Mercy Drops Falling

Intelligence by Association

2012-02-07T09:09:00.000-05:00

I 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.

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.

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.

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,

"Oh? So is your father the dumbest person in the world?"

"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."

The Extraordinary Ordinary

2012-02-06T08:41:00.001-05:00

To all those stay-at-home Moms who wonder what you're really contributing to the world:

"We seldom notice how each day is a holy place
Where the eucharist of the ordinary happens,
Transforming our broken fragments
Into an eternal continuity that keeps us.

Somewhere in us a dignity presides
That is more gracious than the smallness
That fuels us with fear and force,
A dignity that trusts the form a day takes.

So at the end of this day, we give thanks
For being betrothed to the unknown
And for the secret work
Through which the mind of the day
And wisdom of the soul become one."

Excerpt from "The Inner History of a Day"
by John O'Donohue

A Small Reminder

2012-02-03T09:50:00.000-05:00

During 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.

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.

"Is that a robin? Look at that bird, kids. What is that? Is it a finch?"

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,

"A PURPLE FINCH! Look, Mom, it's a purple finch!"

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.

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.

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.

More Technical Knowledge than Me

2012-02-01T23:41:00.001-05:00

When 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".

While driving home from Atlanta on Saturday, I noticed Deanna had her index finger in her ear and was jiggling it up and down.

"Mama," she asked, "do you get pickles in your ears?"

I chortled then, before bursting into laughter full-tilt, I responded,

"Not very often!"

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.

"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."

Deanna didn't appreciate my humor at all.

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,

"Where should I put a dead body?"

The iphone answered, "Some suggestions would be a funeral home, a dumpster, or your house."

I cracked up. A phone with a sense of humor. Then Dane asked,

"What's a pilate?"

Daelyn, our little techie, launched into a definition of pilates. Deanna and I looked at each other and she interrupted Daelyn.

"Dane," she explained in her older sister voice, "Daelyn said 'Where should I put a DEAD BODY.' The word pilate was never said!"

Dane and Daelyn responded together.

"Oh."

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.

After a short break for laughing, Daelyn continued with the story. The teacher asked the phone if it would marry him. It responded,

"I don't think we know each other well enough."

When the teacher pressed the issue and added the word "please" to his request, the phone responded that his contract didn't include marriage.

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.

I finally voiced my question aloud.

"How could they possibly have programmed humor into a cell phone?"

Daelyn responded with two words: "Steve Jobs".

See. Our little techie.

A Comedy of Errors that Wasn't Very Funny

2012-01-31T09:07:00.000-05:00

Deanna 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I keep hoping for redemption . . .

Javelins and teeth

2012-01-27T23:13:00.001-05:00

Last 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.

Tonight, at the dinner table, we were talking about rocket scientists.

"I could be a rocket scientist," Deanna said.

"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 . . . "

Deanna's mouth dropped open and she looked at me.

"Is Daddy saying I'm too dumb to be a rocket scientist?"

"It sure seems that way, honey," I responded.

Don: "But don't worry, Sissy. If all else fails, you can be a seamstress!"

Me: "Oh, lovely. That's the most to which you aspire for your daughter - a seamstress?!?"

Deanna: "I couldn't be a seamstress. I get too stressed out!! Oh, my gosh, I can't even be a seamstress!"

Don: "Well, if they ever add swimming to the Miss America Pageant, you could be a beauty queen."

Me: "Maybe what they need to do is add different sports to each year's pageant."

Don: "Yes, like the Olympics."

Me: "One year, they could do javelin throwing . . . in high heels."

Daelyn: " 'Sorry - I didn't mean to put out your eye'."

Deanna: "Or boxing."

Me: "And the girl with the most teeth left is proclaimed the winner!!"

Sad. Just sad. This is what we do at Family Dinners.

New take on an old theme

2012-01-14T21:53:00.000-05:00

Somehow 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.

Slowly, but surely, the boys disappeared off to bed. I finally asked Deanna,

"Can't we change the channels NOW, hon?"

"Well," she said, "I need to go brush my teeth, but I'd really like to see the end of the bathing suit competition."

"That WAS the end," I responded.

"What? They don't SWIM? They just parade around in bathing suits looking hot? Where's the athleticism?"

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!!

Now THAT I might enjoy watching.

Look out, Drivers!!

2012-01-12T20:08:00.001-05:00

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.

"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.

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.

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.

I always suspected . . .

2012-01-12T20:02:00.002-05:00

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:

"You have to move. You're laying right where I put my head!"

Better All the Time

2012-01-10T10:05:00.001-05:00

I'm actually going to Post twice in the same day!!

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.

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.

After every game, Dane wants to talk about it. We'll get in the van and he'll say,

"Okay, Mom, I want to talk about the game!!"

He'll ask what I thought about his playing and talk about specific plays. Game after game, I find myself saying,

"That's the best game you've ever played, Son."

And it's true. He improves noticeably with every single game.

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,

"I know how you felt, Son, and you didn't need to be embarrassed."

"How could you have possibly known how I felt, Mama. So, tell me. How DID I feel?"

"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."

"That's just scary, Mom. How can you know what I was thinking?!" He just doesn't get this whole Mom-thing.

Later, Don talked with his coach, Jimmy. He came home and told Dane,

"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.

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.

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).

Coming home in the van, I told Dane,

"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!!!"

Dane didn't argue this time. Nor did he mention that I always tell him it was the best game he's ever played.

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.

Can you tell I'm proud?

Cry-Baby, Cry-Baby

2012-01-10T09:45:00.002-05:00

A 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. . . "

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.

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.

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.

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.

A few minutes later, well into the remainder of the family sharings, Daelyn looked down at his wrist.

