tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-147809032024-03-14T02:11:22.256-04:00Mercy Drops FallingRaising children in today's world takes mercy - lots of mercy falling like raindrops.Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.comBlogger870125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-5304060208183044812012-11-05T12:09:00.002-05:002012-11-05T12:09:40.578-05:00Ran across this while looking up a movie on a Christian website. Thought it was extremely insightful.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
"The lie is eternal. <br />
<br />
We don't think about lies as such, not at first. Rarely do we think about them
at all. We don't build them to last or construct them with care. They are ugly,
utilitarian things; lingual shields we forge with frenzied fury and cower
behind when danger comes close. We think we need them to save what we
treasure—reputations, friendships, careers—and then, when the danger passes, we
try to discard them as so much scrap.<br />
<br />
But we can't. Lies stick to us. We carry them with us—silent reminders of that
moment of fear, that threat of disgrace. They stay with us always and sometimes
grow, the weight pulling us downward as we become hunched, contorted,
exhausted. It's the paradox of prevarications: After we form them, they form
us."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Definitely worth thinking about this Monday morning.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-14093784863889758092012-06-23T01:47:00.002-04:002012-06-23T01:47:23.707-04:00Mouse TragedyWe had a tragedy today. One of our baby mice died.<br />
<br />
I noticed this afternoon that he was pretty listless, so I took him out and held him. He's gotten much smaller than his brothers and I was concerned that he was starving, so I put him in a food bowl and held him for a long time. I finally took him into Deanna's room and we discussed the problem. I was afraid he was dying, but decided that I would clean up one of the cages we weren't using and put him in his own house alone, away from greedy, bigger brothers.<br />
<br />
Deanna held him for a full hour while I prepared a new cage for him. I filled it with special treats and lovingly set up a wheel and tunnels for him. Then I took the cage into Deanna's room where we put the little guy and set it up on top of the nursery, the cage where our female mouse (the mother of this guy) lives in Deanna's room. He was very inquisitive and spent a good bit of time looking over his new home.<br />
<br />
This all happened while I was making dinner. After dinner, I went to check on him and found him dead in his new cage. I buried him outside, but it really saddened me. I don't know what happened. Perhaps he was ill. Maybe he caught a cold or the heat from the kitchen up near the ceiling, where his other cage sits, was too much for him. I don't know; he just died.<br />
<br />
Daelyn cried. Deanna moped. We're all grieving the loss of another of our babies. We only have 2 left out of a litter of 9.<br />
<br />
This isn't exactly the way we wanted to get rid of them. We would prefer for people to adopt them, not feed them to the dog or kill them off one by one.Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-69155757377856839202012-06-23T01:41:00.000-04:002012-06-23T01:41:08.132-04:00They're ALL confused!!Daelyn: "Mom, what's for dinner tonight?"<br />
Me: "Pork loin."<br />
Daelyn: "Oh, darn."<br />
Me: "What's wrong?"<br />
Daelyn: "I just wish you'd cook something other than chicken sometimes."<br />
<br />
Later . . .<br />
Deanna: "What's for dinner?"<br />
Me: "Pork loin."<br />
Deanna: "Isn't that from, like, around the crotch area?"<br />
Me: "Do you mean 'groin'?"<br />
<br />
Later still . . .<br />
Don: "So, we're having chicken crotch for dinner, I see."<br />
<br />
And people think THEIR families are weird!Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-56163453828980409962012-03-27T08:53:00.000-04:002012-03-27T08:53:05.151-04:00JammiesMy children's school is, literally, a 2-minute drive from our house. I pull up in the carpool lane, they jump out, and I drive off again - 6 to 7 minutes max from start to finish.<br />
<br />
Mornings at my house consist of waking Dane, waking Daelyn, throwing a load of laundry in the washing machine, waking Dane, checking on Deanna, popping into our bathroom to say hello to Don, waking Dane, making breakfast, waking Dane, preparing lunches, nagging Dane to finish dressing and walk the dog . . . , I've gotten into the habit of running into my bathroom at the last minute, throwing regular clothes on the top of my body, and tearing back out again, leaving pajamas on the bottom half. I don't have time to bathe until the children are gone, and I don't really like to put clean clothes on a dirty body, so I keep the jammies on until there's time for my bath.<br />
<br />
On my way home from dropping the children at school this morning, I realized I had neglected to tell Dane he was riding home with someone else today. Grandpa has a doctor's appointment and I'm not sure we'll be home in time to get the children, so I made other arrangements. Everyone is coming home with someone different, but they should all end up here in close proximity to each other, hopefully, because Deanna's the only one with a key to the house.<br />
