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.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Monday, February 08, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, February 06, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, February 05, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
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?
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?
Monday, February 01, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
A Couple of Pictures
My beautiful daughter all dressed up for the Social Christmas Dance. The other is my precious darling, Ainsley Dolin. I love that she giggles when I nuzzle her now and smiles when I play airplane. It's so fun being able to interact with her.
Friday, January 29, 2010
That In-Between Stage
A couple of weeks ago, we were sitting around the table talking. The subject came up of me tucking them in at night. Dane commented how much it meant to him that I tuck him in while he's still awake. Daelyn said he preferred to have Daddy tuck him in. All of a sudden, I noticed Deanna was softly crying.
Tears were rolling, almost silently, down her face that had clouded up. I couldn't even imagine what had brought that on.
"Deanna," I asked, "what's wrong, honey?"
It took some time to get a response from her but, eventually, her true feelings bubbled out.
"You don't tuck me IN anymore," she blurted out.
This is one of those situations that you just instinctively understand must be handled very carefully.
"I didn't think you wanted me to tuck you in at night," I replied, very gently.
"Just because I'm not usually IN BED when you come to tuck me in, you stopped," she commented, a little accusingly.
"No, honey. That's not it. I always check in on the boys just before I go to bed, and I could you, too, but I thought you didn't want that anymore. For some reason, I got the impression YOU thought you were too old for that."
The tears began to well up again and poured harder than before.
"Mama," she sobbed, "I STILL need you to tuck me in."
WOW, I thought. Did I ever misread that one. I had figured that, now that she's 13 and goes to bed when she pleases, that connection with me had severed. I sure was wrong.
I quickly reassured her that I'd start tucking her in again. A few minutes later, after she pulled her emotions together, she looked at me hard.
"Mama, I know I'm getting older and there are a lot of things you let me do for myself, but I'm not ready to be grown yet. I still need to feel like your little girl."
If she could just understand how hard it's been for me to stay away from her room at night, she'd laugh, I'm sure. I'm trying so hard to let her grow up, and it's not very easy. Now I find that, at least in this way, that's not what SHE wants. She's at that inbetween stage, which I remember from my own life. She wants to be treated like an adult in some ways but not in others. She wants more responsibility and privileges, but she doesn't want things taken away that bring her comfort.
The path to her bedroom is well-worn again. Often, she's sound asleep, but as I make the sign of the cross on her forehead and whisper in the darkness that I love her, she often stirs and responds with an "I love you, too, Mommy".
Boy, am I thankful for that kitchen table and the conversations held around it. Much healing and togetherness has come of it. The Holy Spirit has taken full advantage of the hours we spend in the kitchen together.
Tears were rolling, almost silently, down her face that had clouded up. I couldn't even imagine what had brought that on.
"Deanna," I asked, "what's wrong, honey?"
It took some time to get a response from her but, eventually, her true feelings bubbled out.
"You don't tuck me IN anymore," she blurted out.
This is one of those situations that you just instinctively understand must be handled very carefully.
"I didn't think you wanted me to tuck you in at night," I replied, very gently.
"Just because I'm not usually IN BED when you come to tuck me in, you stopped," she commented, a little accusingly.
"No, honey. That's not it. I always check in on the boys just before I go to bed, and I could you, too, but I thought you didn't want that anymore. For some reason, I got the impression YOU thought you were too old for that."
The tears began to well up again and poured harder than before.
"Mama," she sobbed, "I STILL need you to tuck me in."
WOW, I thought. Did I ever misread that one. I had figured that, now that she's 13 and goes to bed when she pleases, that connection with me had severed. I sure was wrong.
I quickly reassured her that I'd start tucking her in again. A few minutes later, after she pulled her emotions together, she looked at me hard.
"Mama, I know I'm getting older and there are a lot of things you let me do for myself, but I'm not ready to be grown yet. I still need to feel like your little girl."
If she could just understand how hard it's been for me to stay away from her room at night, she'd laugh, I'm sure. I'm trying so hard to let her grow up, and it's not very easy. Now I find that, at least in this way, that's not what SHE wants. She's at that inbetween stage, which I remember from my own life. She wants to be treated like an adult in some ways but not in others. She wants more responsibility and privileges, but she doesn't want things taken away that bring her comfort.
