needed, but, mostly, they love, love, love.
There's so much more I could say. When we keep the children home, all we really need to do is call the school office and let the secretary know we've kept them, so all the children are accounted for. I even forget that most of the time. The Middle School teachers have a system where they write up all the work missed for absent students, then give it to a neighbor or sibling. In Elementary, the teacher chooses another student to pull together the absent child's work. Dane sent a note via Deanna to one of his friends, listing the specific things he needed sent home from his locker and asking his friend to give it to Deanna. When it arrived home in a plastic bag, there was a theater-size box of candy in it, as well. We're not sure if it was from the teacher of the student that Dane sent the note to. In any case, he was missed and his absence was noticed.
All this might sound, I don't know, surfacy or something. But this is nothing but deep. I'm so deeply grateful. I remember when we started our school. I was very excited and ready to do what I could to help. But the picture really changes when your own children are school age. I can't even imagine what it would be like without our school and the love of the teachers and staff that interact daily with my precious babies.
I'm really glad I won't ever have to experience having children in Public school. I'm very thankful for the sacrifices that were made by so many to start our school and to continue to keep it going, despite huge challenges.
We're blessed in so many ways that we take many for granted. Today I realized one of those ways that I don't often ponder.
In a nutshell, I'm thankful for our school.
Now, the long version.
Yesterday morning, when I went to check on the children, Dane was still in bed, sound asleep, despite the noise all over the house. He was just exhausted. He's dealing with that "coughing thing" again; the non-stop wheezing and coughing that happens to him when his asthma gets exacerbated by a respiratory thing. He's coughing so much, he's unable to sleep well and is just slap worn out.
I decided to let him sleep and take him into school late when he woke up naturally. By the time he woke up and went through his morning coughing spell, I decided he needed MORE sleep and that his coughing would likely be disruptive at school, so I kept him home. He took a nice nap, which is almost unheard-of for him, and spent most of the day laying around, resting and coughing, complaining of his chest hurting.
When I dropped the children off at school this morning, one of his teachers (that he has for 2 classes and is the Dean of Girls and the Mama of the Middle School) was in the parking lot, so I stopped to talk with her. I told her what he's dealing with and that you should feel free to call me to pick him up if his coughing got too bad. As I drove away, it HIT me like a ton of bricks.
If we didn't have our school, my son might be in Public school. Now, I'm not dis-ing Public school. My tax dollars help pay for them. But, in Georgia, you can't keep a child home from school without a doctor's excuse. Gone are the days of parental decision-making. The state has taken that right away. Now, only doctors can decide if a student needs to stay home from school. I understand that so many parents have abdicated that right and allowed their children to be truant without good reason, that the state felt it must step in. But I could not keep Dane home to sleep and cough without disrupting class without dragging him into a doctor's office, paying a co-pay, and hoping that the doctor agreed with me. That is, if he were in Public school.
Suddenly, I had an image in my mind of the Public school I went to for a couple of years. In the middle of the picture was my sweet Dane. It, quite literally, sent chills up and down my spine. My children have teachers that are a part of their daily lives. When the kids have questions, we can call their teachers at home for help. When the dog ate their Science Fair project this year, I e-mailed their Science teacher, who was in Utah at the time, and he promptly responded, explaining that his cell phone coverage was spotty but he could get his e-mail, and asking me to please e-mail him ALL the details so he could advise us. IN UTAH!! ON VACATION!! His response saved the day and the project.
And it's not just that the teachers are "available". They really care about the children. They talk with me about issues of concern, things they see that I might not. They discuss progress and how best to meet the needs of each child. They spoil when my kids need it, Aunt or Uncle when my children need that, discipline when that's needed, but, mostly, they love, love, love.
There's so much more I could say. When we keep the children home, all we really need to do is call the school office and let the secretary know we've kept them, so all the children are accounted for. I even forget that most of the time. The Middle School teachers have a system where they write up all the work missed for absent students, then give it to a neighbor or sibling. In Elementary, the teacher chooses another student to pull together the absent child's work. Dane sent a note via Deanna to one of his friends, listing the specific things he needed sent home from his locker and asking his friend to give it to Deanna. When it arrived home in a plastic bag, there was a theater-size box of candy in it, as well. We're not sure if it was from the teacher of the student that Dane sent the note to. In any case, he was missed and his absence was noticed.
All this might sound, I don't know, surfacy or something. But this is nothing but deep. I'm so deeply grateful. I remember when we started our school. I was very excited and ready to do what I could to help. But the picture really changes when your own children are school age. I can't even imagine what it would be like without our school and the love of the teachers and staff that interact daily with my precious babies.
I'm really glad I won't ever have to experience having children in Public school. I'm very thankful for the sacrifices that were made by so many to start our school and to continue to keep it going, despite huge challenges.
We're blessed in so many ways that we take many for granted. Today I realized one of those ways that I don't often ponder.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)