<br />
I thought about calling the school and leaving the message, but there's no guarantee that they will always get those messages. I thought that if I passed another car on it's way to school, that I'd flag them down and ask any Middle School kids in it to give Dane the message. But what if I didn't pass any other cars. Or what if Dane thought it was a joke and didn't believe the person. I made a quick decision, checked the clock, and decided that it was still early enough that the Middle School boys would be standing around outside the door. I could get back in the carpool line and holler out the window at Dane.<br />
<br />
I turned around and headed back for the school but noticed as I approached that nobody was standing outside the Middle School doors where the boys are required to gather before school. All their stuff was there, blocking the doorway so you could hardly get in, but no boys.<br />
<br />
I parked, jumped out of the car, and ran in the door. I passed one young man and asked where they were.<br />
<br />
"Setting up chairs in the cafeteria," he said. Oh, boy. Here we go. So, in my pajama bottoms, I rounded the corner from the hallway into the cafeteria, hoping Dane would be close to that door. Nope. Of course not. He was the boy the furthest from me. And, just then, everyone started filing out the door past me. As each boy passed, he smiled, most spoke, and EACH ONE discreetly averted their eyes downward at my pajama bottoms. No one commented, no funny expressions crossed their faces, just a quick glance.<br />
<br />
It took me several minutes to get Dane's attention and tell him about his ride situation this afternoon. In the meantime, more boys were milling past me, with the ever-present "sneaky" glance at my pajama bottoms. As I finished with Dane and walked back out to my car, I couldn't help but laugh. Polite boys we're raising here. Not a single one of them mentioned my pajamas, nor laughed, smiled, or commented about my choice of clothing. But not a single one of them missed noticing, either.<br />
<br />
My secret's out now. I wear pajamas to bed and don't change out of them first thing in the morning. In fact, some days I stay in pajama bottoms half the day. They're comfortable. And, if I get busy cleaning or cooking or doing laundry, I don't always want to take the time to get my bath and fully dress. I do normally, though, attempt to dress before leaving the house for things other than the drive to school.<br />
<br />
Just so you know.Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-57946844802851483002012-02-07T09:09:00.000-05:002012-02-07T09:09:17.650-05:00Intelligence by AssociationI have a child who has hit puberty with a vengeance. Gone are the sweet, cuddly moments. Gone are the snuggles at bedtime. Gone are the earnest chats about life, problems, etc. In their place, I have a snarling, disrespectful creature that barely resembles the child I birthed.<br />
<br />
I'm a talker - from the word "Go". My response to problems is: 1. Talk them out; 2. If that fails, punch out the perpetrator (I still have Irish blood in me). Neither of these solutions work with this child. However, since #2 is definitely out of the question, I have given added attention to my #1 way of dealing with problems.<br />
<br />
In an effort recently to help this child understand the emotions he/she is having towards me right now, I explained that puberty causes all children to think their parents are idiots. They will one day wake up, often in their 20's (we all pray it happens much earlier, though), and realize that their parents suddenly got really, really smart. They understand things. When could this possibly have happened? I wanted this child to understand that thinking his/her father and I are stupid is a normal part of puberty, but it's also not the truth and that feeling will go away one day.<br />
<br />
This morning, this child smiled at me (boy, is that ever rare) and told me he/she has decided I'm not the dumbest person in the world. Surprised, but cautious, I asked,<br />
<br />
"Oh? So is your father the dumbest person in the world?"<br />
<br />
"No!" this child said, emphatically. "Daddy's brilliant. And I figure, with him being so smart and all, he wouldn't have chosen a dumb person to marry. So, you MUST be reasonably smart."Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-6508772244671161182012-02-06T08:41:00.001-05:002012-02-06T08:41:23.887-05:00The Extraordinary OrdinaryTo all those stay-at-home Moms who wonder what you're really contributing to the world:<br />
<br />
"<i>We seldom notice how each day is a holy place</i><br />
<i>Where the eucharist of the ordinary happens,</i><br />
<i>Transforming our broken fragments</i><br />
<i>Into an eternal continuity that keeps us.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>Somewhere in us a dignity presides</i><br />
<i>That is more gracious than the smallness</i><br />
<i>That fuels us with fear and force,</i><br />