"Mom," he hissed at me loudly, "my Phiton bracelet is missing!!"

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.

"Son!!!" I hissed back. "Do you have any idea where it might be?"

"Well, it might have fallen off my wrist in the Cry-Baby Room."

I snickered. The funny thing is that Daelyn never quite realizes he says things wrong but, often, his terms are very appropriate.

It's All In Your Perspective

2012-01-09T08:51:00.000-05:00

Don 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.

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.

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.

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".

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,

"That was really good wine they were serving!"

The Remnants of the Yard Sale

2011-12-12T11:06:00.000-05:00

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.

Okay, that's a LITTLE odd!

2011-11-17T23:06:00.001-05:00

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."

Another Stab at Order

2011-10-27T09:04:00.002-04:00

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.

Belated Birthday Blessings

2011-10-05T10:25:00.000-04:00

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.

One Small Step . . .

2011-10-04T09:40:00.002-04:00

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.

It Happens to the Best of Us

2011-10-03T13:39:00.000-04:00

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."

Child #4

2011-09-25T23:00:00.002-04:00

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?

2011-09-20T11:42:00.002-04:00

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!

2011-09-19T08:58:00.012-04:00

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

2011-09-18T22:55:00.002-04:00

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.

Will All the Confused People Please Stand

2011-08-22T23:24:00.003-04:00

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?"

Eventful Week

2011-08-04T22:05:00.002-04:00

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.

Summer

2011-07-21T09:48:00.001-04:00

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...?

Fun, fun, fun

2011-07-20T11:04:00.002-04:00

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.

Panama City Beach and Shell Island

2011-07-20T10:09:00.004-04:00

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.

Ah, vacation!

2011-07-04T11:28:00.003-04:00

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.

The Human Jack-o-Lantern

2011-06-27T10:38:00.002-04:00

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.

I Bet It Made His Night

2011-06-25T17:14:00.002-04:00

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.

Not a Question about our Mental Condition

2011-06-13T23:48:00.004-04:00

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.

Our Mountain Trek

2011-06-13T22:50:00.002-04:00

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.

Embarrassing the Kids

2011-06-10T00:13:00.002-04:00

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.

A Day at the Lake

2011-06-04T22:40:00.003-04:00

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.

Not Too Impressive

2011-05-26T09:48:00.003-04:00

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!"

Train, Lifeguard, and Nose

2011-05-19T08:39:00.003-04:00

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,"

It's Finally the Yard's Turn

2011-05-03T11:59:00.003-04:00

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.

Beyond the Obvious

2011-04-11T11:29:00.003-04:00

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!!!

Batter Up!!!

2011-04-08T10:20:00.003-04:00

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.

Snickering Evil

2011-04-07T08:30:00.002-04:00

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.

Tongue Twister

2011-04-05T08:35:00.002-04:00

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.

More rain than I can take

2011-03-30T09:07:00.003-04:00

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.

Gratefulness for Our School

2011-03-29T08:37:00.003-04:00

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.

From the Mouths of Babes

2010-07-17T22:20:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

Just can't see it

2010-07-12T23:30:00.003-04:00

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

Just how do you do that?

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

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

Just Another Sibling Spat

2010-06-24T09:30:00.005-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Confused

2010-06-23T23:47:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

Don: "What?"

Later in the meal . . .

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

Me: "We? Who was with you?"

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

Me: "You said, 'we'."

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

By this point, the children began to add comments.

Deanna: "You, yourself, and him?"

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

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

Don: "It must be bedtime."

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

Lots of space

2010-06-22T12:44:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Appliance Nightmare

2010-06-19T22:10:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Baseball FINALLY comes to an end

2010-06-18T09:19:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our Goat Situation

2010-06-17T10:30:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lawn Care

2010-06-15T10:23:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whoops . . . did I say that?

2010-06-12T16:09:00.003-04:00

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

"He talks constantly," one said.

"Yeah, Mama. He talks nonsense."

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

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

When they paused, Daelyn began talking nonsense again.

I reached over and patted him on the arm.

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

So much for encouraging silence instead of silly talk.

Nothing Like Family

2010-06-03T10:03:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

" 'Grandma'," I giggled.

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

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

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

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

A Little More Culture

2010-06-01T10:16:00.003-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

Tunnel Vision

2010-05-31T11:20:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cough, hack, wheeze goes the Patti

2010-05-29T22:56:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

Now, Just Where's That Edge?

2010-05-29T01:46:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hoses, Hoses Everywhere, but not a Drop of Water

2010-05-20T10:09:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ice Cream for All

2010-05-18T23:14:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

"Did Grandma die?"

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

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

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

Just a Pair of Shoes

2010-05-13T08:28:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bingo.

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

Quite a mature young woman.

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

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

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

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

Daelyn's Turn

2010-05-11T13:15:00.004-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sporting Dilemnas

2010-05-07T13:53:00.004-04:00

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

"Tell Dane to wear his cup."

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

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

I quickly explained my predicament. She laughed.

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

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

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

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

The New Me?

2010-05-05T14:51:00.003-04:00

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

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

Just Put One Foot in Front of the Other

2010-05-02T21:38:00.003-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Deep Sorrow

2010-04-23T00:16:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Miracle of Reagan

2010-04-22T10:22:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taking Humor a Little Too Far

2010-04-20T13:32:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

"Nuclear missiles!"

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

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

A Day of Peace

2010-04-19T13:45:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

She's Slain Us All!

2010-04-15T22:13:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I think not.

Basketball Finals

2010-04-15T09:04:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"OH?" I asked.

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

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

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

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

A Time for Everything

2010-04-14T08:32:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the right season.

