Contented Exhaustion

It's been a slow news week. Or, perhaps, it's been such a good news week that there was no time to write the news, only live it.

My uncle, two aunts, and cousin arrived from Canada on Sunday night. I drove my father to the airport in a neighboring town to pick them up. My cousin is staying with us and the furor of activity to prepare for his arrival and reclaim a bedroom out of the devastation that was, once again, a Toy Room just flowed smoothly into the frenetic pace of wedding preparations. With only two days remaining and tons of work still to be done, we're all working at break-neck speed and are experiencing far more stress than any of us should.

I'm planning to spend the day tomorrow at my sister's, helping to make food and finish up the decorations for the Rehearsal Dinner. I think they finished the Programs for the wedding today. Then there's the Bridesmaids Luncheon and decorating the Reception Hall on Friday. Lots, lots to do, but at least we're doing it with our family. My sister from California is arriving tomorrow night.

So, as I breath a deep sigh of exhaustion and head to the kitchen to work on lunches and the Flower Girl's basket, which I'm decorating, it is with a deep happiness in my heart. While I'm tired and having trouble focusing, the fun part is just around the corner . . . and I get to have all that fun with people who matter so much to me.

Sorting, sorting

Stuff grows! I'm quite certain as soon as I turn my back, the toys multiply. It seems like we get rid of all of Daelyn's little matchbox cars except two or three and the next time we clean out the toys, he has another 30 or 40 again. They propagate.

And it's not just the cars. It's all the junk. It seems like I just got rid of about 4 garbage bags full of stuff. Yet, as I clean out the Spare Bedroom (which isn't even supposed to have "toys" in it, just a large bin of dress-up clothes and games stacked neatly in the top of the closet) in preparation for my cousin from Canada, who is coming down for my nephew's wedding next weekend, staying with us for 3 weeks, I find that we have, easily, 4 more garbage bags full.

This morning, the kids and I loaded up the van with clothes that no longer fit them and dropped them off at Good Will. We had so many bags that they were even taking up the back seat and the floorboard between the two middle seats. Deanna held yet another bag. And, still, there are more toys than F.A.O. Schwartz!

My friend, Rachel, tells me not to get discouraged and that I really AM making progress. Kelly says that you have to constantly work to get rid of the junk and that I should plan to go through it every 3 months or so and thin down the new accumulation. I just can't seem to understand where it all comes from.

The children have outgrown toys, for the most part. There are a few things that they still enjoy. My in-laws gave Deanna a very nice set of wooden blocks when she was small. They all still like to make castles and Beverly Hills-style homes with the blocks. Daelyn pulls out his cars and parks them in the 17-car garage (and he hasn't even seen Leno). They love those blocks.

There might be one or two other things that they still use or would use if they could find. But the rest of the stuff just collects dust and gets in my way.

Deanna was sorting through a large Rubbermaid bin for me today. She was sorting into 3 piles: throw-aways, Good Will, and Keep. After she had worked for about an hour, I peeked into the living room, where I had stationed her. There was a very small pile to the far left, a huge pile in the middle, and another small pile to the right. Which was which? I couldn't believe my ears when she told me the huge middle pile was the "Keeps".

"Deanna!" I nearly screamed. "We're trying to get rid of stuff!"

"But, Mama, everytime I pull something out of the box and look at it, I remember some cute story about it. I think about when Dane or Daelyn got it and I just can't get rid of it."

That settles it. If I can just manage to get everything out of the spare bedroom, get it clean, set up the dresser, bedside table, lamp, and bed and make enough room in the closet for my cousin's clothes, I'll take over the sorting. The room shouldn't take me longer than 2 more hours to finish. Then I can invest the next 3 days in figuring out what to keep and where to keep it.

I guess I should be thankful that my children have things. I'm sure there are many children in the world that don't even have simple toys with which to play.

Maybe I should do some research, box ours up, and mail them out. Perhaps if Deanna knew those cute things with all the wonderful memories were being sent to a needy child for them to make memories, she'd be more inclined to sort a little more like me.

It doesn't happen often,

thank goodness, but occasionally, I'll be in a real hurry to dress and forget something important. Like, today. Don had left for the grocery store. Milk is on sale for a GREAT price ($2.28/gal) so we had talked earlier about how much he should buy. I had 4 gallons on the grocery list but had already picked one up. The discussion centered around whether or not there was enough room on the top shelf of the fridge for 4 more gallons of milk plus my gallon of tea, plus Don's Crystal Lite, plus my big jug of coffee creamer, etc.

"There's NO WAY we can fit 4 gallons more in there," Don said.

"I'll check it," I promised.

"Last week, I had to move a ton of stuff around just to make room for 3 gallons."

"I said 'I'll check'!"

Then we had launched off on some other topic. Later, while Don was in the shower, I HAD checked and decided that we could fit 4 gallons in there. It might take some work, but well worth the effort to get that 4th gallon for $2.28. By the time he was out of the shower, I had completely forgotten and never told him.

Anyway, he left, I was drying off after my bath, and I realized my lack of communication. I threw on some clothes, ran into the kitchen to look up his cellphone number (it's a work cell phone and I seldom use it because - it's a WORK cellphone, but I have the number in case I need to call him, I just don't have it memorized), then dialed wildly. No answer. I let it ring and ring and ring. Frustrated, but resigned, I returned to the bathroom and started sorting laundry.

A few minutes later, Don appeared.

"You called?" he asked.

"Yep!" I responded happily, noting that there were no groceries in his hands, only a bag from the drug store containing Daelyn's antibiotic, another of the chores on his list. "I forgot to tell you. I checked the fridge and we can handle 4 gallons."

"I had already decided to head that direction," he told me.

About that time, I noticed my arms felt a little sticky. You know, underneath. I flapped them a little, then realized that in my rush to call him, I had completely forgotten . . . anti-perspirant. Very important item! I quickly remedied the problem.

I wish I could say this is the first time I've made this mistake. It would be a sad, sad lie. I've also forgotten other important things, like brushing my teeth, perfume, jewelry, slips. As a matter of fact, for my nephew's wedding last year, the one in Atlanta, I forgot to pack a slip and had to borrow one. Once, I even forgot my shoes and ended showing up somewhere in slippers.

The worst part is, it seems to be happening more frequently. I have a friend that would say, "It's an age thang," but I choose to believe it's because of being overly busy.

That's my story and I'm . . . stickin' to it.

Tackling the Linen Closet

Whew! I'm in the process of cleaning out and re-organizing the big linen closet in the children's bathroom. I did this job over the summer, but things have gotten out of place and they always seem to grow. When we could no longer close the closet door, I knew it was time to tackle it again.

I've been jamming stuff (truthfully, putting it neatly) into Space Bags, then dehydrating them like pancakes. I've found that, over time, the air seems to creep back into the bags, but as long as I stash them while still deflated, I can best utilize the tall top shelf. I've finished all but the bottom shelf. And it shouldn't take too long. The bottom shelf holds rugs and mats and is spacious. So, a few more minutes and I can line that job off my list. And, I'm getting rid of a few items from the closet, as well, which always makes a job seem more worthwhile.

I still have the Den and Spare Bedroom to tackle before my cousin, two aunts and uncle arrive from Canada for my nephew's wedding April 4. My cousin will be staying here, his parents with my parents. I'd would be nice if he has a room to use without having to crawl over the legos.

But we're making progress - ever moving forward, cleaning, organizing, getting rid of yet more stuff. I'm beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel. My kitchen counters have actually stayed clean for 4 weeks. YAY!

Happy St. Patti's Day Birthday!

It's my birthday - St. Patrick's Day! My whole life, it's felt like the entire world was celebrating with me. I love having my birthday on a special day.

I think I would hate it if it was on Christmas or Easter regularly. Then it'd just get lost in the shuffle. But St. Patti's Day is perfect! A minor holiday but lots of beer, green, fun, etc. We have a parade in town which is great fun and the people on the floats throw candy and necklaces. It's getting longer and longer each year. Within 10 years or so, it probably will last a couple of hours. This year, it was a full hour of fun.

And, this time of year is usually warm without being hot, comfortably nice. You don't need coats but don't have to strip down to nothing, either. The sun is just beginning to peek out again after winter and the birds are chirping, flowers are beginning to bloom, and grass is yet to be burned up from the heat.

Gotta go. I'm making an ice cream cake for myself.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

Oh, and my niece, Amanda, who was born the year I graduated from College, sandwiched in perfectly between the last final exam of my college career and my birthday dinner party. Thank you, baby, for being kind enough to hold off until after my exam and not ruining dinner. I love you, Baby Girl (she's 26 today!).

Disdogbedience

I've always known that we spoil Donovan horribly - all of us, even the children. Don may be the absolute worst. He's like the 4th child, especially over the last two weeks while he's been on antibiotics for colitis.

It's just that he's so lovable. He greets me with such enthusiasm whenever I return to the house, even if I've only been gone 10 minutes, taking the kids to school. He sleeps pressed up against me and is my constant companion, even laying at my feet when I'm on the computer. He doesn't talk back or argue (although, sometimes he does argue with me - growling at me when he doesn't like what I tell him; in him, it's cute), he doesn't fight with his siblings or leave messes around the house (unless he has a new stuffed chew toy that he pulls the stuffing out, but only a new one - the old ones are all stuffing-less), he's not picky about his food and I don't have to work hard to come up with creative meals so he'll enjoy them. He eats everything, loves everyone, and is quite predictable in all his actions. Besides that, he's just plain cute.