<i>A dignity that trusts the form a day takes.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>So at the end of this day, we give thanks</i><br />
<i>For being betrothed to the unknown</i><br />
<i>And for the secret work</i><br />
<i>Through which the mind of the day</i><br />
<i>And wisdom of the soul become one."</i><br />
<br />
Excerpt from "The Inner History of a Day"<br />
by John O'DonohuePatti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-7246931204407379152012-02-03T09:50:00.000-05:002012-02-03T09:51:51.293-05:00A Small ReminderDuring breakfast yesterday, I glanced through the kitchen windows to the bird feeder on the deck. I LOVE watching the variety of birds that come to visit our feeder. For several years now, it's been a favorite hobby for our family.<br />
<br />
I could see one of the male cardinals who live in a tree behind our house waiting in a pecan tree for his turn. But what really attracted my attention was the bird on the feeder. He was brown with reddish markings, but not rust-colored.<br />
<br />
"Is that a robin? Look at that bird, kids. What is that? Is it a finch?"<br />
<br />
When the kids saw me looking outside, they all turned, as well. At the same moment I said, "Is it a finch?", Daelyn blurted out,<br />
<br />
"A PURPLE FINCH! Look, Mom, it's a purple finch!"<br />
<br />
As soon as he said it, I realized he was right. My father-in-law has house finches that feed on his feeders quite often, but we don't often get to see purple finches. He was beautiful, although I'm not sure I would have called his color purple, exactly.<br />
<br />
What struck me the most about this incident was not the beauty of the finch, although I loved that, but the fact that my 9-yr. old son knew what kind of bird it was. AND - was excited to see a purple finch at our feeder.<br />
<br />
There are moments in life when you think you've done something right. They're never often enough, but those little glimmers into the thought that I've made my children's world better carry me through many hard times.Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-39128953123484986712012-02-01T23:41:00.001-05:002012-02-01T23:41:17.691-05:00More Technical Knowledge than MeWhen Dane has his infrequent check-ups, our doctor always has to dig
stuff out of his ear so he can see the eardrum. He affectionately
refers to them as "potatoes".<br />
<br />
While driving home from Atlanta on Saturday, I noticed Deanna had her index finger in her ear and was jiggling it up and down.<br />
<br />
"Mama," she asked, "do you get pickles in your ears?"<br />
<br />
I chortled then, before bursting into laughter full-tilt, I responded,<br />
<br />
"Not very often!"<br />
<br />
Turns out, she really asked if I got pimples in my ears, not pickles. But, I assure you, it sounded exactly like pickles. And then it occurred to me.<br />
<br />
"You know, honey, we can stop planting gardens. You can just grow pickles and Dane potatoes out of your ears and we can save a lot of money on fertilizer and bedding plants."<br />
<br />
Deanna didn't appreciate my humor at all.<br />
<br />
<br />Then, on Monday, after school, Daelyn was recanting a story from his day. His teacher's husband (who's also a teacher) had gotten a new Iphone4S (I think that's what they called it) and was asking it questions. First, he asked,<br />
<br />
"Where should I put a dead body?"<br />
<br />
The iphone answered, "Some suggestions would be a funeral home, a dumpster, or your house."<br />
<br />
I cracked up. A phone with a sense of humor. Then Dane asked,<br />
<br />
"What's a pilate?"<br />
<br />
Daelyn, our little techie, launched into a definition of pilates. Deanna and I looked at each other and she interrupted Daelyn.<br />
<br />
"Dane," she explained in her older sister voice, "Daelyn said 'Where should I put a DEAD BODY.' The word pilate was never said!"<br />
<br />
Dane and Daelyn responded together.<br />
<br />
"Oh."<br />
<br />
Apparently, Daelyn hadn't picked up on the fact that Dane had potatoes in his ears and couldn't hear well. He really thought Dane wanted to know what pilates were.<br />
<br />
After a short break for laughing, Daelyn continued with the story. The teacher asked the phone if it would marry him. It responded,<br />
<br />
"I don't think we know each other well enough."<br />
<br />
When the teacher pressed the issue and added the word "please" to his request, the phone responded that his contract didn't include marriage.<br />
<br />
I was flabbergasted. How in the world have they been able to program a mini-computer in a phone to have a sense of humor? It couldn't be accidental. Every answer was humorous.<br />
<br />
I finally voiced my question aloud.<br />
<br />
"How could they possibly have programmed humor into a cell phone?"<br />
<br />
Daelyn responded with two words: "Steve Jobs".<br />
<br />
See. Our little techie.Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-16160968900796283072012-01-31T09:07:00.000-05:002012-01-31T09:07:43.624-05:00A Comedy of Errors that Wasn't Very FunnyDeanna got out of school early on Friday and I was napping and forgot about her. In my own defense, I've been battling bronchitis for 2 weeks and am exhausted - - can't sleep at night for all the coughing, so I laid down for a little nap. I never expected to conk out and sleep for several hours. Don was home from work. He finally went to pick her up, but she had already caught a ride home with the LAST person still there. She was devastated that we had forgotten her. To make matters worse, she had called the house and no one answered the phone.<br />