The path to her bedroom is well-worn again. Often, she's sound asleep, but as I make the sign of the cross on her forehead and whisper in the darkness that I love her, she often stirs and responds with an "I love you, too, Mommy".
Boy, am I thankful for that kitchen table and the conversations held around it. Much healing and togetherness has come of it. The Holy Spirit has taken full advantage of the hours we spend in the kitchen together.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
The Hand
It's hard to believe it's been so long since I've posted, but my hand surgery made it so difficult to type, and I had so much work to get done in preparation for Christmas, that Blogging fell by the wayside. And I just went back and read my old Posts and discovered that I never wrote about my hand surgery.
Last spring, while out running errands with my Mom, a car door slammed shut on my left hand - the door hit the outside of my hand and threw the area below the thumb into the door jam. Both spots immediately began swelling. Over several weeks time, the Orthopedist who was treating me sent me for Therapy (for my hand, not my mind). Turns out, the Hand Therapist is a neighbor and friend who lives directly behind my parent's house and his parents live directly across the street from us.
Anyway, after weeks of therapy, David told me he thought I might have arthritis in my thumb.
"He's got to be kidding," I thought to myself. "I don't struggle with arthritis. Surely, I'd have had problems before if it was arthritis."
In frustration, my Orthopedic Doc referred me to another Orthopod who's a hand specialist. My first appointment with Dr. Duncan, he took X-rays, then brought a copy into the Treatment Room to show me.
"I wanted you to see this since it's so significant," he said. "You have significant arthritis in this basal thumb joint."
He showed me the X-ray. Yep. There it was in black and white. I later found out that there was NO connective tissue left at the top of the joint and almost none at the bottom of the joint. My basal thumb joint was a ticking time bomb. Interestingly, over time, I began remembering that I HAVE had pain in this joint for years. I even discussed it with my family practice doctor once, but I always chalked the pain up to a nerve conduction study I had several years ago. A friend of mine also recalled that I've struggled with this thumb since college and even remembered the name of the Orthopedic doctor I had consulted years ago with thumb pain (I STILL don't remember that, but her memory was very clear and the doctor's name was one I used to see, so I have no doubt she's right.)
The hand specialist explained that I would eventually require surgery on my thumb to replace the joint and gave me a leaflet to read about the surgery. In the meantime, however, we could stave off the need for surgery with cortisone shots. He said that he could only give me a cortisone shot once every 3 months, so if my pain returned sooner, they'd immediately consider surgery.
When I returned home and told Don, he said, "Do the surgery now. We've paid our annual out-of-pocket maximum for the year and any other medical care is free this year."
I laughed. Yeah, right. I'm gonna schedule surgery on my hand because it's free! I don't think so.
However, five weeks later, when the cortisone shot wore off and my hand was nearly unusable again, I went back to Don and asked him if he had been serious.
"Well, that comment was pretty tongue-in-cheek, actually, but now that we've gotten the information on our insurance plan for next year, we really SHOULD think about it."
It seems our co-pays, deductibles, etc. were all increasing this year. If the cortisone shot had lasted 4 or 5 months, it would've been a non-issue, but the 5-week efficacy really did call the question.
I scheduled an appointment with Dr. Duncan and prayed for the opportunity to discuss the whole issue with him peacefully. His response: "I think it's prudent of you and your husband to think through this now. And, yes, you are an excellent candidate for this surgery. Let's get it on the calendar."
I've discovered since then that they don't tell you everything up front. One of my friends from church, who had the same surgery last summer, commented, "If they gave you the whole picture before the surgery, no one would ever have it."
Now I'm 8 weeks post op and am beginning to get mobility back. I still am wearing a splint, however, that I can only remove for my 3X daily exercises and to bathe. I'm ready to see what the doctor has to say tomorrow and am hopeful he'll begin to let me leave my splint off for longer periods of time. I really think I need to begin using it more if I'm ever going to regain all my mobility.
I never would've dreamed, when I had that appointment with Dr. Duncan to talk about surgery, that I'd still be unable to use my left hand for this long. But there's been great peace throughout the process. I cooked several meals in advance and froze them and, other than those, I've mostly cooked simple things. It's pretty amazing how many things you can make without a lot of preparation. I've also made a few mistakes, Like the Sunday after church when the kids wanted omelettes and I was trying to hold the bowl of whipped eggs over the hot pan with my left hand and spoon egg into the pan with my right. My left hand can't HOLD things yet. One of the children had to help. Omelettes seemed simple enough to me, I didn't realize I was going to get into trouble with them.