However (we all knew there was a down-side coming), "familiarity breeds contempt" is true even in animals, I've found. He's developed several bad habits over the last month or so. If I'm sitting at the kitchen table, only at the kitchen table does he do this, he'll whine and bark to get in my lap. I don't know why he thinks he should be in my lap. I think it's because it's so rare for me to sit during the day, he wants to take advantage of the time for snuggling. But I refuse to have him that near a table where we eat and I'm not going to start bad habits. Plus, when I sit at the kitchen table, it's to work and I can't get my work done with him in my lap.

Another bad habit is the occasional argument from him. Often, this is associated with wanting to sit in my lap, either on the couch or at the table. If there are things in the way or I'm working in the den (sometimes I'll shell pecans in the evening while I watch t.v.), he'll growl and even bark at me. He gets this funny look - he'll turn his head sideways, glance at me out of the corner of his eyes, then bark or growl. It's as if he is angry but trying hard to not let me know he's the source.

I laid down on the bed last week, just to give myself a 10-minute break. It had been a particularly rough day and I was exhausted and still facing choir practice with up to 10 laughing, rambunctious 4, 5, and 6 year olds. I needed a little rest, just 10 minutes or so, to get my second wind. Donovan jumped up on the bed. He wanted to play.

"Donzie, I'm too tired and I need to rest. Go away," I told him. He growled at me. I raised my head.

"DONOVAN," I said sternly, "DON'T GROWL AT ME. I can't PLAY right now." He jumped down and I heard him run off down the hall. Uh-oh. Running. That's a bad sign. I sat up and looked down the hallway, but couldn't see anything. As I laid bsck down, I noticed one of my slippers that I had just taken off to lay down, was missing. Deanna came into my room just then, laughing.

"Does Donovan have my slipper?" I asked her, less a question and more a statement.

"Yep," she answered with a smile. "I caught him in the dining room with it."

He was punishing me for not playing with him, the stinker.

But, I suppose, in the balance, he's such fun and such a great companion (not to mention the sense of protection that we have when he's around, vigilantly listening for strangers), not to mention the fact that even these bad habits are mild in comparison to the children, it's well worth putting up with his little bad habits. After all, I wouldn't get rid of a child, and he's just a hairier, four-legged mutation.

A Bard Off the Top

Ever since Dane was in "Hamlet", there's been a lot of Shakespeare-speak around our house. This evening, Deanna and Dane were joking about something. When Deanna ran out of fun, Dane-stimulating comments, she resorted to,

"Fie! Fie on you!"

Dane cracked up, then responded with some other line from the Play. I was standing at the sink, cleaning up after dinner, listening to this whole routine. I couldn't help myself. It was time to get involved.

"Get thee to a bedroom," I yelled at Dane.

Deanna, quick-witted as usual, responded.

"Is this a bedtime I see before me?"

What would we do without Shakespeare? After all, "All the 'kitchen's' a stage."

Stocking the Pantry My Own Way

With a Recession at hand which may become a Depression, I've decided I need to work very hard at using all our resources better. Since there are very few areas over which I have control, feeding and clothing my family are the things I'm tackling.

I'm trying to utilize everything possible. On Friday afternoons, the local food bank gets rid of all their perishables before the weekend. There is an organized distribution of sorts. Outside a local food pantry, a truck arrives, a couple of volunteers set up tables and unload boxes full of food. People gather around, looking over the produce, dairy, etc. Announcements are made, a prayer is said, then the starting gun fires (metaphorically) and people begin grabbing and gouging to get the pastries and the best items. There is a contribution box for anyone who can afford a few dollars.

For several years, I attended regularly. It was a great source for Romano and Feta cheese, salad, bread, sometimes milk or juice, fresh pineapple, or strawberries. Occasionally, there would be unusual items, such as large bags of brownie mix from Gloria Jean's or 5 lb. blocks of baking chocolate. After returning from England, I never got back into the routine of going.

I tried once or twice to get back into the swing of it, but some young man stole my filled box out from underneath my nose one Friday afternoon, and it upset me so much I didn't go back.

But with the economic situation, I decided I should take advantage of relatively free food. I've begun going again. One of the problems I had in the past was that I would always end up coming home with things that would go bad before we ate them. I was determined this wouldn't happen again, so I've been slow to fill up my box. I usually arrive with at least a sketchy mental list of items I need - fruit, sandwich bread, rolls, a bag of salad, a bell pepper . . . It has helped tremendously. However, some things always manage to creep into my box.

Several weeks ago, my father (who has helped run the "Friday Food Giveaway" for several years now) snagged 3 large containers of whole mushrooms for me. I absolutely LOVE mushrooms and these were huge, crisp, and plentiful.

How would I ever use all of them up before they went bad, I asked myself. Finally, the solution hit me. I cut them up, laid them out on a pan, popped them in the oven at 170 for several hours, and dried them. Then I put them in a baggy and tossed them in the freezer. Next time I need mushrooms for a crockpot meal, I throw in a handful. The liquid should reconstitute them and I think they'll work great. They sure taste good.

This whole drying concept has opened up a whole new world to me. The pineapple that we didn't finish eating quick enough, along with some tomatoes, were sliced and dried. I've used the tomatoes on pizza, in quiche, and several other ways, and saved the expense of buying sundried tomatoes. The fruit also dries well.

Then I branched out to beef jerky. My children love jerky and Slim Jim's, but they're expensive. So, I made my own chewy treat by marinading thin strips of steak, then drying them. Next, I tried croutons. My children were crazy about them. The next week, I picked up an extra loaf of Italian bread at the Giveaway and made a large batch of croutons and tossed them in the freezer.

My herbs are getting dried, rather than buying herbs at the store, and just about anything that I fear will spoil can be used up somehow. Right now, I have tomatoes, pineapple and orange peel drying in a low oven. The fruit gets real chewy, about the consistency of gummy fruits, but far more nutritious and much tastier. I have two jars of sundried tomatoes in olive oil and now put the ones I make in baggies dry.

This summer, a family friend has agreed to teach me to can. In the meantime, I'll dry what I can and store up for the winter (crisis). If none comes, we'll eat well in the future.

Brothers-At-Arms

The boys are driving me crazy. They play with each other (when they're not fighting or arguing) constantly - all through dinner, while they should be dressing for school, in the bathroom with toothbrushes in their mouths . . .

This evening, when one was supposed to be bathing and the other was supposed to be laying out his school clothes for tomorrow, they came chasing down the hallway and into the dining room with light sabers ablaze.

"STOP!" I shrieked.

"What?!" they asked, innocently, as if clueless they were converting our home into a field of battle in some perpetual jousting tournament.

I spend more time separating them than cleaning the house. It gets VERY frustrating.

Tonight, when Don got home from work, I was talking to him about how much I was struggling with the all-day play date.

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" he asked. "Don't we want our children to be close?"

Yeah, right. Close is one thing, battling siblings is quite another. You just wait until this weekend, Daddy. I'll leave you with them for about six hours, take Deanna and go shopping. Then we'll just see how glib you are.

Police Presence in Our Backyard

So, I'm awoken at 1:30 a.m. by sirens. It took me several minutes to realize they hadn't moved away. I poked Don, trying to rouse him from deep sleep, then pulled off my breathing mask and headed down the hallway. I could see the flashing lights reflecting off the walls near the children's rooms.

The boys had gone to bed without closing their door, so I scooted into their bedroom and peeked out the window. There, in our second driveway (which is on the side of the house with both Deanna's room and the boy's room) was a police cruiser with lights flashing and sirens blaring. In the middle of the street, just up a little ways, another cruiser was stretched across both lanes blocking any access by vehicles. There were policemen standing in the street and a lot of yelling. I considered walking up to find out what was happening, then it occurred to me that there could be a "bad person" (as the children call them) running around and figured it was best I stay locked safely inside, away from any stray bullets.

Deanna appeared at my elbow.

"What's going on, Mama"" she asked. "The lights are flashing in my room."

Before I could respond, Dane sat bolt upright in bed.

"Yeah, Mom," he added. "The sirens woke ME. What's happening out there?"

I explained what I could see, which wasn't much except policemen milling around and yelling. After a few minutes, one of them approached the cruiser in our driveway and turned off the siren. It looked like he was going to leave when he pulled out his flashlight and headed down our driveway into the backyard. I ran into Deanna's room to watch out her back window, which looks into the backyard.

A few minutes later, he walked back past the window, heading back into the driveway. I went back to bed, where Don finally stirred and asked what was happening. I told him what I had seen, put my mask back on, and settled down to sleep.

Then Donovan began growling. It's very unsettling to be lying in bed with a dog on top of your legs growling at the door that leads from your bedroom onto your deck and into the yard. I heard what sounded like a barrel (Don has several rain barrels next to his shed, which just happen to be outside Deanna's back window) being knocked to the ground. I immediately began to worry about Deanna and considered crawling into bed with her to make sure she was safe. But I was pretty sure she was sound asleep and didn't want to wake her. I laid in bed and prayed.

Around 7:30, Don called from work. He told me that he had called the Sheriff's Department, that they said they had just changed shifts, and didn't know anything, to my astonishment. Don suggested I call a few of the neighbors, which I did.

The most I've been able to piece together is that the police were chasing a car down our road. We don't know why, just that there was some type of chase. Just past our house, where a side road turns off from our road, the car stopped, and the driver took off running, with the police in pursuit, behind OUR HOUSE! There was a woman still in the vehicle, so one police cruiser kept tabs on it and her. No one seemed to know if they had caught the driver or why he was running.