<br />
I had similar experiences in my childhood that I vividly remember and still hurt about. I was determined not to make excuses or slough off forgetting to pick her up. She had an out-of-town basketball game scheduled for Saturday morning, so I decided I'd drive the 3 hours to Atlanta, watch her game, then bring her home afterwards so she didn't have to sit in the stands for 3 more hours watching the other teams play and waste her whole Saturday. They had to leave on the bus at 7 a.m. and were not expected home until 8 p.m.<br />
<br />
So, I took Dane. We left at 8 a.m., figuring that would get us there a few minutes before the start of Deanna's game at 11:00. I Googled the school and got MapQuest directions, which were WRONG!!! But we also had the address, so we found the school with only a couple detours from wrong directions. The school was on I-85 south of Atlanta in Fairburn.<br />
<br />
We made amazingly good time. Traffic was very reasonable, and I set the cruise control and zoomed. When we finally arrived, a few minutes after 11:00 because of the bad directions, the game hadn't started. They told us they didn't have an 11:00 game, that the game didn't start until noon. I walked into the gym, looked at the boys warming up, and knew something was wrong. Turns out, we were at the wrong school. The Creekside High School WE wanted was off of I-75 in McDonough, GA. A teacher at the wrong school printed out directions from her laptop for us to the correct school but, by the time we arrived, 45 minutes later, the game was over and Deanna was sitting in the stands, not knowing where we were or what had happened to us.<br />
<br />
One of those situations where you can't seem to do anything right. She was very upset. So was I. But, as a mother, you have to hold your own frustration in check so as to console your child. After all, we had driven a total of almost 4 hours, still had a 3-hr. drive home, and all for a game that we totally missed. AND, I was still sick and fighting to stay awake. Not exactly how I wanted to spend a Saturday.<br />
<br />
We went to Red Lobster and had lunch and Deanna's spirits finally lifted. The drive home was pleasant and I'm very glad we went, even with all the slip-ups. She still arrived home hours before her teammates, which was the goal in the first place.<br />
<br />
In light of Friday and Saturday, I have decided to attend Deanna's basketball game outside of Atlanta this afternoon. I'm taking Daelyn out of school early (since he missed the game Saturday because he needed to work on his car for the Scout Pinewood Derby), picking up another mom, and heading to another game. I'm determined to get this right.<br />
<br />
At least I've been to this school before. So has the other mother. And we ought to be able to get accurate directions, since the ones I used when going to this school last time got me there.<br />
<br />
I keep hoping for redemption . . .Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-37858042625044133242012-01-27T23:13:00.001-05:002012-01-27T23:15:15.161-05:00Javelins and teethLast Friday night, we went out to dinner at the local Mexican place. While we were waiting to place our orders, Don wrote out an algebra word problem on a napkin and gave it to Deanna to solve. She really struggled, even after he explained what the two variables would be. Ultimately, she couldn't solve his double-variable algebraic word problem about a caterpillar and a grasshopper moving opposite directions around a circle.<br />
<br />
Tonight, at the dinner table, we were talking about rocket scientists.<br />
<br />
"I could be a rocket scientist," Deanna said.<br />
<br />
"Uh, no, I don't think so," her daddy said. When we all looked at him quizzically, he added, "A caterpillar and a grasshopper moving opposite directions around a circle . . . "<br />
<br />
Deanna's mouth dropped open and she looked at me.<br />
<br />
"Is Daddy saying I'm too dumb to be a rocket scientist?"<br />
<br />
"It sure seems that way, honey," I responded.<br />
<br />
Don: "But don't worry, Sissy. If all else fails, you can be a seamstress!"<br />
<br />
Me: "Oh, lovely. That's the most to which you aspire for your daughter - a seamstress?!?"<br />
<br />
Deanna: "I couldn't be a seamstress. I get too stressed out!! Oh, my gosh, I can't even be a seamstress!"<br />
<br />
Don: "Well, if they ever add swimming to the Miss America Pageant, you could be a beauty queen."<br />
<br />
Me: "Maybe what they need to do is add different sports to each year's pageant."<br />
<br />
Don: "Yes, like the Olympics."<br />
<br />
Me: "One year, they could do javelin throwing . . . in high heels."<br />
<br />
Daelyn: " 'Sorry - I didn't mean to put out your eye'."<br />
<br />
Deanna: "Or boxing."<br />
<br />
Me: "And the girl with the most teeth left is proclaimed the winner!!"<br />