But we've functioned, and quite well, all things considered. My life has slowed down (not driving for 3 weeks post op helped) tremendously and I don't expect quite as much from myself. The children are learning to do more and help with laundry, kitchen chores, etc. Don has supported me in a way that I've never seen before, constantly noticing the difficulty I'm having accomplishing chores one-handed and pointing it out for the children. And my friends have been amazing, calling and asking if they could pick up items for me while doing their grocery shopping, volunteering to run my errands, bringing meals, providing transportation for the children to their various and many activities. It's really been a miracle to watch the way our friends and family have cared for our every need, often without us even asking. Everytime I found myself thinking, "How am I going to accomplish that?", the answer appeared on my doorstep or at the other end of a phone line. I know that, in the bigger picture, this was the Lord taking care of us, and I'm very grateful to him. But the hands and feet he used belonged to many loving, caring people who went out of their way to look after us.
So, as I've slowly recovered, I've been ever mindful of the richness of our lives. God is so good to us. His provision for us is so complete. And friends that listen for his voice and the promptings of the Holy Spirit in their spirits live out the love of Jesus in their service to us.
With joy in my heart, I look forward to my appointment tomorrow and a good report as I move towards complete recovery. These slower times in our lives can be such blessings if we take the time to look around, and that's exactly how I've seen the last 8 weeks.
Now I'm ready to move forward and return to "real" life. Thank you, Lord, for the blessing of peace and rest and now allow me to bless others with your love, to be your hands and feet to those needy children of yours, to demonstrate your constant watchfulness of your loved ones as I begin to serve others again. Amen.
It's always humbling being served, but I'm thankful that our lives allow for this, because it really does build a bond of love
Last spring, while out running errands with my Mom, a car door slammed shut on my left hand - the door hit the outside of my hand and threw the area below the thumb into the door jam. Both spots immediately began swelling. Over several weeks time, the Orthopedist who was treating me sent me for Therapy (for my hand, not my mind). Turns out, the Hand Therapist is a neighbor and friend who lives directly behind my parent's house and his parents live directly across the street from us.
Anyway, after weeks of therapy, David told me he thought I might have arthritis in my thumb.
"He's got to be kidding," I thought to myself. "I don't struggle with arthritis. Surely, I'd have had problems before if it was arthritis."
In frustration, my Orthopedic Doc referred me to another Orthopod who's a hand specialist. My first appointment with Dr. Duncan, he took X-rays, then brought a copy into the Treatment Room to show me.
"I wanted you to see this since it's so significant," he said. "You have significant arthritis in this basal thumb joint."
He showed me the X-ray. Yep. There it was in black and white. I later found out that there was NO connective tissue left at the top of the joint and almost none at the bottom of the joint. My basal thumb joint was a ticking time bomb. Interestingly, over time, I began remembering that I HAVE had pain in this joint for years. I even discussed it with my family practice doctor once, but I always chalked the pain up to a nerve conduction study I had several years ago. A friend of mine also recalled that I've struggled with this thumb since college and even remembered the name of the Orthopedic doctor I had consulted years ago with thumb pain (I STILL don't remember that, but her memory was very clear and the doctor's name was one I used to see, so I have no doubt she's right.)
The hand specialist explained that I would eventually require surgery on my thumb to replace the joint and gave me a leaflet to read about the surgery. In the meantime, however, we could stave off the need for surgery with cortisone shots. He said that he could only give me a cortisone shot once every 3 months, so if my pain returned sooner, they'd immediately consider surgery.
When I returned home and told Don, he said, "Do the surgery now. We've paid our annual out-of-pocket maximum for the year and any other medical care is free this year."
I laughed. Yeah, right. I'm gonna schedule surgery on my hand because it's free! I don't think so.
However, five weeks later, when the cortisone shot wore off and my hand was nearly unusable again, I went back to Don and asked him if he had been serious.
"Well, that comment was pretty tongue-in-cheek, actually, but now that we've gotten the information on our insurance plan for next year, we really SHOULD think about it."
It seems our co-pays, deductibles, etc. were all increasing this year. If the cortisone shot had lasted 4 or 5 months, it would've been a non-issue, but the 5-week efficacy really did call the question.