That Little Old Pine Tree

2010-04-09T08:51:00.003-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another Installment in the Donovan Saga

2010-04-08T08:48:00.003-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Flip Side

2010-04-06T08:32:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time to pull out that extra dose of allergy meds.

Another Negative

2010-04-05T11:31:00.002-04:00

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

Maybe I can try lettuce in the Fall this year!

Maundy Thursday

2010-04-01T22:27:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amen.

Stranger Than Fiction

2010-03-31T22:05:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shrouded Truths

2010-03-30T23:32:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Microcosm of Family Dynamics

2010-03-30T23:17:00.004-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" she asked.

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

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

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

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

Perspective

2010-03-29T14:16:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's all in my perspective.

Shifting Into "GO"

2010-03-23T11:42:00.003-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I just am hoping to get through summer unscathed.

I Guess, Eventually, You Have to Admit to It

2010-03-22T09:18:00.003-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Acquaintances Far and Wide

2010-03-18T08:37:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, Scott!"

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

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

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

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

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

The Innocence of Youth

2010-03-16T17:20:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Discipline of Lent

2010-03-15T09:44:00.003-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now if I can just get through the toys.

Don Doughty - at least, his teeth!

2010-03-15T09:41:00.000-04:00

An Interesting Point of View

2010-03-14T12:15:00.002-04:00

Don's hair has gotten pretty long and shaggy-looking. Last night at the dinner table, Dane whispered in my ear, "I wonder what would happen if Daddy's hair caught on fire right now?", referring to the time he leaned a little too close over the gas grill and singed his eyebrows, sideburns, mustache, etc.

"He'd burn down the house," I responded. The rest of the family sitting around the table heard my remark and asked what the conversation was about. I explained and Deanna responded with,

"Yeah, Dad, you're looking a little bit like . . ."

But, before she reached the end of the sentence, Dane AND Daelyn, in chorus, joined in

"ALBERT EINSTEIN!" the children yelled as one.

Don turned and looked at me. I cracked up. He really DOES look a little like Einstein, with mustache graying and hair askew. He rubbed his hands through his hair to accentuate the look.

"No, no," Dane said. "He really looks more like Magic Johnson!"

We all turned silently and stared at Dane. I blinked a few times and looked carefully for some hint of what he was talking about. Nothing.

"Dane, Magic Johnson is about 7 feet tall, he's bald, and he's black," I told him. Deanna chimed in, "Very bald and very dark. Last time I looked, Daddy was pretty pale."

"Well, he looks like Magic Johnson to me," he said. A few minutes later, he yelled,

"NO! Not Magic Johnson! I meant Crouchie!"

I looked Crouchie up on the Internet. Crouchie is a British soccer player with wild hair. He's 6'7" tall, young, has light, wild hair, and is very thin. I don't think Don looks ANYTHING like Crouchie, but I WILL concede that he looks more like Crouchie than Magic.

Although, I found a picture of Magic with a big smile and the teeth looked strangely familiar . . .

Birth Order

2010-03-09T12:48:00.002-05:00

My children's obedience is directly proportional to the amount of time I spend policing them, which is inversely proportional to birth-order.

Sound a little deep? Let me boil it down.

With your first child, you can't wait to get up in the morning and spend time with him/her. You even find yourself standing over the crib at strange hours of the night, making sure he/she is still breathing and willing the child to wake up and play. They shadow everything you do throughout your day and you teach them all you know, including how to drive by the time they're 2. They can tell jokes like a pro, whip up a meal in 30 minutes, clean a bathroom so you can eat cereal off the floor, balance a checkbook, sew, sing, play tennis . . . anything the Mom is able to do, the first child can do equally as well, usually better. This child is taught order and cleaning chores are done together, mother and child. The culture and family traditions are passed carefully to the next generation.

Enter Child #2 - your life just became twice as busy. More often than not, Child #1 is teaching Child #2 how to keep order in the home, how to plan menus, how to toss a baseball into the air and whack it with the bat, sending it flying across the yards without taking out anyone's windows . . . This child seems to burn food more often and the bathroom still looks clean - on the surface - but you have the sense of germs lurking just out of your range of vision. Child #2 wants to please you AND the older sibling and tries hard, but you never seem to get the basics quite covered. You remember that you always worked side-by-side with your first baby. With this one, you attempt to "inspect" their work to be sure it's been done adequately, which is a hit-and-miss prospect, at best. Things begin to slide.

Child #3 makes an appearance. Gone are the days of training. It's all you can do just to get food on the table before bedtime and make sure homework is completed. This child is clueless how to make a bed and can't even seem to manage to get clothes on hangers correctly. In the few free minutes you have each day, you want to spend time snuggling the one child that still will allow you to touch them, not spend it "training" them to cook, clean, organize, keep ordered lives. This child is your delight, but never does a lick of work. If you ask them to put their shoes away, you find the shoes 2 hours later, moved to the next room down the hall from where you found them, but never actually put away. When you walk into the kitchen after switching laundry loads and discover that this child has run outside to play after you expressly told them to sit down and do their homework, you sigh, but never actually go outside to call him/her back indoors. You have dinner to start, math homework to check for the other two, lunch boxes that need to be washed out . . . As you're furiously setting the table for dinner (yet again), you realize that the disappearing child is responsible for table-setting, but it's quicker and easier to do it yourself and you're tired of pulling teeth to get them to do their chores.

As Perfect Child #1 sweeps through the room, announcing that he/she has completed all the assignments that the teacher will be giving out next week and can he/she now go and clean his/her room, you glance over to see Almost Perfect Child #2 wiping off the table after finishing his/her snack and carefully putting his/her cup (that had held milk, of course) in the sink. Then you realize there's a child missing - old #3, the one you just don't seem capable of holding to any responsibility.