<br />
Sad. Just sad. This is what we do at Family Dinners.<br />
<br />
<br />Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-92155988472950973052012-01-14T21:53:00.000-05:002012-01-14T21:53:18.637-05:00New take on an old themeSomehow or other, we ended up watching the Miss America 2012 Pageant. I tried to talk the kids into watching an episode of a weekly show on the computer, but they seemed fascinated by the Pageant.<br />
<br />
Slowly, but surely, the boys disappeared off to bed. I finally asked Deanna,<br />
<br />
"Can't we change the channels NOW, hon?"<br />
<br />
"Well," she said, "I need to go brush my teeth, but I'd really like to see the end of the bathing suit competition."<br />
<br />
"That WAS the end," I responded.<br />
<br />
"What? They don't SWIM? They just parade around in bathing suits looking hot? Where's the athleticism?"<br />
<br />
Great new idea for the Miss America Pageant. After marching onstage in skimpy bathing suits and heels, they ought to take to the Pool and try to look sexy while swimming laps!!<br />
<br />
Now THAT I might enjoy watching.<br />
<br />
<br />Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-86376554563523693762012-01-12T20:08:00.001-05:002012-01-12T20:08:31.032-05:00Look out, Drivers!!Deanna obtained her Learner's Permit today! We're all very excited. I took her out to the local Mexican Restaurant for lunch to celebrate (and, also, because she had missed lunchtime at school). Before we left, I called over our good friend, Jesus, the manager, to share our good news. Deanna pulled out her official paper copy and proudly displayed it.<br />
<br />
"Ouch-y-wah-wah!" yelled our Mexican friend excitedly. He called over another server and, together, the two of them read every word. Deanna watched, fascinated that anyone would care that much.<br />
<br />
I found myself wondering if they've never seen one before, if they did it simply because they know we're good customers and wanted to ensure our continued patronage, or if they could possibly have been that interested.<br />
<br />
In any case, for the first time ever, my daughter heard someone other than me exclaim, "Ouch-y-wah-wah!" Maybe now she'll believe I really didn't make that up.Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-77266659334347968502012-01-12T20:02:00.002-05:002012-01-12T20:02:43.310-05:00I always suspected . . .One child, as he/she walks towards the bench at the kitchen table where he/she normally sits to sibling, who is laying down across the entire bench:<br />
<br />
"You have to move. You're laying right where I put my head!"Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-55401495705461332252012-01-10T10:05:00.001-05:002012-01-10T10:05:17.617-05:00Better All the TimeI'm actually going to Post twice in the same day!!<br />
<br />
Dane is playing basketball on the Middle School "B" Team. He loves it. However, my son is easy-going and lopes down the court, in no hurry to beat the ball to the opposing team's basket, nor his own. He prefers to not guard; he doesn't like being that aggressive with people he doesn't even know. Taking out his aggressions on his younger brother is far more appropriate.<br />
<br />
He has a wonderful coach, Jimmy Dresser, the father of one of his classmates. Jimmy is gentle and long-suffering. He's kind and a great teacher and knows his stuff. We were delighted to hear he'd be coaching Dane's team this year. Jimmy, in his gentle way, has worked with Dane to get him to actually RUN downcourt and GUARD the opposition.<br />
<br />
After every game, Dane wants to talk about it. We'll get in the van and he'll say,<br />
<br />
"Okay, Mom, I want to talk about the game!!" <br />
<br />
He'll ask what I thought about his playing and talk about specific plays. Game after game, I find myself saying,<br />
<br />
"That's the best game you've ever played, Son."<br />
<br />
And it's true. He improves noticeably with every single game.<br />
<br />
In their last game, Dane fouled out. As he walked off the Court, his shoulders were slumped and his head was down, but he had a little smile on his face. In the car going home, I said,<br />
<br />
"I know how you felt, Son, and you didn't need to be embarrassed."<br />
<br />
"How could you have possibly known how I felt, Mama. So, tell me. How DID I feel?"<br />
<br />
"Well, you were embarrassed and a little ashamed, but you thought that if you put that plastered-on smile on your face, your friends would think fouling out didn't matter to you and they'd still think you were cool."<br />
<br />
"That's just scary, Mom. How can you know what I was thinking?!" He just doesn't get this whole Mom-thing.<br />
<br />
Later, Don talked with his coach, Jimmy. He came home and told Dane,<br />
<br />
"Uncle Jimmy was really pleased with how you played. He said it was great that you fouled out, because that meant you were playing hard and that you're learning to guard. He said for you not to worry. Fouling out just means you're in the game, playing." I think this consoled Dane a little.<br />
<br />
