Taking Humor a Little Too Far

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

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

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

"Nuclear missiles!"

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

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

A Day of Peace

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

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

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

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

She's Slain Us All!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I think not.

Basketball Finals

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"OH?" I asked.

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

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

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

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

A Time for Everything

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the right season.

That Little Old Pine Tree

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another Installment in the Donovan Saga

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Flip Side

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time to pull out that extra dose of allergy meds.

Another Negative

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

Maybe I can try lettuce in the Fall this year!

Maundy Thursday

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amen.

Stranger Than Fiction

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shrouded Truths

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Microcosm of Family Dynamics

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" she asked.

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

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

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

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

Perspective

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's all in my perspective.

Shifting Into "GO"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I just am hoping to get through summer unscathed.

I Guess, Eventually, You Have to Admit to It

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Acquaintances Far and Wide

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, Scott!"

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

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

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

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

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

The Innocence of Youth

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Discipline of Lent

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now if I can just get through the toys.

Don Doughty - at least, his teeth!

An Interesting Point of View

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

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

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

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

"ALBERT EINSTEIN!" the children yelled as one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Birth Order

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

Sound a little deep? Let me boil it down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scary on so-o-o-o many levels

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Donovan, did I feed you today?"

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

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

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

True story.

Don't read this while eating!

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

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

Melody laughed when we told her we had the sheets.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beginning the Process of Gardening

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Short Post, for a change

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

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

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

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

Deanna: "YOU win."

True story. Scary!

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

Please, Lord, just one of these per year!

Whew! Good thing SHE'S gone!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, no emergency"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joey quickly spotted Russy.

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

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

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

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

Parish Family Retreat

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New E-mail Account Here

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lenten Project

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Exhaustion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two Awesome Cars

Dane's canoe and Daelyn's race car from the Pinewood Derby. They're both amazing works of art.

Just Call Me Helga

I'm substitute teaching in Deanna's math class for a few days this week. I haven't subbed for this class in several years, but they have a history of walking ALL over me - the whole "familiarity breeds contempt" concept. I've known these kids since birth, I talk with many of them almost daily. I'm Aunt Patti and the transition to Mrs. Doughty never quite took. It got bad enough, that I chose for a couple of years to sub only in other elementary classrooms and not take assignments with Deanna's class.

Now, two years into Middle School, they have me for 3 days running. After praying and thinking about it, I decided to start out with a sterner image. Does the word Nazi conjure up an image?

In my preparations, I assigned seats. As the kids walked into the classroom yesterday, I barked out their seat assignments from the front of the classroom. Most of them stood around bewildered. One girl even attempted to quiz me.

"Did Mrs. Reilly leave those seat assignments?" she asked, as if I had no right to do it if Mrs. Reilly hadn't left me a note. I chose to ignore the comment and continued moving the children into MY spots.

We did have a little bit of humor. One of the boys, a neighbor and someone we all (dare I say it, even Deanna) consider a friend, wasn't there, yet I had assigned him to three different seats! The kids caught on before me.

"Aunt Patti, you've just put Ethan up there, back here, and over there," several of them commented.

"Oops," I said. "Don't worry. We'll get it straight."

And we did. I then told them that they were to sit in their assigned seats all week and these were to cut down on idle chatter. I had placed the chatter boxes next to quiet children who won't be engaged in conversation!! Ha, ha! Evil Mrs. Doughty - using my knowledge of them against them!!!

Then I announced that I haven't subbed for them since Elementary. They're now in their second year of Middle School and I expected them to ACT like Middle Schoolers. There were be no frivolous talk and there would be NO disrespect towards me. I followed up with, "Is that clear?" and made them all respond with a "Yes, ma'am."

Off to a great start. The first five minutes went swimmingly, right up until we started classwork. I had poured over my lesson plans, working every problem, being sure I understood how to get the answers in case the class needed me to explain them. However, when I started to teach, I discovered that their Monday substitute hadn't done ANY classwork and they hadn't finished all the work last week that this lesson plan was based on. I didn't even have the material where they were at, and I certainly hadn't prepared.