When I told Deanna what I had found out, she said that the police remained in our driveway with lights flashing for about 2 hours. She said, at one point, they were right outside her bedroom window. She thinks they may have knocked on her window with a flashlight and heard them yell, "Are you in there?"

She was scared out of her wits. I told her about the barrel sound and she said it was probably the door of the cruiser being shut, that the officers were very noisy. I told her she should've come and told me. Either I would have slept with her or put her in our bed.

Of course, it's easy to give advice now, after the fact. Truth is, I was scared, too. I didn't know what was happening, but it seemed to be happening right around my children's bedrooms.

To lighten Deanna's mood a little this morning, I told her that if that even happens again, she should immediately open her blind, stick her little face against the window, and yell out to the policeman,

"Yes, I'm in here. But I'm only 12 and have school tomorrow. Could you catch the crooks a little quieter, please! Oh, and, by the way, we're all out of coffee. You'll have to get that from Krispy Kreme."

She laughed as she chided me. I just hope she's not going to be scared again tonight. Humor can only make things better for so long.

Sitting Exercise

My nephew, James, owns a gym in Atlanta. He opened it last year. It was no real surprise to anyone who knows him since he grew up working out and lifting weights in his garage on the exercise equipment his father kept there, as did his sister (Alicia, the personal trainer with the degree in Exercise Physiology who's now obtaining her Master's in Public Health) and brother (an Investment Banker with a large, international investment company in Atlanta). It's a Crossfit gym, which is the rage in exercise these days - they call it Crossfit Addiction, which is understandable considering the growth rate.

Within two months of opening, the gym was already operating in the black each month. I haven't talked with James about it in a while but it can't be too much longer before he can draw a salary, if he isn't already.

He's gotten even more fit since opening the gym, as I'm sure you can imagine. He posted a video on the gym website of him doing a 44" standing box jump. It's unbelievable. He measures off 44" - a box with several large barbell weights on the top. Then, before our VERY eyes, he pumps his arms twice or three times, bends his knees, and JUMPS! 44 INCHES! It was like watching Superman.

Anyway, when my Hematologist diagnosed me with two genetic blood-clotting disorders and told me it would be very dangerous for me to kneel or squat, I told James. He scoffed at me, which surprised me.

"Aunt P. (which is what most of my nieces and nephews call me), can't you sit in a chair? That's squatting. Why don't you pull a chair out into the middle of the floor and sit down and stand up 100 times each day. That would give you a GREAT workout."

I started out, determined to do 100 and discovered, 20 sits later, that my legs burned so badly I could barely move. I've been working at my sits (as I call them) and got up to 55 today! I was thrilled. I'm hoping to reach 100 within another 2 weeks.

I'm just not sure what to do about my Y membership.

Hamlet Performed

Boy, was the 4th grade play impressive! And what a difference between the Dress Rehearsal and the live performance today. You could hear the children, most of the lines (and actors) were clear, and there was a fair amount of expression. I was very surprised. I guess they felt silly putting feeling in their words with no audience on Wednesday. Today was totally different.

The children only had one practice with microphones (the Dress Rehearsal) but were able to handle them quite well. They placed them down on a pad in the middle of the stage at the end of each scene and I don't think they ever forgot and carried them off. They shared them and almost without fail remembered to pass them off to the next speaker.

The play lasted a full hour, but it was so well-performed that the time flew by. There were some mistakes, but so few (especially considering they are only in the 4th grade) that no one cared. A few lines were forgotten but, again, very few and the kids recovered well. All-in-all, it was very impressive.

Dane did great! And Hamlet was a real star. It was exciting hearing such famous lines being performed by such young children. "Neither a borrower nor a lender be"; "I will speak daggers to her, but use none"; "Brevity is the soul of wit"; "This above all: to thine own self be true" - such incredible words. I'm once-again reminded of my love for Shakespeare and his turn of a phrase.

I hope these young boys and girls understand some of the words they spoke and that this play gives them a real love for great literature. I was about their age when my love affair with The Bard began to develop.

It was quite a morning, for all of us. The entire school attended the production and I'm sure it will be quite the topic of conversation for the next week or so.

The only thing that could have made it better would have been an invitation to the Cast Party!

Two Kinds of Aliens

When Dane was a newborn, he had a very unusual look about him. His eyes were almond-shaped and jet black. He had no eyebrows or eyelashes, was bald, and the shape of his head looked amazingly like the outline of the alien on the X-Files. When he'd open those black almond-shaped eyes, it was a little scary. For years, I've kidded him about looking like an alien.

About two years ago, he told me that the whole "alien" joke hurt his feelings. Since I REALLY do not want to hurt my son (nor ensure some psychiatrist will get rich off him in the future), I've refrained from any hurtful remarks since. He became quite a beautiful child by the time he was a year old and rivaled Deanna for compliments from strangers.

Anyway, Deanna made some comment the other day, referring to Dane as "the alien".

Me: "Sissy, it hurts Dane's feelings when you call him an alien. Please don't do it anymore."

Deanna: "Okay, then. The 'foreigner' - like, from a foreign planet."

Hamlet and The King

The 4th Grade at my children's school always performs a Shakespearean play. This year, it's "Hamlet". Dane has one of the leading parts - the King/Hamlet's uncle and father's murderer. The performance is scheduled for 10 a.m. Friday.

Dane is pretty sick but he drug himself out of bed today and down to the Gym for the Dress Rehearsal. He had his lines well-memorized, even though he has the most lines in the play. He wasn't perfect, but did amazingly well.

The funniest part was that I've worked really hard with him on dynamics. I've explained each line and what it means and helped him with hand motions and voice inflection to make his parts more expressive and meaningful. It's kind of funny, in comparison to the other children who deliver each and every line in a monotone. (The little girl that plays the Queen gave a fabulous performance on her final line - the scene where she's dying!) The Director and Producer of the play is the retired 4th grade teacher who left at the end of last year. She also happens to be the person with whose family I lived during college and she knows me VERY well. At one particularly expressive line, she cracked up and turned around from her "Director's chair", where she sat with a copy of the Script giving prompts, and gave me "that look"!

The apple doesn't fall very far from the tree. And she's watched the tree from the time it was a thin, green sapling. She recognizes the apple and can clearly identify the tree from which it fell.

Anyway, the play ought to be wonderful, if the Dress Rehearsal was any indication. I'm looking forward to the full production. But I'm especially looking forward to the King of Denmark's death scene. He ought to steal the show if the Queen doesn't beat him to it.

A Sure Way . . .

. . . to make sure you'll never have to wash the family's clothes.

Me: "It's about time for you to begin learning how to do laundry."

Child: "I couldn't do the laundry. I have no idea how many cups of deodorant to put in each load."

Just a Little More Craziness

I mentioned several weeks ago that I'm reconnecting with a couple of old friends - one that I hadn't seen since graduating from High School in 1979, another that I hadn't seen since our family left Belgium (my father was in the Army and was transferred to the military base in Augusta from Belgium) when I was in the 6th grade. The High School friend still lives in the area and we've spoken on the phone several times and had lunch with another high school friend (who's still a close friend of mine) twice.

I connect with my friend from Belgium through Facebook. Her name is Andrea. Anyway, a few weeks ago, my niece tagged me with a meme called, "25 Things". You had to list 25 random facts about yourself, then tag 25 other people, one of them being the person who tagged you. I did my 25 things and I think I posted them here, as well. Anyway, Andrea was one of the people I tagged and she finally got around to doing her 25 things. Several of them were hilarious, as is Andrea. For instance, "I grew up overseas as an American, although I had never lived in America. I came to America as a Belgium, although I only lived there. I went to college in Ohio as a resident, although I had never lived in Ohio." Another of hers that I love: "Maturity is overrated. Show me someone that comes to mind when the word 'mature' is mentioned . . . do you really want to be like that???!!"

But by far my favorite was: "When the days got boring, I used to make my kids talk to me in opera . . ."

The other day at breakfast, I announced Dane as King of Denmark - the part he's playing in Hamlet. I was quite Regal and could easily have been confused as a Courtier. I even played the trumpet using my hands and holding my lips j-j-just right. The kids stopped eating and all stared at me.

Deanna: "Mama, you're so crazy!"

Me: "Crazy was exactly what I was going for. But what about fun? Should we add that, too?"

They all laughed. Then I continued.

"You want to hear 'crazy'? You should hear what my friend, Andrea, wrote on her Facebook. And I began to quote the Opera thing. Again, the children stared at me.

Deanna: "What does that mean, Mama - 'talk in Opera'?"

Me: "It means that if you want another piece of French Toast, you sing it to me in Opera style." I demonstrated.

Before I knew it, Daelyn was standing up on the bench of the kitchen table, belting out opera sounds to normal communication. He asked about his lunch in opera, then commented on his homework. Then Dane began a tune from "Phantom of the Opera", requesting the peanut butter. Before long, Deanna had joined in and my three little Opera Stars were singing their way through the morning.

And they think I'M crazy?

Can't We Just Read Aloud Without Commentary?

A Bigger House for June

"June liked to clean her small home. She cleaned so much that the glass shone. 'I like this cute home,' June said.

'But I have just one wish. I would like a bigger home.' "

Daelyn: "Apparently, June is fickle!"

The Outcome

Dane had his sinus surgery yesterday. I asked the doctor how long he had scheduled for Dane during pre-op and he said an hour, which I found a little surprising because we had talked during Dane's previous visit about how slow he was going to go. I had expected at least an hour and a half.