Last night, they played a team from a school whose Principal is the younger brother of our Middle School Principal. He's a graduate of our school. On this team is a boy who grew up with our boys and played alongside them for years. Now, he's attending another private school and is "the opponent". Dane was really nervous going into the game and didn't think his team would play well.<br />
<br />
The score was neck-in-neck for most of the game. We'd get a basket, then they'd get one. They'd get a basket, then we'd get one. They'd foul us and we'd get a free shot. Then they'd get a basket. And on it went. In the final quarter, they began to pull away from us a little. Then they built some momentum and were 6 points ahead with only one minute to go in the game. Dane had a couple of fouls against him, but was guarding more carefully and didn't foul out. With only 30 seconds left in the game, Dane throw a ball from a little short of the half-court line and MADE A 3-POINTER!! We went crazy!! Unfortunately, we weren't able to make up the last 3 points and we lost 26 - 23 (I think - something like that, anyway).<br />
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Coming home in the van, I told Dane,<br />
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"That was the best game you've ever played. You're learning to guard correctly. You're getting more aggressive. You're RUNNING down court and trying to steal the ball. You got a ton of rebounds. And that 3-pointer, Son. It was GREAT!!!"<br />
<br />
Dane didn't argue this time. Nor did he mention that I always tell him it was the best game he's ever played. <br />
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In my opinion, this is the whole point of middle school sports. Teach the boys the basics. Train them to work as a team - no ball hogs allowed. Make sure they know how to guard correctly and proper techniques for shooting. Practice, practice, practice. Dane's turning into a real decent little basketball player.<br />
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Can you tell I'm proud?Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-43308359214580621392012-01-10T09:45:00.002-05:002012-01-10T09:45:44.530-05:00Cry-Baby, Cry-BabyA dear friend and neighbor of ours died early in the morning on New Year's Day. We attended his Prayer Service and Funeral last week. Scheduling was a bit of a challenge, though. The night of his Prayer Service, we were expecting dinner guests - two young, single men from Australia that are here visiting for a couple of weeks. Our plan was to eat at 5:30 to give us ample time to arrive at the Service by 7:00, but . . . "the best laid plans. . . "<br />
<br />
We finally found a parking spot in the packed lot around 7:30 and made our way into the Narthex of the church. It was obvious from the parking lot that there was a full house, but we didn't realize just how full until we saw people standing along all of the walls inside the church. After greeting the people in the Narthex and looking around for a few minutes, I decided to take the children into the Cry Room. At this particular church, the Cry Room is in a small chapel to the side of the main worship area and one whole wall is windows, looking into the larger church. Knowing that they had a speaker in there, and seeing very few people using it, we headed into the Cry Room.<br />
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It didn't take long to realize that the speaker just wasn't turned up high enough to hear most of what was being said. That was alright with me during the Rosary, since we're not Catholic and you don't have to hear the prayers to know what's being said, but when it was time for the family members to share about the Deceased, I wanted to hear better.<br />
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I had noticed several people walking from the Cry Room into another, smaller room through a door at the end. I asked one of the women who was coming back into the Cry Room if you could hear better from there. She smiled and nodded. I hopped up and headed in.<br />
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Turns out, this room was a small Confessional, but had a door leading into the church where you could stand and hear perfectly. I stood in the doorway of the Confessional for a few minutes. Then, quite unexpectedly, there was a break in the Sharings and a number of people rose to leave. The Service had gone on for several hours and many people just had to get home. I took full advantage of the break and called to the kids to join me, then took off for a pew that had just been emptied out. Daelyn slid in next to me.<br />
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A few minutes later, well into the remainder of the family sharings, Daelyn looked down at his wrist.<br />
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"Mom," he hissed at me loudly, "my Phiton bracelet is missing!!"<br />
<br />
Oh, my goodness. His Phiton bracelet!! He and his brother have pestered me for over a year for Phiton necklaces, sports things that the athletes wear. I finally broke down and bought a nice one for Dane at the Christian bookstore with John 3:16 printed on it and a bracelet for Daelyn and they got them for Christmas. Now, here it was, only a couple of weeks later and Daelyn had already lost his!! I was almost as disturbed as he was.<br />