I began trying to quickly move them through the older material so we could get up to where I was prepared, but they're learning about simple and compound interest and banking procedures and there was nothing quick or easy about it. There were several problems that they were unsure how to work and everyone got different answers, all of which were different from the Teacher's Manual, which didn't SHOW the work, only the answers. I finally had to wimp out and told them I work on the problem at home last night and go over it with them today.

I spent last night doing Math homework. I did every problem I assigned the students so I can be sure to check their process as well as their answers. I got myself up to running speed again, but it took the whole evening. I reworked my lesson plan for today based on what we accomplished yesterday and what I hope to accomplish today. At this rate, we'll be ready to jump into the lesson plans that were left for me the first day I'm NOT teaching.

I used to always say that the joy of subbing was that it was occasional, you didn't have to make a long-term commitment, and there were no lesson plans or homework to have to do. I guess that was Elementary, not Middle School.

When Deanna got home yesterday, I asked her how she thought it went.

"Mama," she gushed, "you have NO idea. Our class has NEVER been that quiet, not in ANY class. You were HELGA!!"

I THINK that's a good thing. At least we had order. Now if we can just figure out the Math, we'll be accomplishing something.

Well, whatever . . .

I've been so busy the last month, and so exhausted, that one day has just run into the next. It seems I've lost all track of time. In addition to my hand surgery and kidney stone, I'm substitute teaching 7th grade math for a few days, my sister and I planned and put on a Bridal Shower for my niece last night, and my mother injured her arm and has been unable to use it. I've been spending as much time as possible checking in on her and taking meals back and forth. My house looks like a tornado ran through and my body feels the same.

Yesterday, Deanna and I were chatting when the topic of her science project came up.

"You need to get moving on your project, hon," I told her.

"I know, Mom. Faith and I were supposed to get together last Saturday to work on it, but we had the basketball tournament and weren't able to," she said.

"When is it due?" I asked.

"Not until sometime in March."

Wow, my very confused mind told me, and I responded, "You'd better hurry up! February's almost done!"

There was a moment of silence while Deanna looked at me with one eyebrow raised.

"Mom," she said. "It's February 1st!"

Did I mention I'm a little confused?

A Good Laugh After School

I had my surgical follow-up appointment with the Urologist today. He did an X-ray and told me I have another stone, a small one, that's still in my kidney. He said we'll need to watch it because the one I passed was getting larger and this one is likely to do that, too.

He took me down to look at the X-ray with him and pointed out the stone and both kidneys. When I registered surprise at how large my kidneys looked, he measured them and told me that they're a "good size". I saw a white mark, 4 times or so bigger than the stone, on the X-ray above the stone.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Have you had your gall bladder out?" he responded. I explained that they removed it while I was pregnant and he said,

"That's the clamp that they put on the tube going into your gall bladder. You'll always have that in there."

What a surprise. I didn't know I had utensils left in my body.

After I picked the children up from school today, we ran down to Wendy's to get a Frosty for their snack. I'm putting on a Bridal Shower for my niece tonight with one of my sisters at my mother's house and won't be able to spend much time with the children, so I thought a Frosty and a few minutes of quality time with Mom might help.

We pulled up in the driveway and sat, talking while finishing off our snacks. I told them about my doctor's appointment, then remembering and adding the part about the clamp.

"Geez, Mom," Deanna said, "you just found out you have a screw in your thumb, now you hear about a clamp in your belly - you're full of stuff."

Dane added, "I'm held together with glue, but you're held together with hardware."

We all had a good laugh. After Dane had his ear accident in England, they glued it back together again. Previously, when he was about a year old, he had split his head open and they glued it back together. We've kidded him since England, and he enjoys repeating the statement, that he's held together with glue.

"What am I held together with, Mom?" Deanna asked.

"Acne medicine and deodorant," I yelled while laughing. Deanna cracked up.

"I have deodorant in placed I don't EVEN want to mention," she added.

So, that's us - the Doughty Family. One's held together with hardware, one with glue, one with deodorant.

And what about Daelyn?

I'm not quite ready to go there.