But #3 is the baby, after all, and so sweet, you think. Images of a tiny, wrinkled little body flash through your mind as you finish setting the dinner table. Just then, the back door flies open and in stomps #3, crying because of an incident in the yard. You scoop them up in your arms, hold them tight, kiss those darling cheeks, and wipe away the tears. Okay, you think. This child may never be able to clean a bathroom well and I seldom have the energy to fight the battle with them over setting the table, but they'll be a loving parent one day, understanding the need that a child has for time with a parent.

And instead of asking them to show you their homework so you can check it over, you pull a stool up to the counter.

"Come sit down and visit with Mom for a few minutes," you suggest. Because, in the back of your mind, you realize that you don't want to waste the precious little time you have with this child arguing over chores.

I just hope this child has a very loving, neat, understanding spouse.

Scary on so-o-o-o many levels

2010-03-08T11:44:00.003-05:00

Me: "Dane, did you feed the dog his breakfast?"

Dane: "Hmh, I don't know!"

Me: "Son, how can you NOT know? Every single day, you take him for his walk, then you feed him breakfast. Did you take him for his walk?

Dane: "YES. I'm SURE I did that."

Me: "So, did you feed him or not?"

Dane: "I don't remember, Mom."

Me: "Well, since he's hovering in the kitchen, looking hungry, I doubt you did. Normally, he's gone back into our bedroom to take his nap by now. Think hard, son. This is the only meal he gets all day. You need to remember."

Dane: "I just don't know, Mama."

Daelyn: "Why don't you ask Donovan?"

I stopped in the middle of swiping mayo onto sandwich bread to observe. Dane walked to where the dog was lying pitifully, leaned towards him, spoke his name and waited till Donovan made eye-contact, then simply asked,

"Donovan, did I feed you today?"

As we all watched, Donovan CLEARLY shook his head - three times. First to the right, then the left, then back to the right.

Dane: "Okay. He said 'no'. I must have forgotten. I'll feed him now, Mama."

Me, cautiously: "You know, Dane, you can't always trust him, especially not when it comes to asking about food. He lies."

True story.

Don't read this while eating!

2010-03-03T08:30:00.004-05:00

Many years ago, I had a roommate whose family lived here in the same town. They were Lutheran. At some point, her parents felt a strong call from God and converted to Messianic Judaism. Later, in response to another call from the Lord, the man, Don, was accepted in Yeshiva and became a Rabbi. He and his wife, Karen, have a Messianic Jewish church (I think you call it a Synogogue, but I'm not sure) in town. They're quite good friends of Don's and mine and I very often consult them with Biblical questions.

Through them, we met a woman about my age who was attending their church. She has a small farm and three young daughters. On Saturday, she invited us to join her family for dinner. We were celebrating the Lord's Day with a ceremony similar to the Jewish Sabbath Meal. Don and I have a form that we use that have the prayers, lighting the Sabbath lights, the sharing of the bread and blessing cup, etc. all written out. We took those along.

Melody laughed when we told her we had the sheets.

"We could've done it from my prayer book . . . in Hebrew," she said. We were very thankful we had taken the time to print out the service sheets.

After dinner, we visited for quite some time. She has a litter of pups about ready to be sold. They're Australian Sheepdogs and beautiful. They're fat, soft little nuzzlers and all my children fell instantly in love. As the boys snuggled with each puppy in turn, we chatted about the farm. Melody has pigs and she offers them for sponsorship. You can sponsor a whole pig for a set amount per week. That pays for food and upkeep. When they're big enough for slaughter, all the meat (roughly 155 lbs.) gets delivered to you, packaged neatly. All told, you sponsor for about 4 months from weening to slaughter. Not a bad deal.

The boys got very interested in the pig information and began asking a lot of questions. Melody told us that she is thinking about changing slaughterhouses. She's been unhappy with the one she previously used and may change over to "Happy Valley".

"Yep," I commented, " 'Happy Valley'. I bet those pigs are just delighted to go to the slaughter. Happy, happy. 'Come visit Happy Valley'!" Of course, I was mocking the name.

Dane spoke up. "How do they slaughter them, anyway?" he wanted to know. Melody's daughter began an explanation of typing their legs up, then hoisting them into the air, etc. I told her that he meant, 'How do they KILL the pigs?'

"They slit their throats and bleed them out," Melody interjected.

Since Judaism requires animals to be completely bled out prior to butchering, this made sense to me. Jewish law forbids them from eating blood because blood is considered the "life" that flows through them. Butchering must be done very specifically, according to Jewish laws.

"So they're Kosher pigs?" I asked. There was silence until Don rolled his eyes, shook his head, and said, "Oh, God. Oh, God!"

I only had a momentary lapse. I explained to him later, in the car going home, that I just wasn't thinking all the way through what I said. You see, if you don't know, pigs are considered "unclean" by Jews. They are not allowed to eat ANY pork. Once, when visiting Israel, I had a lovely pin that I wore on the lapel of my wool blazer. It was a pig. My father made sure I removed it so as not to offend the Jews. And here I blurted out, in the home of a Messianic Jewish family, the wierd thought of a "kosher pig", two words that just cannot go together.

Melody cracked up, as did her daughters. My children, at least the boys, didn't understand, but Deanna was quite embarrassed by me.

Melody very quickly said something funny. She has a wonderful sense of humor that really releases tension in situations like that. She wasn't offended and really thought it was humorous. Thank God.