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"Son!!!" I hissed back. "Do you have any idea where it might be?"<br />
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"Well, it might have fallen off my wrist in the Cry-Baby Room."<br />
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I snickered. The funny thing is that Daelyn never quite realizes he says things wrong but, often, his terms are very appropriate.Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-85782944360009848852012-01-09T08:51:00.000-05:002012-01-09T08:51:35.629-05:00It's All In Your PerspectiveDon was enlisted by the Director of the Handbell Choir at our church to play with them for the Christmas Eve Service. We have 3 services on Christmas Eve; the 4 p.m. is quiet and traditional (a service perfect for older Episcopalians), 5:30 is the Family Service which is absolute bedlam and involves funny hats and a Homily around the Creche with all the children sitting around on the floor; but the 11 p.m. service is beautiful, solemn, and musical. We usually hire several musicians to play the trumpet, the flute, the bass, etc., to accompany the Choir, which begins the Pre-Mass music at 10:30. The Handbell Choir also plays a number of pieces before and during the Service.<br />
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When Don asked me whether or not he should commit to helping, I encouraged him. He played handbells for years, beginning when he still lived at home. He also directed our Handbell Choir for several years. He's very talented and I thought he would enjoy getting his "hand" back in it. Besides, I told him, the children are all old enough now to go to the Late Service, and I think it would be a neat experience for all of us.<br />
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However, we couldn't possibly miss the Family Service at 5:30 and we were assigned to take the Gifts up to the Altar at that Service, so we knew we would be attending both. Our family tradition, started just 6 years ago, is to have Fondue on Christmas Eve after Church for dinner. It's fun, easy, quick, and doesn't require a lot of clean-up. We always use pretty Christmas paper plates that we throw away and the only dishes are the fondue pot and sticks and the bowl from the bread. Since Grandpa Doughty was here with us, I invited my parents to join us for Church and stay for Fondue. They took us up on the offer.<br />
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Being Methodist, my parents have Communion infrequently; anywhere from once a month to once a quarter. Some Methodist churches never have Communion, but my father's has always scheduled it periodically, if not so regularly. And, being Methodist, grape juice is used rather than wine. This is a throw-back to the days when Methodists were all tea-tottlers and did not "imbibe".<br />
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In the middle of a wild, raucous Church Service, a few minutes of peace and introspection were carved out during Communion. As I walked back to the pew from the altar, quietly pensive and pondering the birth of our Lord, I sat down next to my mother, then kneeled to pray. After a few moments with Jesus, I sat back down. Mom leaned over to me and quietly whispered in my ear,<br />
<br />
"That was really good wine they were serving!"Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-89695936271977734842011-12-12T11:06:00.000-05:002011-12-12T11:06:12.000-05:00The Remnants of the Yard SaleA 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Slow progress, but any progress at all is better than none.<br />
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<br />Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-52064301520573453072011-11-17T23:06:00.001-05:002011-11-17T23:13:04.923-05:00Okay, 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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"There's just one problem with this class, though, Mom," she said softly during a quiet moment as I looked over her stitches.<br />
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"What's that, Honey?" I asked her.<br />
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"It's just not right to hear the boys bragging about how 'beast' their embroidery is."Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-28596197004242201182011-10-27T09:04:00.002-04:002011-10-27T09:04:53.860-04:00Another Stab at OrderI'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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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!!<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-694794179988351152011-10-05T10:25:00.000-04:002011-10-05T10:25:06.251-04:00Belated Birthday BlessingsLast 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 <a href="http://inthesheepfold.blogspot.com/2011/10/grandmas-birthday.html">tribute to her mother-in-law</a> 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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"Anytime you need to get away, Honey, you come here. Three months would have been fine with me."<br />