One hour into the surgery, one of the nurses found me and told me that they were only half done. The doctor had asked her to come out and tell me so I wouldn't worry.

Dane did fabulously. Everyone greeted him by name and joked with him. He was so relaxed that they didn't have to give him anything in pre-0p. As they rolled him out the doors and into the O.R., he was waving over his head, calling good-bye to me.

One funny story - while Don and I were sitting with him in pre-op, the nurse walked by his cubicle.

"Hey," Dane called, "when am I going to get my Verced?" The nurse explained that they probably wouldn't give him any since he was so relaxed. We told the doctor and the Anesthesiologist when they arrived. The doctor commented,

"I'm not sure I like that a 9-yr. old boy has had so many of these surgeries that he's requesting his preferred drug by name!" The Anesthesiologist agreed and we all laughed. We joked about needing a punch card for surgeries - pay for 4, get the 5th for free. I requested Frequent Flyer Miles.

Anyway, following the surgery, the ENT told me that Dane should feel hugely better almost immediately. He said that in the first surgery, they had removed about 1/3 of the cells in his ethmoids. This time, they cut a clear path and suctioned alot of fluid out of his frontals. He said that with the amount of fluid Dane had in there, his head HAD to have been hurting. He told me to ask him today if his head felt better.

Dane's response to "How are you feeling today, Son?" when I asked him first thing this morning?

"My nose hurts but my head doesn't hurt at all!" There was a sense of awe in his voice. I don't think we understood the extent of his headaches. But they seem to be gone now. What a blessing! Dane hasn't even wanted pain medication today, he's already feeling so much better.

Below are four pictures from his surgery that Dr. Harmon gave us on a CD. The one on the top right shows the tissue separating the cells in the ethmoids. Those are all now gone. The red picture on the bottom right is the opening that they made between the frontals and the ethmoids - a fairly large hole, which should facilitate easy drainage.

I feel like a load has been lifted off me and I'm very thankful he's done with the surgery and feeling so much better. I hadn't completely understood how worried I was about him going through this again until it was all over and I had this sense of euphoria.

A few more days and he'll be back at school, feeling better than he has in a long time. And that
makes all of us feel better.

A Chore for Me, As Well

Deanna told Daelyn this goofy joke about a year ago. It was about an Immigrant that was trying to learn English from watching TV. Unfortunately, he tuned into the cooking channel.

He learns just a few phrases like: forks and knives, fry them til they're crispy, etc. He happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and gets arrested for murder. You can imagine the rest.

Police: "How'd ya do it, Buddy?"

Immigrant: "Fork and knives, forks and knives."

The questioning continues and the Immigrant gets in bigger and bigger trouble with each learned phrase. For some reason, Daelyn thinks this joke is hilarious. Of course, you have to consider that he's only six and his verbal wit is almost slapstick.

Still, HE is the child that sets the table for dinner every night. He always asks what we're having and what he should set on the table.

"Plates, napkins, forks, knives for Daddy, me, and Sissy, and drinks."

He ALWAYS, ALWAYS responds with, "Forks and knives, forks and knives."

I am so very sick of this phrase that tonight I stopped after "plates, napkins, forks . . ." and glanced at him. He was standing across the kitchen, facing the opposite directi0n from me, and his head was turned sideways looking at me with a huge grin. He was just WAITING.

"If you say 'forks and knives'," I told him, "I'm going to BOP you."

He just couldn't resist.

"Forks and knives, forks and knives," he chanted, for at least the thousandth time.

I chased him around the table and bopped him. He laughed and told me that I had barely touched him.

Guess I should have knocked him out. Maybe then he'd think twice about "forks and knives".

I'm thinking about changing up chores - perhaps Dane would do a better job of table setting.

Quiet Times

Today was my weekly date to take my father to run his errands. I walked up, we loaded into my parent's car, and started driving. We had been together about 1/2 hour when my father said,

"What's wrong, hon?" Nothing was wrong. Really. Nothing. (Except, perhaps, my life is unbelievably stressful right now.)

I told my father there was nothing wrong, but he didn't seem to believe me. I wondered why he was so convinced and realized I was very quiet today. I just didn't really have anything to say - lots on my mind, but very little to chat about.

I was reminded of 3 weeks ago. I was about a week into a terrible sinus infection (which I'm seeing the doctor about tomorrow) and felt miserable. By the time we got home from church, I could feel myself worsening. I was cold, my head hurt, my nose was killing me, I couldn't breath, and I felt incredibly weak and tired. In an effort to create a little gap for breathing, I decided to try my sinus rinse and somehow managed to back fluid up my eustachian tubes. My left ear started aching and I just couldn't take it any longer. I needed my Mom.

I walked through the backyards, quietly went through the kitchen door and into the dining room. I noticed that they were sitting on the couch engrossed in a movie, so I silently took off my coat, hung it on the back of a chair, and walked over to sit next to my mother.

"What's wrong, honey?" they asked in unison.

As far as I can see, the only similarity between these two instances (other than feeling pretty terrible both times) was that I was quiet.

Okay. What does that say about me. I actually entered a house quietly for a change, without trumpets blaring, and both my parents thought there was something wrong. Today, I just didn't have it in me to chat idly. Dad was sure something was wrong.

I DO have quiet times throughout my day - I just don't usually choose to have them when other people are around. But some days are different and I plain don't want to talk. Today was one of those. Tomorrow may be another.

Bowl Mania

My parents got home late Saturday night from a mission trip to Guadeloupe. The kids went up Sunday afternoon to visit and Dane got caught up in all the Superbowl pre-game excitement. When I called to have the kids sent home for dinner, my father was reluctant and said Dane wanted to stay and watch the game. Sorry, Dad. Bedtime's 7:00.

After dinner, Dane informed me that he was going to spend his last few minutes of awakeness watching the game and asked if I'd come and join him and snuggle. I gladly piled up on the couch in the Den. It brought back memories of years of Superbowl parties and informal gatherings with friends. Don doesn't particularly enjoyed sports but I love to watch a good game - football, baseball, almost anything. For years when I was single, I'd watch the World Series (when the Braves were in it) and keep in touch with my siblings and parents via phone after any good plays. This was the first time I've ever sat to watch the Game with my progeny.

Just as we were preparing to sing the National Anthem, Deanna ran into the Den.

"Who's winning?" she asked. Dane and I looked at each other and started to laugh. We explained that we hadn't even yet reached the kick-off. Deanna plopped on the couch to join us. Before long, Daelyn appeared, as well. We stopped talking just in time for the kick-off.

"Mom," Dane asked just as the ball went into play and we knew the kick-off moment was done, "has it ever happened that the ball was on the 99-yard line?" I explained that there wasn't a 99-yard line, and Dane rephrased his question.

"What about the 1-yard line?"

"Sure, honey," I told him. "And you should see the players try to climb over the opposing team's line-up after the hike to get that one yard and a TD." Dane laughed. I explained further that it happens quite frequently. As if in response to my answer, literally, within seconds, the ball was on the 2-yard line, then the 1. Dane got very excited.

As the tension built, we all found ourselves whooping. When either team made an impressive play, we'd yell and holler. Don, who was working on the computer (paying bills, I think) and being quite patient with us, finally turned around and made some comment about us being loud.

"Well, what do you expect?" I asked. "This is a fabulous game."

Unfortunately, all too soon, 7 p.m. rolled around. I sent the boys into the kitchen around 7:15 to take their medicines. While they were gone, the game went to a commercial break.

"This is the best part of the game, Deanna," I told her. "They charge so much for commercials during the Superbowl that every company trots out their very best commercials. I often like them better than the game."

Again, as if in response to my comment, we began to witness people getting beaten to a pulp - one guy was hit on a course by a swinging golfer not once but twice; another guy was on a ladder replacing a light bulb when someone around the other corner of the house threw the power lever on the power box, sending the ladder guy flying through the air and crashing into a van across the street; a bowler was passing a ball over top of another guy's head who was bending down tying his shoes when the bag breaks and the ball hits him on the neck and head . . . each incident was funnier than the previous one. I can't tell you what the commercial was trying to sell, but Deanna and I shrieked with laughter. That commercial was followed immediately by another equally funny one involving unusual pets - a grandma with an osterich that chases the mailman, someone driving down the road with a wild boar in the backseat sticking his nose out the window . . . We continued to shriek and roll on the couch. Don shook his head. The boys came running in to see what they missed.

I eventually had to send the children off to bed and get my chores done during commercials. What a shame. I missed all the other good commercials.

Last night at dinner we were rehashing some of the fun from Sunday night. From there, we began kidding each other. Dane had gotten up from the table to refill his glass and remarked from the sink,

"You know, Mama, we have a lot of fun together. It's the most fun we have in our lives."

It's true. And while I love every minute of it, it also makes me feel sad for parents that don't have that with their children. Some people's lives are so busy, they never really get to have fun with their children. I know other people who are too uptight to let their children see them having fun. I'm sure there are lots of other reasons people don't enjoy time with their children like Don and me.

But I'm thankful we do. I'm thankful to have children who want to watch the Superbowl with Mom and snuggle on the couch while laughing at commercials. I love watching them smile and sharing their laughter and creating that strong family culture.

As soon as they woke up yesterday morning, they all wanted to know the outcome of the game. I stood in the hallway between the boys' room and Deanna's and told them about the last 5 minutes. At one point, I stepped into Deanna's room with Dane close on my heels, until I heard a scream from Daelyn who was still laying in bed.

"Mama, get back out here in the Hall. I can't see you there and I want to see what you're saying."

Apparently, it's not only about the humor in words. It's also about the animation. But that's another Post.