So, I show up last night for our Support Group meeting. Don and Karen are there, as are Melody and her oldest daughter, Lynn. Don passes out a flier he had printed and says he'd like to talk about "kosher". He launches into an explanation of how you can know if something is kosher; what symbol to look for on the packaging, what the different symbols mean, etc. People began asking questions - why do you keep kosher, etc. I sat quietly, for a change, and pondered the proximity of this impromptu teaching to my serious faux pas. When the room quieted again, I caught Melody's eye and mouthed, "Did you tell him about our pig conversation?"

"No," she said. "What do you mean?"

By then, the whole group was watching us. I looked around and explained that I had said something very inappropriate while at Melody's house over the weekend. Of course, that stirred everyone's interest. It eventually became obvious that I had to tell the story. I apologized in advance to Don and Karen, in case I offended them, then explained the story.

Every laughed. Don actually roared with laughter. I sat, red in the face. Yes, I told on myself, but I still felt like an idiot to make a mistake like that. No one was offended, thank goodness, but that started the jokes and more questions.

Eventually, we moved on and were talking about another subject when one of the women suddenly laughed uproariously. We all stopped and looked at her.

"My husband just leaned over and whispered in my ear, 'Do you get kicked out of the synogogue if you get the Swine Flu?' "

Don, ever quick on his feet, responded with, "Nope. Only if you get the Avian Flu."

Beginning the Process of Gardening

2010-03-02T08:38:00.002-05:00

Last spring, when I was working on trying to put in my summer garden, I was shocked at how much money I spent on "good" soil and fertilizers. The cost of bedding plants also stunned me. By the time it was all said and done, I had spent probably a couple of hundred dollars for the pleasure of worrying, watering, and spending all my free time freezing or pickling.

I decided I needed to make some changes. My first idea was to start a compost pile (we always had one when I was growing up) so I wouldn't have to buy fertilizer. It even occurred to me that sad, worn-out soil could become rich again if I mixed it with enough seasoned compost.

Secondly, I decided to try and start my own plants from seed. I attempted this with my winter garden and the plants did beautifully, but the seed-starters seemed to be only a single-use item and broke into many pieces in the process.

I used foam cups for my small plants to establish them before transplanting to the garden. I poked holes in them around the sides and at the bottom for draining and filled them about 1/2 full with soil. When I took out my plants to move them into the garden, I saved the styrofoam cups for another crop.

Throughout this winter, I've been saving small yogurt cups. I have about 10 that I thought would make great seed-starters. Last night, I melted holes in the plastic and I'm all ready to fill them with soil and start my seeds for my spring/summer garden. It should all save me a ton of money this year and it has been simple and fun.

Not so the compost pile. I bought a large 1/4 wooden barrel and put it off the end of the deck where it was easily accessible, even in the dark, but hidden from view by the garbage cans. After talking with a few other people, I realized that most folks use their grass clippings for their compost. A friend of mine, whom I talked with about this, showed up one day with some pallet sides that stack perfectly to form a wooden compost protection. I began accumulating grass clipping and lawn trash in this, but not enough to really DO anything - it's been winter, we haven't been cutting our grass.

Meanwhile, I have become very faithful about saving all my fruit and vegetable peels and not throwing away eggshells, teabags, or over-ripe anything. After removing the outer leaves of a cabbage, they go in compost. Those orange peels - don't forget to compost. The onion skins . . . compost. And so on. However, mid-summer, we couldn't get rid of the fruit flies buzzing around the bowl where I accumulated my "stuff" during the day before tossing it over the railing before bed.

Don was fit to be tied. He went on a rampage against fruit flies, even threatening to do away with my kitchen counter fruit bowl that keeps the children interested in the good stuff occasionally. I finally went out and found a big-enough plastic container with a tight-fitting lid. It now holds my compost until I have time to toss it.

A secondary problem has been reaching a fully-composted status. When I'm constantly adding new stuff, I never finish the process. Last night, my father mentioned that he had seen a kettle being thrown out on the street behind his house. It was one of those huge, handled metal pots that you use in commercial kitchens. I immediately sent the boys out to retrieve it. Sure enough, it's even larger than my compost barrel and, with the handles, much easier to move about.

I decided it was time to turn my compost. I began with my trusty compost stick (set aside specifically for this purpose), but discovered it was so thick that I couldn't really move it with the stick. Next, I pulled out a shovel whose handle was broken off. I dug it into the barrel, pushing with my foot until it hit the bottom, then turned it carefully. What I found below delighted and thrilled me - rich, thick black compost, teeming with (wait for it, wait for it . . . ) EARTHWORMS!!! Big ones, little tiny baby ones, all wriggling and moving amongst the black compost.

I went straight up to Dad's. How'd they get there, I asked him. He laughed and Mama chuckled.

"Oh, the worms will find a way if it's good soil," she said.

"You realize, Hon," Papa began, "that you have GREAT compost if you have earthworms, right?"

Yep. I realized; thus the excitement. And, now, with the metal pot, I can alternate which one I use, allowing the "stuff" in one to finish composting as I add to the new pile.

I'm really excited. I can't wait to begin to mix my compost into my garden. I keep thinking of all the money I'll save and how thrilled I am with the work of my hands.

MY GARDEN, MY COMPOST, MY SEED-STARTERS, MY BEDDING PLANTS. Boy, does it EVER have a nice ring to it.

A Short Post, for a change

2010-02-26T12:55:00.002-05:00

Deanna and I saw a commercial where a guy found a $20 bill in the dryer at a laundromat. At the end of the commercial, he said something like,

"Come on, Andrew Jackson, let's go spend our money."

Deanna: "Andrew Jackson is his dog's name."

Me: "Andrew Jackson is the President whose picture is on the front of the $20 bill. He was talking to the money!"

Deanna: "YOU win."

True story. Scary!