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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.<br />
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"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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Happy Belated Birthday, my love. I'm looking forward to many more.<br />
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<br />Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-52897317581441670632011-10-04T09:40:00.002-04:002011-10-04T09:40:46.623-04:00One 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-78991973671243417482011-10-03T13:39:00.000-04:002011-10-03T13:39:03.452-04:00It Happens to the Best of UsOn the way home from church yesterday, driving down the big hill in North Augusta, Daelyn asked thoughtfully,<br />
<br />
"Mom, is THAT thing a tree or something else?"<br />
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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.<br />
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"Honey, I have no idea," I responded. "It looks like a tree, but I just don't know for sure."<br />
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Don cut through the confusion.<br />
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"It's a radio tower that they disguised to LOOK like a tree," he explained - - which led to much quiet thoughtfulness.<br />
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Finally, I asked the question.<br />
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"If they intended to make it look like a tree, why didn't they put branches all the way up?"<br />
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"I don't know," Don said. "But they must have tried to disguise it because of some type of city ordinance or something."<br />
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Daelyn, in true Daelyn fashion, responded quietly, "Maybe they ran out of funding."Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-67582406688893702502011-09-25T23:00:00.002-04:002011-09-25T23:00:56.407-04:00Child #4As I sat at the computer this afternoon, Donovan walked in, perched under my chair, and began chewing heartily.<br />
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"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.<br />
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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.<br />
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"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.<br />
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"Where's he getting all this candy?" I asked Daelyn.<br />
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"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.<br />
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Still later, Donovan wandered into the Den. He was chewing and tossing his head back.<br />
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"What do you have THIS time?" I asked him. When he refused to answer, I put my hand in front of his mouth.<br />
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"Drop it!" I commanded. No response.<br />
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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.<br />
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"Good grief," I yelled. Deanna glanced quietly at me and commented,<br />
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"Mom, that dog eats more candy than us kids."<br />
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At least he tries.Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-38338238298355426832011-09-20T11:42:00.002-04:002011-09-20T11:42:59.744-04:00Peanuts, Wherefore Art Thou?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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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!<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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"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!"<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Good thing we don't have to worry about it just yet!Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14780903.post-38723684719873082332011-09-19T08:58:00.012-04:002011-09-19T12:37:21.468-04:00Whew!! 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 <a href="http://mercydropsfalling.blogspot.com/2011/06/our-mountain-trek.html">North Georgia Mountains</a> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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, <a href="http://mercydropsfalling.blogspot.com/2011/07/panama-city-beach-and-shell-island.html">here. </a><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!!!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />We arrived home Saturday evening the weekend before school was to start on Tuesday. And that was one summer to remember.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Better get all the clothes washed up now!! Summer's a'comin'!Patti Doughtyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08728530989632364468noreply@blogger.com0