For Grandma Doughty

Tomorrow is Grandma Doughty's birthday. In honor of her, I'm posting an essay Dane wrote for school. We love you, Mom - all of us! Happy Birthday!

"I went to my grandma's house in West Virginia last Christmas. I had soo much fun I got alot of stuff for Christmas.

I also had fun when it snowed. It didn't stick, though. Well at least it iced.

I also had fun visiting with Grandma and Grandpa. We stayed up late and watch movies. They also told me some stories of their childhood.

I wish I could have stayed there!"

Here We Go Again!

Dane has been put on the surgical schedule for Monday, February 9. We won't know what time he'll be going in until the day before.

They'll be doing much more aggressive surgery, going into the frontals and cleaning out cells to allow for drainage.

Dane's having very bad headaches still and we have to get him through another week of pain.

We could use prayer.

One Word

My goddaughter's sister and dear friend tagged me with this on Facebook. I thought it was an interesting exercise and decided to repeat it here, although I can't tag 16 people. Anyone who reads this and would like to be tagged, go ahead and copy it.

USING ONLY ONE WORD! It's not as easy as you might think! Copy and change the answers to suit you and pass it on (to 16 others). It's really hard to only use one word answers. Be sure to tag the person you received it from!

1. Where is your cell phone? Purse

2. Occupation? Homemaker

3. Your hair? Straight

4. Your mother? Endearing

5. Your father? Amazing

6. Your favorite? Snuggling

7. Your dream last night? Unremembered

8. Your favorite drink? Wine

9. Your dream/goal? Grandmothering

10. What room you are in? Den

11. Your hobby? Soaps

12. Your fear? Others (This was the hardest one for me to put into a single word; by others, I mean people that I love experiencing pain. Did I just cheat?)

13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Moved

14. Where were you last night? Meeting

15. Something that you aren't? Snooty

16. Muffins? Cranberry


Can you imagine me only giving one word answers? That was Don's dream last night!

Emotions are High

I don't know why I'm so emotional these days, but it seems to happen regularly. This morning, for instance, I'm worried about Dane and can't seem to stop crying. I'll get it together for a few minutes, then begin to think about him again and start to cry.

He feels terrible. I had him home all day yesterday, lying on the couch. I kept hot compresses on his head, just hoping they'd take away some of the pain. This morning, I heard voices and footsteps before my alarm went off. I heard Don leaving for work, then someone snuggled up against me on his side of the bed. I knew it was Dane.

When I moved to turn off the alarm, I rolled over facing him and put my arms around him.

"Mama, I hurt," he said, pushing his head against my body as if the warmth would somehow dissipate his pain.

"I know, hon," I told him. I DO know. That's how I felt this summer when they hospitalized me. I thought my head was exploding. "But I just don't know what to do." He's on antibiotics, steroids, I've been putting hot compresses on him and giving him Ibuprofen. The only other thing I could think of was adding a decongestant.

"Mama, would you call Dr. Harmon today and ask him if he can go ahead and operate. I just can't take this for another 2 months."

I think that's when it hit me. Thinking about Dane, so helpless, lying in my bed after his sinus surgery whimpering and saying, "I didn't know surgery would hurt so bad!" and, now, he hurts so badly he's asking to go through it again! I got very choked up.

I encouraged him to try and go to school. Focusing on something other than the pain may help him deal with it. He may not perform as well as usual, but a distraction can't be all bad. I dosed him up again before school with a decongestant, Tylenol, steroids, antibiotic, had him rinse his sinus' and put hot compresses on his head. I made sure he had my cell phone number in case he needed me. He can't spend the next two months at home with headaches. He's GOT to try and push through some.

But I did call the doctor and he has an appointment for tomorrow morning. I just hope Dr. Harmon has some answers and can offer some relief.

I'm going to go and have a good cry now.

Dane's Condition

I don't believe I wrote about Dane's appointment with the ENT two weeks ago (has it been that long?) It was his 2 month post-op and time to do another CT Scan to see what's really going on in that little head.

Nuttin' but bad news. Dane is at least as socked in as he was before his surgery, maybe even worse. The doctor kept muttering, "I'm so disappointed. This is really disappointing." which doesn't exactly instill confidence in the patient.

The crux of the matter is this: the frontal sinus' are located in the forehead, just in front of the brain and separated from the brain by a thin, small bone. In children, the frontals are very small and there's always a danger of perforating the bone and allowing infection, etc. open access to the brain in an attempt to poke drain holes in the frontal sinus'. Huge danger. The ethmoids, which are on the sides of the nose just below the frontals are much easier to access and, in Dane, his two worst areas were the frontals and the ethmoids. Dr. Harmon was trying to very conservative, which pleased me immensely. After all, Dane's only 9 years old.

His final decision was to leave the frontals alone but to clear holes in the ethmoids, hoping that gravity would pull the mucous down from the frontals into the ethmoids once the ethmoids were no longer full of fluid. Turns out, the ethmoids have never drained and the frontals are seriously inflamed and FULL of puss. He showed me two pictures of Dane - one with him on his back, the other with him on his stomach. There was a thin layer of air at the top of the ethmoids and frontals. But since the body positioning changed from one picture to the next, he explained that the entire contents of both of those sinus' is fluid (puss) and is moving with Dane's body positioning. Bad news and news which the doctor found very upsetting.

Prognosis? Antibiotics, yet again, to try and clear up infection but, if he's not significantly better in two months, they'll have to operate again, going into the frontals this time. It seems they have to give the body 4 months inbetween surgeries to recover before they can go in again. That means we have two months for God to heal Dane.

After asking some friends to be praying, someone asked if the doctor has put him on steroids. The answer was no, but I thought it was a great idea. If the sinus' are inflamed and the swelling is covering the drain holes, perhaps some steroids with decrease the inflammation and allow the drain holes to reopen and give Dane some relief. I called Dr. Harmon's office and left a note asking his opinion.

I found out yesterday that the nurse had called me back on my cell phone, which was missing for a week and I finally found in the ashtray of the van, and told me that Dr. Harmon had agreed that we should try steroids and had phoned them into a nearby pharmacy. Meanwhile, Dane's head hurts so badly that he's home from school today trying to rest.

I've got to get that prescription for steroids filled today. He's almost done with the antibiotics and still feels crummy. When he first heard the news about the possibility of surgery, he got very shaken and was really mean for a couple of days as he dealt with it. This morning, he asked me to call Dr. Harmon. I asked him if he wanted to have more surgery.

"Mommy, if another operation will take away this pain, it's worth it," he said. It like to have broken my heart.

Please pray for my little boy. He's only nine and is suffering - not as badly as some children with liver disease or other terrible illnesses, but he's MINE and I feel his pain. And he's felt bad for such a long time and been through so much to feel better, with no improvement.

Pray that the steroids do the trick and his sinus' are able to drain and stay cleared up. Pray for an end to his headaches and stomach pain. And pray for grace for this boy to handle suffering and understand it from the eternal perspective.

P.S.

Oh, by the way, I took green beans, a new recipe cooked with sour cream, that were amazing. And I made "pink fluff" which is raspberry jello, cool whip, pineapple, cottage cheese, and pecans all mixed together. And Deanna wanted to make a cake to take, so it turned out to not be a big deal.

And the potluck on Sunday turned out to not be a potluck after all. I had my dates wrong.

Whew! Slid by on that one.

Decisions

We went to a Christmas Party Saturday night. A guy who was once Don's boss throws this party every year. When it first began, December was just too busy for them to be able to book a date, so they opted for a late-January get-together, instead. It stuck and they do this every year.

The Host invites everyone who works for him or ever has. You might think there'd be hundreds of people in attendance, but it seems he only has about 30 show each year. We've attended a couple of times. He smokes a turkey and a ham and everyone brings desserts and side dishes. Covered-dish functions can often be slim pickins', but not at this one. We ate our fill and brought home almost as much as we took.

I know very few people at this party. Actually, Don doesn't even know a lot of them. We were sitting across the table from a very nice couple who were very friendly. After visiting for 1/2 hour or so, the woman asked me Don's name. I told her and she remarked that she should have put two and two together, that she knew the name but just didn't put the face with it.

Somewhere in the conversation, we talked about our short stint in England. She asked me and the children some questions, like if we liked it, what the weather was like, was it a difficult adjustment . . . Then she asked me if we would be going back sometime.

"Don's been back two or three other times," I told her, "but he no longer works for that company anymore, so there's no chance we'll be returning."

"What do you mean he doesn't work for that company any longer?" she asked. "Isn't he with WGI?"

WGI is Washington Group International, the company that had the contract on the Nuclear Plant/DOE facility where Don works and that sent us to England. Last year, they lost the Contract when it came up for bid and Don now works for a new contractor.

"No, not anymore," I explained.

"When the contractor came in, he didn't go with WGI?" she asked.

"No," I responded again. "He stayed at the Plant."

She asked me the same question about six different ways. I think I finally was able to make it clear to her that Don stayed with the facility which now has a new contractor, thus he has a new employer. She seemed very surprised.

"Almost ALL of us have left the Plant and went to work for WGI," she said. Now it was my turn to be very surprised.

Don spent the latter part of last year praying about his job situation - whether or not to stay with the new contractor or look for employment elsewhere. He decided to stay. The transition to new contractor has not been seamless or easy, but Don is a steady guy and he just keeps pushing through, day after day. I had no opinion and prayed very hard for him that the Lord would speak clearly and that he would have the courage to do what he thought God wanted for our family. When he told me he had decided to stay, I was relieved that the decision had been made.