(Later, I asked her about this and she responded that she seldom sees $20 bills. I'm sure THAT's true.)

Please, Lord, just one of these per year!

2010-02-25T10:39:00.003-05:00

Whew! Good thing SHE'S gone!

2010-02-24T09:02:00.002-05:00

When we checked in at Kanuga on Friday, I asked the guy at the front desk if our cabin had a fireplace.

"Yes," he said, "and there's firewood stacked on the side of the cabin. We have fire-starters and newspaper here if you need it."

The fire-starters were wrapped with the newspaper in tight, neat little bundles. I took two with me from the desk, thinking I'd use one per night.

Unfortunately, the firewood was VERY wet, having gotten snowed on, then soaking up the melting snow. Our attempt at a fire the first night failed miserably, despite the very green kindling the boys drug into the living room (imagine that!), and we used up both fire-starters. The wood burned and charred but never really caught on fire.

The next night, I was determined to get a fire going. Don had mentioned to me that there was a cabin a few down the road from us that had wood under an overhang and it might be drier. I headed out with a flashlight. First I checked our woodpile and there, on the end, were beautiful, perfectly-sized kindling pieces. I examined each log separately and took in several that looked drier along with my beautiful kindling. Then I headed to the cabin next door. It was unoccupied, so I felt quite free to hit their woodpile. Sure enough, their wood was MUCH drier than ours. I chose about 6 nice logs and took them into our cabin.

Needless to say, within minutes I had a roaring fire. I think I piled on at least 6 logs at once. Eventually, it got so hot that I was able to put some of our logs on. The heat dried out the logs and they burned nicely. For 4 - 5 hours, I had a roaring fire, which was so hot at times that we had to open the front door to cool off the cabin.

The one piece I forgot to mention earlier is that I sent each boy into the front desk separately for fire-starters. Then I waited until a new employee was manning the desk and got two more.

Sunday morning, as we were dressing for church, I ran into the living room to check the fireplace; lots of ashes, two small, charred ends of logs pushed back into opposite corners. All my wood had burned nicely and completely. Don walked into the room and noticed me smiling as I looked at the fireplace.

"These people are going to be very happy to have you gone," he commented. When I looked up at him quizzically, he continued, "Never in the history of Kanuga has any one family gone through so many fire-starters and so much firewood."

Yup, I thought. That's what fireplaces are for. If they didn't want us to use them, they shouldn't have put them in the cabins.

"No, no emergency"

2010-02-23T21:40:00.002-05:00

My nephew, a Paramedic who's training to provide medical care on medical helicopters, is working for an ambulance company up the road from our house. He called last night and asked if he could stop by. He and his partner had just finished up a call and were on their way to dinner.

"Sure!" I responded. "I'd LOVE for you to stop by."

A few minutes later, the front door opened. One of my sisters was here visiting, so we ran to the dining room to greet him. He introduced his partner, and while we stood chatting, Deanna commented, "Uh, oh! People must've spotted the ambulance in the driveway."

I looked out the door to see the running lights on the ambulance still on and I could hear the engine running. It must be procedure so they're ready at a minute's notice to take another call.

Within minutes, a neighbor and close friend showed up at the front door.

"Is everyone alright?" he asked. We explained that Russ is driving an ambulance now and stopped by for a visit. He laughed, chatted for a couple of minutes, then headed back home. Only minutes later, the front door flew open and another family friend from up the street, Bob Visintainer, strode in.

"What's wrong? Is it Patti, Don, or one of the kids?" he asked. Behind him, our front stoop was getting crowded. Harriet and Dennis McBride followed him and our next door neighbor, Joey, was behind them. Joey is about Russell's age, his mother is Russell's mother's best friend, and they've known each other since they were both young boys.

Joey quickly spotted Russy.

"Hey, Man!" he yelled to my nephew, who responded, matching Joey's enthusiasm. I explained to all our friends that there was no emergency, just a social visit from one of my favorite nephews. Someone muttered, "If he wants to visit again, he ought to drive a CAR!" We all laughed.

As the neighbors peeled off the stairs to return home, my sister and I smiled knowingly at each other. It's good to live in a place where so many people are concerned about you and follow up their feelings with actions. I was sorry to alarm such dear friends, but their concern spoke deeply to my heart.

The only thing that could've been nicer last night than my sister's drop-in visit and my nephew swinging by was all those dear, caring folks that took time to check up on us.

I'll have my nephew park the ambulance in the back yard next time. Unfortunately, that may attract a whole different group of neighbors!

Parish Family Retreat

2010-02-22T09:07:00.002-05:00

We had our First Annual Parish Family Retreat this weekend. It was held at Kanuga, an Episcopal retreat center in the mountains of North Carolina outside of Hendersonville.

When our Priest first began talking about the retreat, he seemed very tentative. We had reserved space, but he just wasn't sure if people really would sign up. The Youth decided to go, stay in one of the bigger cabins together, and spend the day skiing at Wolf Laurel, a short drive. They joined us for meals and the sessions, except the ones on Saturday.

I told Don several months ago that I wanted to go. He seemed surprised. It's just that we miss out on a lot of church activities because they overlap with Community functions. This was a chance to support the church as well as build some deeper relationships. Two weeks before the final deadline, we compared our calendars and Don sent in a check with our reservation form.

By the following Sunday, it was amazing how fast word had spread. At least 10 people came to me and expressed excitement that we were going. Interestingly, many of my closest friends from church were going to attend the Retreat.

Things got a little tricky with it following so closely on the heels of my niece's wedding. My sister from California, who stayed with us, didn't leave until 1 p.m. on Thursday. I planned on taking the children out of school at noon on Friday so we could get to Kanuga early enough to unpack and settle into our cabin before dinner.

