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.

Peanuts, Wherefore Art Thou?

This past February, I took Deanna and Dane skiing in North Carolina.  This was Deanna's second ski trip (I took her for the first time a couple of years ago) and Dane's first experience.  I put both of them in Ski School to learn the basics.  Dane, of course, was certain he was already an expert and didn't need any training.  Since I was dealing with my blood clots and was on blood-thinners at the time, I couldn't ski, so I watched and filmed!

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!

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'!

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.