Since he made his decision, I've been struck several times by the thought of how unpredictable employment is these days, especially in this Recession. We're thankful Don has a job, and a good job, at that. And he has years and years of seniority, which must count for something. Lots of people, including his boss and the previous boss who was hosting this party, left the facility during the transition to new contractor, not wanting to weather this type of change yet again. Don held fast, despite difficulties, and I have to believe God gave him the grace to be able to get through for a reason.

Still, to hear that so many other folks went with WGI and know that Don's decision means no more England takes me aback a little. I trust that my husband heard the Lord and I was worried about him leaving and going with WGI anyway, afraid it might mean he would be taking extended trips to England and we wouldn't be able to go most of the time. I didn't want to be separated from him and almost breathed a sigh of relief when he decided to stay where he's at.

As for now, I think I just better be thankful he has a good job that provides well for our needs and support him as much as I possibly can. And who knows what the future will hold for the Doughty family. Maybe the new contractor will ask him to go to France or Africa or Australia.

One thing I've learned over my 47 years - life's an adventure, especially if you walk with the Lord. It's never dull or boring, always busy, hectic, and with many challenges. And lots and lots of rewards.

Most of them far from monetary.

The Potluck Dilemna

Why is it that I can cook a meal for another family practically any day of the week with no stress or sweat. . . I just double up the recipe of whatever I'm making for us and - voila - instant meal to share (well, maybe not INSTANT)!

. . . but, trying to think through what to take to a Potluck completely paralyzes me. Meals for other families are easy. Like I said, I send over whatever we're eating. But POTLUCKS! You have to consider looks. It needs to look appetizing and attractive. You need to consider how difficult it is to serve. You need to consider how many people will be fed. You want to make sure that it's a one-dish meal if meat isn't being served separately or, if meat IS, then what vegetable isn't too overdone at these things and still has wide appeal. When I take someone a meal, I can do rice or pasta with something to go over it. But you can't do that at a Potluck. The pasta or rice always gets separated on the table from the topping and people can never figure out what to do with it if they can even figure out what it is.

Sometimes, we'll go to a Potluck where they designate "finger foods only" because they don't intend to have plasticware! Oh, my gosh! Fingerfoods? That limits me even further.

In any case, guess what's on the schedule for this weekend? Not one, but two, potlucks. I'm going to be a basket case by Monday. Anybody out there want to trade a homecooked meal for your family for potluck foods?

Tongue-tied

I've had this cold for almost 2 weeks now. Last weekend, when I was at the worst of it, I called my doctor's office hoping to get antibiotics for the sinus infection. He was gone for the day and they were happy to make me an appointment for the next morning with one of the Associates, but I really needed to start antibiotics THEN! I found some that Don had never finished up, looked them up online to be sure they were what I thought, and then began taking his. The prescription was one my ENT has used for me before for sinus infections and these had been prescribed by Don's ENT, who's in the same practice. So, even though I know better than to take someone else's prescription meds, I decided this was an emergency and I was going to try them.

They helped and I survived the weekend. Without them, I'm certain I would've been in the Emergency Room. Anyway, I've continued to take them and am continuing to improve. But I'm tired and run-down and never can quite seem to fit enough sleep into our busy schedule.

I was going to a prayer meeting last night while Don stayed home with the boys. Deanna was already there, at a bakesale, and my parents were supposed to be saving us seats. By the time Don got home, the meeting had already started and I was just tucking the boys in. Don and I went into the kitchen so we could exchange a few hurried sentences before I ran out the door. One of those sentences was a comment about how tired I was.

"Maybe if I take an Ambien right now," I reasoned outloud, "it'll kick in about the time I get home and I can go on to bed." The meeting only lasts 1 1/4 hours and I was almost 1/2 hour late already, so I really only needed to get through 45 minutes. Plus, since I've been taking Ambien on a semi-regular basis (every 3 months or so), I've found that they take a little longer to kick in.

"Yeah," Don responded. "Or maybe it'll kick in while you're driving home."

I decided to risk it. Wow! This Post really makes me seem like an unstable person - using someone else's antibiotics, taking an Ambien before going out!

Anyway, I was fine through the whole prayer meeting. At the end, I sent Deanna out to work the bakesale. When I caught up with her outside, there were still many more things left to be bought and the girls were hovering. I waited for awhile and visited with friends, then began to realize that my Ambien was about to begin working.

"Ask if you can leave, honey. We need to get home," I prompted Deanna. She got permission and we headed for my car, bumping into some good friends along the way.

We got into a discussion about the North Star and I asked my friends husband, who's an extremely well-educated man and knows everything about everything, what the name of the North Star was.

"I have NO idea," he responded. Unable to believe he didn't know (did I mention he knows EVERYTHING?), I commented, "I beg to differ," however, the words actually came out,

"I bare to digger." I knew something sounded wrong, so I glanced at Deanna.

"I bare to digger, MOM?" she raised her voice along with her eyebrows. I'm not sure which tickled me more - the fact that I couldn't quite place what I had said wrong or Deanna's reaction.

We piled in the car and headed home. Deanna quizzed me about my driving ability. I was clear-headed and had no difficulty staying in the center of my lane. There were no other cars anywhere around me and we only had to drive 3 blocks.

Deanna started discussing a situation at school, something that had happened with one of the other girls.

"She bares to digger," I explained to Deanna.

"MOMMY," she screamed before breaking into peals of laughter. However, that's become our new catch phrase around here.

Anyone bare to digger with us?

Time to Cut Down

Don and I made a decision to cut back financially in 2009. We held a Capital Campaign in our church towards the end of 2008 and all members were asked to make a sacrificial commitment to the Building Fund. In order to make our sacrificial commitment, we're going to have to tighten up.

Truthfully, this is very timely. With the economy on its way down the tubes, I can't think of a better time to begin practices that will, hopefully, pad our pocketbook a little more. I decided that the two areas in which I can most impact our budget are eating out and groceries, so I'm tackling those areas.

Years ago, Don and I were much more careful about our grocery shopping. However, when you can afford to buy what you need without worry, it becomes very easy to take the shortcut of ready-made foods instead of investing the time in making them yourself. I hadn't realized just how many things I buy off the shelf until the beginning of January.

Over the last two weeks, I've made homemade Chex Mix (3 kinds, in fact: one spicy, one Ranch-style, and one sweet), pizzas (with store-bought crusts and sauce - I'm not yet ready to tackle my own sauce and crusts, but it's coming), bread, syrup, rice krispie squares, and beef jerky. I made a trip to a Wholesale Club and bought large quantities of bacon bits for grits and soups, pepperoni (which I then divided into small baggies), bouillon cubes, vanilla, and several meats. I inventoried our freezer to identify what meats I had in the recesses that needed to be used, I've begun using up canned goods and am now ready to tackle the "snack" shelf.

When making out our grocery list last week, I remembered something we used to do when first married. Don likes to do the grocery shopping, but when I'm not doing it, it's a little difficult to manage costs. So, next to each item on the list, I would put a dollar amount. I'd add up the costs, throw in ten dollars or so for items that he may need but didn't make the list or for "specials" that are on sale and should be purchased even though not on the list, and I would write this amount on the top of the grocery list and circle it. That is our target cost. We should keep the bill at or below that number.

I tried it again last week. Even though I was pretty low on two items ($2 each), I was also over on almost every other item, so we came out almost dead on - no excessive over-buying (although Don DID come home with a box of doughnuts for Sunday morning's breakfast, something he almost always buys as a treat for the children and a break for me which never makes the list). I was very pleased.

I realize it's only the middle of January, but I think we're off to a great start. My plan is to freeze left-overs after labeling to be used for another meal instead of letting them sit in the fridge until they have to be thrown out. It's going to mean a lot more time and attention to the refridgerator and freezer and a lot more time spent in the kitchen, but I'm excited about re-learning to be resourceful.

I figure we should be able to recognize the impact by the end of April. And with all the effort I've made so far, it should be a significant impact.

Now it's time to begin addressing the "eating out" portion of the budget. Don HATES to eat out. Normally, it's me having lunch out with friends or grabbing a quick fast-food dinner with the children between Deanna's basketball game and choir practice. I'm not carrying all my gift cards with me in my purse so they can be used at various restaurants when necessary. I need to find a better way to keep restaurant coupons accessible when I need them. I haven't quite figured that out yet, but I'm working on it.

In any case, there's lots going on in the Doughty house - most of it in the kitchen. But the children are enjoying the fruits of my labor (the jerky is AWESOME) and I feel good about my efforts to cut back.

Ponderings

I've always been fascinated by Drama. In high school, I was just too busy to participate in any of the plays we produced. In college, I was even busier, working a part-time job off campus and as a work-study student on campus. I was active in Student Government, worked on the Annual Staff, and was on the Dean's List and in the Honor Society. All of that took a huge amount of time. I promised myself that I would try out for a play before I graduated, but continued to put it off - just too many other things competing for my time.

My last quarter in college, I was reminded of my promise by a friend. I quickly checked into the production that our school was performing that quarter - Henry IV, a Shakespearean historical play with only 3 female characters, one whose part consists of a single spoken line in Welsh and a Welsh song. Ugh! To complicate matters a little more, a professional Shakespearean actor was taking a leave from his Troup to teach an drama course at my school and star in that quarter's production. We had another "Visiting Professor" from Glasgow, Scotland who was a Scholar in Jacobian Drama and would also be teaching and starring in the play.