We got packed and loaded, but were later than we had hoped leaving. Don joked that if we looked hard enough, we'd find the kitchen sink in the back of the van. In spite of all we DID take, I forgot pajamas for me and the extra set of clothes I took for everyone got used up rather quickly and left me hanging blue jeans in front of the fireplace and leaving tennis shoes on the hearth. I took a spare pair of shoes for everyone as part of their "extra" outfit, and still ran out of shoes and clothes. We had to send Daelyn to the session Saturday night in Dane's slippers.

On the way up in the van, I pulled out the schedule and read it aloud. Dane and Daelyn were very frustrated. They didn't quite understand what a "retreat" was. They kept asking questions like, "If we go to church tonight, do we STILL have to go on Sunday?"

Deanna sighed from the back of the van as I tried to explain what retreating was. When we arrived at the first session and the seats faced each other with a wide middle aisle, the boys began getting very suspicious. Then they discovered the Prayer Books on every chair and the complaining started. I finally responded with that century's old mother's reached the end of her rope saying - "I don't want to hear another word about it!" The people around me looked curiously at me.

Then the evening started. After an introduction, review of the schedule, and a prayer, the Youth Director came forward. He first had us put ourselves in groups by the type of toothpaste we use. Next, groups by the type of shampoo, followed by whether we roll the toilet paper under or over. Several more obscure groupings followed, until everyone was sufficiently loosened up, including the children, who were having a marvelous time. Next, he applied sticky notes to each person's forehead. Each sticky note had the name of an entertainer or a historical figure. We were to work the room, asking only "yes/no" questions, and guess who our person was.

Dane had Galileo, and did a great job asking questions and guessing. The church members were very impressed with his questions. Deanna had Moses and she struggled a little when one of the children told her it was a woman. I had Yoko Ono and would NEVER have guessed mine if it wasn't for the kind prodding of some of the folks, encouraging me to ask "certain" questions.

After the games, we took a short break, then regathered for singing and refocusing. Father David showed a brief video that explored prayer using a musical analogy (which the children ALSO enjoyed), then we had Compline (a type of evening prayer). We were done by 8:30 and adjourned to the Lodge, in front of a roaring fire, for snacks and fellowship. By the time we got back to our cabin, the children nearly fell into bed.

So, enough of the minutia. We made prayer shawls and icons and had teachings on prayer and time to spend alone with the Lord. We had great, filling meals and tons of fellowship and scheduled free time on Saturday afternoon.

I neglected to mention earlier that, on the drive to Kanuga, the children and Don saw two wild turkeys in the woods off the Interstate and there was LOTS of snow and ice - not on the roads, where it was dangerous, but on the sides where it was beautiful. Dane pointed out huge, 6-foot icicles cascading down a cliff on the side of the road. We prayed that there'd be enough snow at Kanuga for play. Our prayers were answered.

Saturday, at lunch, we still hadn't decided what we were going to do. A close friend of mine from church, who I never see because we now attend different services, and her son had been assigned to our cabin with us. We stayed up until 2 a.m. Friday night cstching up. It was wonderful. Anyway, she hadn't yet decided about her afternoon, either. People were inviting others to join them for winery tours and shopping when a couple stopped by our table and told us that they had brought along sleds, thinking we might want to use them. They had a two-person plastic sled and two saucers. A plan quickly began taking shape. Don would take our three and my friend's son sledding and she and I would go shopping.

When we got home, the children were exhausted, wet, and extremely happy. They had a wonderful time. The sledding was probably the highlight of the trip for them, although the snowball fights, family time and fires came close behind.

Church on Sunday was amazing. It was held in The Chapel of the Transfiguration, which is all done in wood. We were the only group there, and Father David had asked several of the children to participate in the service, reading prayers, scriptures, etc. The sermon was a Play on the Gospel reading and it held everyone's interest. It was poignant and captivating and the perfect worship service for this Retreat.

We got home last night about 5. None of the children wanted to leave Kanuga. It was rather a quiet evening, each of us reflecting on our memories individually.

Fr. David asked us during the closing session what we thought about the Retreat. Overwhelmingly, we all agreed we wanted to come back again next year, so he charged our Christian Education Director with making reservations before she left. The children and I definitely want to attend again next year. Don's not so sure. I guess we'll have to wait and see. He thinks it was a pretty expensive weekend. I think it was cheap for the memories we made.

New E-mail Account Here

2010-02-08T09:39:00.002-05:00

Deanna's been asking for her own e-mail account. Apparently, all her classmates have them and she wanted to get in on the chatter. She talked with me about it, I pondered it for a few days, then presented it to Don.

My feeling is this: one day, in the not-too-distant future, she'll be gone and will be able to do whatever she wants. It's our job, while she's still at home, to train her and guide her into making wise decisions. That said, I told her that her father and I would have to have her password and WOULD be checking it to see who she was talking to and what was being said. There would be no obscene conversations, no chatting with ANYONE she didn't know well, and no Chat Rooms. And, she is not to give out any personal info. Her friends already know all that stuff about her, anyway.

She readily agreed. She's not trying to pull a fast one on us, she just wants to begin to grow up a little. Don was reluctant, which floored me. When the kids were little, I'd take them to McDonald's. If they were afraid of the slide, no big deal. They didn't have to do it. Don would take them and coax them, work with them, help them up the ladders, sometimes even slide down with them. I asked him about it one day.

"They need to push through things that frighten them a little," he told me. "It's okay to be afraid, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't do something." A good, sound, manly opinion. When it came to ourselves, I'm the daredevil and Don's the cautious one. With our children, I'm the molly-coddler, he's the "push them a little to overcome their fears and weaknesses" one.

He's always done that with the children. So, his reaction to allowing Deanna this little freedom surprised me.

"I'm just not sure it's wise, hon," he told me. "What do YOU think?"

"I think we need to begin to let her grow up while we can monitor her choices," I responded.

His concerns were two-fold: he doesn't want to let his daughter grow up just yet (my words, not his), and he says it's difficult to set up e-mail accounts since BellSouth merged with AT&T. But he also didn't seem to be in any big rush to try.

I told Deanna about my conversation with her father. She waited a few days and talked with him again. No response. A few more days and another conversation. No response. After repeating this pattern for a couple of weeks, she got frustrated on Saturday night and appealed to me.

"Mom, can't I set up a Google account? My friends all say it's real easy."

I finally decided we were both tired of waiting on Don and I might as well let her try. She was successful. Last night, after she had spent several hours chatting with her friends, I went onto her account and read the comments and smiled to myself.

They consisted of such important commentary as, "The Colts are gonna win"; "Hey, Dude"; "I luv your 'likes' list"; "You're so funny"; :) ; etc. - pretty innocent.

I realize that doesn't always mean they'll be innocent, but she's having a blast with it so far. She told me about a 4-way conversation she had with three of her girlfriends. She feels like "one of the crowd" a little bit now, something Deanna's never much felt.

I'm pleased that it worked out but will continue to monitor her. It's easy to slip into a problem without even realizing and I don't want that to happen. But I DO trust her and think she's old enough to begin judging some of those things for herself.

Lenten Project

2010-02-06T10:45:00.003-05:00

My friend, Kelly (http://www.inthesheepfold.blogspot.com/) told me about an idea she read about and is pursuing for Lent. It's something like "40 Bags for 40 Days". Anyway, the concept is to get rid of one bag of "stuff" for each day of Lent to simplify your life.

Boy, do we ever need simplifying. Kelly and Rachel, a neighbor, keep telling me that purging your home is something that must be continually done. You have to always be on the lookout to get rid of those things that threaten to overtake your home.

Rachel told me a story once about throwing out some "old stuff" one of her sons had brought home from school. It turns out, he had only brought it home the previous day, and he was a little hurt that Mom had gotten rid of it before he had a chance to play with it. Rachel commented that she might need to back off just a little.

Would that I had THAT problem. I do manage to throw out old schoolwork, but we seem to have lost Daelyn's spelling words (with a backside that needed to be turned in as homework) this week and I suspect they ended up in the Recycle Bin with the old stuff. That's always my fear, so I hold onto stuff way too long.

And other members of my family have never met anything they think should be thrown out. Clutter abounds. And, as I've said before, when there's so much "stuff" (dare I say, "junk"?) laying around, I spend all my free time sorting and organizing, putting away, and there's no time left for REAL cleaning.

I can't stand it!! It drives me crazy! I was determined, when we returned from England, to live simply, the way we did while there. We had almost nothing and found creative uses for the things we DID have. Truth be told, that would've gotten VERY old if we had been there for a year or more, but it was doable for 3 months.

I know there's a happy medium between the pared down nothingness of England and the absolutely no spots left in the house in which to put stuff of today. But finding it while fighting 4 other people has always proved a challenge for me.

I'm attempting simplicity again for Lent. I'm going to encourage the children to go through their rooms and each come up with at least one bag of Good Will donations. And Don and I need to have some serious conversations about his "stuff". Last April, before my nephew's wedding, I did a big house overhaul and got rid of lots. Now there's plenty more accumulation that must be addressed.

My niece, Alicia, is getting married next weekend and we'll have family staying with us. Another niece, Lydia, is getting married the first of June in D.C. So, my goal is to begin the process now and be done paring down before leaving for the wedding in June.

Maybe this will make for a simpler, more peaceful summer. The challenge, of course, is getting the rest of the family on board. But I'M committed, and maybe, just maybe, some of my commitment will rub off on at least ONE family member.

Exhaustion

2010-02-05T08:06:00.002-05:00

I don't know what's wrong with me these days. Since last weekend, I haven't been able to get it together. I'm exhausted, unable to quite get caught up on my sleep. By about 7:30 p.m., I'm ready to hit the bed.

Perhaps if I did, I'd feel better in the morning. But Don was late (after midnight) getting home from work last night, and I desperately wanted to see him, so I stayed up, resting my eyes periodically, curled in a fetal ball on the couch.

Don is being audited by the Department of Energy on Monday and he seemed a little stressed out, thus the late night. I wanted to be there for him, at least in tired, grumpy body - I figured something was better than a snoring body in the dark, cold bed, even if I was a little less than fully there.

I reset my alarm clock this morning. Instead of my usual 6:20 wake-up call, I set it for 7:30. As I perched on the side of my bed, taking off my CPAP mask and my sleep socks, I could hear the children in the kitchen, dishes clattering, soft chatter. Then Daelyn appeared next to me in pajamas.

"How can I make it to school on time?" he asked.

"Did you JUST get up?" I quizzed. Nothing like stating the obvious.

HE had a rough night, too. He appeared in our bed around 1 a.m. It took me quite a while to realize he was there, even though he was playing with the dog and making a typical Daelyn-commotion. Finally, I zoned in and barked at him to settle down and get under the covers.

"I'm gettin' back in my OWN bed," he responded. I remember thinking, "GREAT!", although it was too late by then, he had already woken the dead. He climbed back out and I fell right back into my dream.

He managed to get ready and eat breakfast in time and still get into trouble, playing with Dane and running through the house.

I'm going back to bed - at least until I have to report at school for my math class. Maybe I can grab another 1/2 hour of sleep before my bath.