Try-outs extended over two nights. I went to the first night and told our drama teacher (whose class I had taken) and the primary director that I was just going to observe. All interested parties were given a copy of the script and different scenes were chosen. Each student tried out reading with the professional actor. There was about a page's worth of script in the middle of a scene that was being used for the women. After observing for an hour and a half, I decided I could do better than most of the women who were vying for the roles. I timidly (TRUE!) asked if I could take a stab at it.

Before I even realized what was happening, I was chasing the Shakespearean actor (whose name was Barry Kraft) around the room, wagging my finger at him. Instead of just reading, we instinctively began acting. Working with a professional was unbelievable. It was so easy. He played off my every emotion and bent to compliment whatever tone I took. I had never experienced anything so exhilarating. When we reached the end of the scene, we both stopped, looked at our script, and realized that we had acted out pages, not stopping or being stopped at the end of the excerpt being used for try-outs. We had acted out the whole scene.

I was quite embarrassed. The director hadn't stopped us and I was so caught up in the role and playing off this REAL actor that we just kept going.

Anyway, I got one of the two women's roles (I'm not counting the Welsh singer's part) and the director decided to take advantage of the expertise available that quarter and form a triumverate. He, the professional, and the Jacobean drama expert jointly were going to direct the play.

The three directors encouraged all the students chosen for different roles to research their characters and base their portrayal on their own interpretation after study. Henry V completes the story began in Henry IV and most of the characters carry over to the next play. I began study everything I could get my hands on relating to Lady Percy, including some articles written by T.F. (Fred) Wharton, the expert in Jacobean Drama who played King Henry.

I would show up for rehearsal, pondering the newest light I had uncovered on Lady Percy. Each day, her personality would change depending on the new slant I had learned. One day, she was petulant. Another, innocent and sweet. Yet another, calculating and shrewd. Still another, simple and kind, yet mature and wise beyond her years. By about the third week of rehearsals, Lady Percy had been through many different renditions.

By the fourth week of rehearsals, the Triumverate asked for a meeting with me.

"Patti, we love that you've taken our advice about developing your character so 'to heart'," they started, "but we're beginning to struggle. We never know from day to day who Lady Percy will be. It's impossible for us to rehearse when the role is changing daily."

Point well-made. In other words, pick an idea, make a decision who I believed Lady Percy to be, and stick to it. Play the part consistently.

I did, and had a wonderful time doing it. The play was one of the highlights of my college years.

This morning at breakfast, Dane began telling Deanna about a play that he must be studying in school. I listened for a moment, then exclaimed,

"That's Hamlet!"

"YEAH!" Dane yelled. Apparently, he couldn't remember the name, just the Plot.

We talked in great length about Hamlet's predicament. Then we began to discuss the in's and out's of the play, those concepts that are played differently by each actor who takes on this part. Was Hamlet trying to protect Ophelia by exclaiming, "Get thee to a Nunnery!" or was he protecting himself from the distraction Ophelia presented to him. And what about his relationship with this mother? Was it incestuous, as some actors have implied, or was he simply making a point that she was committing incest by marrying her dead husband's brother. And was Hamlet really going insane or was he simply pretending to "catch a thief", as it were?

As I posed and pondered these questions aloud between flipping pancakes in the pan, I glanced over at the table. The children were staring at me, wide-eyed and with mouths gaping.

Maybe that was a little too deep for ages 12 and under on a Tuesday morning before school.

That's me - Deep Mommy!

Updated, sort of

I decided it was time for a change. While I loved the classic look of the black background, it was a little somber. I'm trying something new on for size - don't yet know if I'll stick with it. The squares at the top look a little like mercy drops, at least if you squint your eyes a little to fuzz up the corners.

I used this same picture for my Profile pix on Facebook. I've gotten several comments that people love the haircut. Sorry to say, I didn't cut my hair. It's an old picture, from my nephew's wedding in California almost six years ago. I love the picture, but hated the cut, which is why my hair is much longer now.

Although, I've been toying with cutting it short again and even talked with my Stylist about it.

Why We Don't Need Cable

When Don and I had Deanna, we decided we would never need cable T.V. The children were entertainment enough. This certainly has born out to be true.

Daelyn is the one who always tells Grandma and Grandpa interesting things that they can't wait to pass along. Like the "twisted ham" and the time he told them that we had all left and gone to DisneyWorld without him.

Dane is humorous in his lack of response. He gets this dull, glassy stare on his face and you're never completely certain if he even heard you. Deanna bought one of her cousins, who graduated from college last December and moved to Atlanta to take a job with an International Banking/Investment company, a talking picture frame for Christmas. It was quite expensive and she used her own money. Before we wrapped it, we took off the packaging and I prepared the children who recorded a Christmas greeting to Bradley. I pushed the button, then pointed at Deanna. Quickly, and in her sweetest youngest female cousin voice, she said, "Merry Christmas, Bradley. We love you." Next, I pointed at Daelyn. "Merry Christmas, Brad." Then, to Dane.

"Merry? . . . " Long pause before we all broke out in laughter. Is it really that difficult to remember the words "Merry Christmas'? It sounded like he was asking Bradley if he was, indeed, merry. After a long, hard laugh, we retaped and, this time, Dane came through. I told Bradley about it when I called on Christmas Day from West Virginia and he told me I should've left the first greeting on the picture frame.

"It's Classic Dane," he said. Yup! That's my boy. Bradley understand him well because they're similar. But Dane is also extremely intelligent and, we've discovered, notices everything. He just stores it all in that sharp little brain of his for use at a later time, like when he announced to our family, at the ripe old age of 4 or so, that one of the neighbors down the street used a different air conditioning company than us. When we finally got down to the bottom of how he had figured that out, he said,

"I saw them carrying in the condenser yesterday." At 4. Most 4-yr. olds don't even know that word, let alone know the piece of equipment well enough to recognize it.

Deanna is my child that entertains us with her faux pas. She is forever using a word incorrectly in a hilarious way. While she, too, is very intelligent, she tends to talk before her brain engages, thus she says CRAZY things! Like the time we were at the Boshears Memorial Fly-in and they featured a boy flying his remote control airplane that he had built himself. He's known for his remote control aerobatics and has won several international medals. Deanna had the camera poised for the fly-by. When I asked her why, she said she wanted to get a good shot of the guy in the cockpit. After we laughed uproariously, we tried to explain to her what a remote control plane meant. She understood, she just couldn't seem to get the idea out of her mind that there was someone inside the plane at the controls.

Last night, while eating dinner, the children began asking questions about my Synchronized Swimming experience. I was fortunate enough to be able to swim with a local team in my teens that competed in the Nationals. The kids asked about our routine and I explained that our routine was about mermaids and the entire thing was done underwater. It was very important that we not break the surface of the water and create ripples that would keep the judges from being able to see the routine at the bottom of the pool.

"So, the judges were ABOVE the water?" Deanna asked.

"No, honey. They all had on swimsuits and were sitting cross-legged on the bottom of the pool making notes."

"I did it again, didn't I, Mommy?" she asked. Yes, dear.

But not to worry, Deanna. We rely on you - no cable T.V. yet.

Flying by the Fillings of My Teeth

A few years ago, Don and I watched the made-for-T.V. miniseries, Dinotopia. We enjoyed it so much that Don bought the DVD's. The children have watched them with us several times.

On the island of Dinotopia, which is cut off from the rest of the charted world by sharp, jagged coral reefs and strong, dangerous tides, man and dinosaur have learned to communicate. Dinotopia is governed by 13 basic principles, which include such philosophical ideas as, "We eat to live, not live to eat", and "Every raindrop raises the level of the sea". In Dinotopia, the common greeting is, "Breathe deeply" to which you respond, "Fly High".

This morning, I had oral surgery. A bridge on my lower left side, which I have had since the early 80's, had leaked and needed to be replaced. I have serious problems with dental injections. In the past, I've had blisters occur at the injection site and, quite often, my jaw will freeze in place, sometimes for weeks, rendering me unable to eat or talk. My dentist has walked through several of these side-effects to procedures and no longer laughs when I ask for pain medication. He requests that I dose up with Motrin or Ibuprofen for a couple of days before any dental work to get a headstart on dealing with inflammation. Today, I was very nervous, knowing that the procedure would be long and painful.

I told him how I was feeling and expressed some anxiety.

"You could even use Nitris on me if you like," I commented.

Realizing that I was serious, he pulled out the nitris oxide (which I've never had before but helped tremendously) and put the mask on me. Near the end of the procedure, I asked the technician to remove it - I felt I was getting a little too much at that point.

Before I left, he sat down to talk with me about what he found and discussed the nitris use with me, explaining that we can use it again in the future and maybe that's an answer to the stress dental work gives me. As we talked about it, I was reminded of Dinotopia's greeting (keep in mind, I had just had 2 hours of nitris oxide) - Breathe deeply; fly high.

He immediately saw the connection and began to laugh.

"Yep. The deeper you breathe, the higher you fly, all right." he said.

That greeting will forever take on a new meaning for me.

Old Friends

Back in October or November, when our stove broke and we had to buy a new one, I asked Don if we could go out to dinner while shopping for our new appliance. We seldom go out to dinner as a family, usually only for family birthdays, and that's with most of the Hunt Clan that lives locally.

We had a wonderful dinner and halfway through our meal, another family was seated near us - 5 adults. I recognized the oldest man and woman from my high school days (the woman had been our school librarian), then realized that one of my dearest friends from high school was the younger woman with them, the librarian's daughter.

I made eye contact with them, waved, and mouthed, "Hello, Mrs. Boerner. Hello, Carmen."

My friend didn't recognize me and was quite surprised when I shouted my maiden name to her across the restaurant. Before leaving, we exchanged numbers and e-mail addresses and agreed to try and get together with another good friend of both of ours who's still very close to me.

Carmen mentioned that she was a Special Ed teacher, so I thought about her in preparation for the holidays. Realizing she'd be off school and probably have a little free time, I gave my other friend a call, then left a message for Carmen, hoping to use that time to get us all together. Ultimately, the three of us had lunch at Olive Garden on New Year's Eve.

We laughingly told the waitress (who gave us our menus and, 30 minutes later, came back to see if we were ready to order - we hadn't even yet opened them) that we hadn't seen each other in - what's that? How many years? Let's see. I last saw Carmen upon high school graduation in 1979. WOW! That means I hadn't spent any time with this friend in 30 YEARS THIS MAY! Seemed hard to believe.

We had a wonderful time and all want to do it again soon. I've thought of Carmen repeatedly since our luncheon and am dying to call her again, but I just don't think it's practical to expect that she has time to get together once a month or more. So, I hold off, trying to be appropriate, but anxious to again renew that old friendship.

Earlier this week, I got home from running errands and there was a message on the answering machine from my sister.

"I'm now Andrea Trumbell's friend on Facebook," she announced. I immediately called her back.

"Andrea was MY friend," I nearly screamed into the phone. In fact, she was my BEST friend in Belgium in the third through sixth grades.

"I know! She asked about you."

Andrea's father was a teacher at the International School on base that all the military kids attended. She had a brother just a little older (one year, I think) than my brother, a sister that was the same age as my oldest sister and they were quite good friends, another sister who fell somewhere between two of my sisters, and then Andrea, who was my age. For three years, we spent the night with each other, rode bikes together, and were bosom buddies. Sometime in my early 20's, I had some contact with her. She had moved to the States and lived with her older sister while attending college, then married. The trail went cold about the time she married.

I quickly looked her up on my sister's facebook and sent her a Friend Request. She confirmed me the same day.

This is the thing: We began communicating yesterday. She sent me a message that said "How long-g-g has it been? I have thought of you EVERY SINGLE ST. PATRICKS DAY! Isn't that funny? Tell me all about your life since leaving SHAPE!"

SHAPE, Begium was the military base where my father was assigned. SHAPE stands for Supreme Headquarters, Allied Powers, Europe. The amazing thing is that Andrea, after 37 years, still remembers that my birthday falls on St. Patrick's Day. She remembers my birthday! How is that even possible. We were in the Sixth Grade when I last saw her. And she remembers me on my birthday every year.

Since I had to stop to wipe the tears off the keyboard, I'll end my Post here. Suffice it to say, running across these two friends after all these years has meant a lot to me. And the fact that, after 30 or more years, the relationship is still important is staggering to me. I feel with both these women like we've never been apart.

I guess that once you build deep relationships, the bond never quite dissolves. Two different women from two completely different seasons of my life, both a lifetime ago, and I still feel like their best friend.

Could God have given me a better Christmas present? I think not.

Christmas Pix

My mother- and father-in-law, trying to tackle their stockings. Santa always fills our children's stockings and Don and I fill each others. We decided Grandma and Grandpa needed stockings, too, so we bought ones for them, then filled them. Grandpa said he had never had so many gifts on Christmas in his entire life. He really seemed to enjoy opening his gifts - a taste of Christmas the way the younger Doughty family does it. Notice who's piled on the couch next to Grandma and she can't open her own presents what for petting the little pooch. He always gravitates towards my mother-in-law when we're there. Every night, he snuggles her on the couch instead of me. He just instinctively knows she's Grandma. Plus, she's very sweet and is much kinder and more attentive to Donovan than most people (except for me, of course).

There are also pictures of our family gathered in Don's old bedroom at home (piled on the bed) at around 5 a.m. Christmas morning. When the children wake on Christmas day, they have been taught to come immediately to our bedroom. We talk about the meaning of Christmas, read Scripture, and spend some time praying together before we tackle the less spiritual side of things to get our day started right and keep our minds on the Baby Jesus instead of "what we got". So here we are, the children bright-eyed, Don and I barely able to focus. Grandma and Grandpa look a little bleary-eyed, too.

The last is a picture of my sweet Daney looking over the stash from his stocking, specifically his men's cologne. Santa give each of the boys a bottle of cologne in their stocking every year and they apply it quite liberally on special occasions. They'll appear in the kitchen chanting, "Smell me, Mommy, smell me." I seldom have the heart to tell them that I smelled them from two miles away. In any case, I love it that they like to smell like men.

Merry End-on-the-Season and happy belated Epiphany!

The Question of Space

The big question on my mind today . . . do you get rid of items that you seldom use but are perfect for that unusual occasion?

For instance, the roaster that I've only used maybe twice since marrying 13 years ago - this past Thanksgiving (my parents were in California with one of my sisters and I made a whole Thanksgiving dinner for my family by myself, for the first time ever) and perhaps one other time that I can't even remember.

And what about those Tupperware pieces like the jello molds (which I regretfully couldn't find for my father's birthday party in October and needed) or the mega-size Corningware that I only use when having many guests or preparing a meal for someone else with a large family.

All these items take up a lot of cabinet space and fly in the face of simplicity. Yet, I already own them and they make my life much simpler on those rare occasions when I need them.

When we were in England, we had so little and our lives were so very streamlined. But we were only there for 3 months and everyone understood that we weren't "setting up house". Obviously, our real lives are different. We HAVE set up house and we do have those special occasions when it's very nice to have those special pieces.

I remember being much younger and dreaming about having that Corningware piece and a roasting pan. I figured when I was old and established and my children were grown and gone, I could have those nice pieces, like the older couples I knew that had the "perfect piece" for every concern and whom you would call from time to time looking to borrow. Those pieces were on my Wish List and I watched for Macy's Open Stock sale every year so I could pick up one more much-needed (or so I thought) piece of Corningware.

I think my friend, Kelly, would probably say (isn't it funny when you've gotten to know someone so well that you can almost hear their voices in your head!) that if you have the room for them and you think you might use them, then it's a toss-up. If you want to keep them, do. If you don't, get rid of them and make-do with what you have.

But I feel stuck in the middle between TOO many of those items and having worked very hard to get to this point.

Any suggestions or ideas from readers (all 21 of you)? I'd really like to hear some compelling arguments to move me from this point of indecision.

So, if you have any words of wisdom to offer, please, feel free to offer. I'd love to hear what any of you think about this issue (Kel, even you - I might have missed the mark on your thoughts).

One final note. My niece, Alicia, spent the day with me yesterday. We filled up several 40-gal. trash bags with stuff that's already out at the curb for trash pick-up and 4 or 5 more that are in my trunk for Good Will. It's not as if I didn't get rid of anything. But Alicia's comment, repeatedly, was "I've never seen so much stuff!" We cleared out at least one shelf in each of 8 different cabinets. Everywhere I looked, there was empty space. And that was after finding places for most of the stuff that sat on my counters and the appliances that sat on the top of the refrigerator and deep freeze (except for my Kitchen-Aid mixer which is unbelievably heavy and we tried in several cabinets, only to find that it's too tall or too wide. The only cabinets where it fit were ones from which I would never be able to retrieve it because of it's weight, so I'd never be able to use it, and I DO use it, so it remains tucked in the corner of the top of the freezer). I have lots of empty space now, which is great, but all too quickly that space gets refilled, and I'm trying to simplify, not just de-rid myself.

Enough said. Comments, anyone?

That Time of Year Again

We had some friends over for New Year's Eve. We try to do this every year. It began about five years ago when a close friend and I were talking about our plans and neither of us wanted to leave our children for the night to go out and celebrate. Everyone we knew that had parties planned them just for adults, which I suppose is quite typical. But I didn't want to leave my children with a sitter and I really didn't want to be away from them. So, we hatched a plan. Invite a few close friends to gather with our children. Everyone would bring party foods. We'd throw all the food out on the dining room table, play games including the children, shoot off fireworks during the evening, lay any children down that needed to go to bed, and have fun together.

After the first couple of years, a pattern developed. Folks would arrive around 8 p.m., we'd get into a roaring game of some kind (Scattergories or something that didn't involve a board but could be played with lots of people), when we got hungry, we'd take a break and hit the food. Around 10 or 10:30, we set off the fireworks and at 11:45, we'd move into the Den to watch the ball drop in New York City on T.V. We'd kiss our spouses and children to ring in the New Year, hug each other, then begin cleaning up. By 12:10, the house would be clean, everyone would be gone, and I'd be settling the children down to bed. Lots of fun for all, but not an extremely late night.

Over the years, the guest list has expanded a little. But it's still a relatively small group of close friends and family (my parents always come and one of my friend's mother always attends for a while) and I don't feel like the house has to be spotless.

This year, however, the house was so dirty and I was so unpeaceful about it that we worked really hard to get it clean before the party. Usually, I clean the house real well before Christmas, but we left for West Virginia on the 21st and were gone over the days I would normally be cleaning. It needed a good scrub and some organization, which it DID. The children worked side by side with me and Don and I was very pleased with the outcome.

My niece will be coming over next week to work with me to begin the initial steps of minimizing - getting rid of STUFF. All of us have FAR too much junk and it's time to pare down, significantly. We're in a good place now to begin the task. Things are neat and orderly so we can get down to the work of minimizing without needing to organize first.

Maybe we should have a party once a month or so.

Worth thinking about!