I scheduled an appointment with Dr. Duncan and prayed for the opportunity to discuss the whole issue with him peacefully. His response: "I think it's prudent of you and your husband to think through this now. And, yes, you are an excellent candidate for this surgery. Let's get it on the calendar."
I've discovered since then that they don't tell you everything up front. One of my friends from church, who had the same surgery last summer, commented, "If they gave you the whole picture before the surgery, no one would ever have it."
Now I'm 8 weeks post op and am beginning to get mobility back. I still am wearing a splint, however, that I can only remove for my 3X daily exercises and to bathe. I'm ready to see what the doctor has to say tomorrow and am hopeful he'll begin to let me leave my splint off for longer periods of time. I really think I need to begin using it more if I'm ever going to regain all my mobility.
I never would've dreamed, when I had that appointment with Dr. Duncan to talk about surgery, that I'd still be unable to use my left hand for this long. But there's been great peace throughout the process. I cooked several meals in advance and froze them and, other than those, I've mostly cooked simple things. It's pretty amazing how many things you can make without a lot of preparation. I've also made a few mistakes, Like the Sunday after church when the kids wanted omelettes and I was trying to hold the bowl of whipped eggs over the hot pan with my left hand and spoon egg into the pan with my right. My left hand can't HOLD things yet. One of the children had to help. Omelettes seemed simple enough to me, I didn't realize I was going to get into trouble with them.
But we've functioned, and quite well, all things considered. My life has slowed down (not driving for 3 weeks post op helped) tremendously and I don't expect quite as much from myself. The children are learning to do more and help with laundry, kitchen chores, etc. Don has supported me in a way that I've never seen before, constantly noticing the difficulty I'm having accomplishing chores one-handed and pointing it out for the children. And my friends have been amazing, calling and asking if they could pick up items for me while doing their grocery shopping, volunteering to run my errands, bringing meals, providing transportation for the children to their various and many activities. It's really been a miracle to watch the way our friends and family have cared for our every need, often without us even asking. Everytime I found myself thinking, "How am I going to accomplish that?", the answer appeared on my doorstep or at the other end of a phone line. I know that, in the bigger picture, this was the Lord taking care of us, and I'm very grateful to him. But the hands and feet he used belonged to many loving, caring people who went out of their way to look after us.
So, as I've slowly recovered, I've been ever mindful of the richness of our lives. God is so good to us. His provision for us is so complete. And friends that listen for his voice and the promptings of the Holy Spirit in their spirits live out the love of Jesus in their service to us.
With joy in my heart, I look forward to my appointment tomorrow and a good report as I move towards complete recovery. These slower times in our lives can be such blessings if we take the time to look around, and that's exactly how I've seen the last 8 weeks.
Now I'm ready to move forward and return to "real" life. Thank you, Lord, for the blessing of peace and rest and now allow me to bless others with your love, to be your hands and feet to those needy children of yours, to demonstrate your constant watchfulness of your loved ones as I begin to serve others again. Amen.
It's always humbling being served, but I'm thankful that our lives allow for this, because it really does build a bond of love
Friday, November 27, 2009
The Holiday Season is Here
Deanna: "The hot eggnog is steaming up my glasses. It's such a pain wearing glasses. When I run at basketball practice, they steam up. That's why I need contact lenses.
Me: "Wishful thinking, dear."
Deanna: "Do you think Santa could bring me contact lenses?"
Me: "Well, I think you have to have a prescription first."
Deanna: "I know! We could run to the eye doctors, get the prescription, then fax it to Santa."
Me: "Okay - but you have to give Santa at least two choices of gifts to get you. He may not get you contacts."
Deanna: "I'll give him another option that's impossible, like a Wii! Then he'll have no choice but to give me contacts!"
When your child begins to attempt to manipulate Santa, it may be time for him to stop visiting her. At the VERY least, she needs to be on his "Bad List" this year.
Me: "Wishful thinking, dear."
Deanna: "Do you think Santa could bring me contact lenses?"
Me: "Well, I think you have to have a prescription first."
Deanna: "I know! We could run to the eye doctors, get the prescription, then fax it to Santa."
Me: "Okay - but you have to give Santa at least two choices of gifts to get you. He may not get you contacts."
Deanna: "I'll give him another option that's impossible, like a Wii! Then he'll have no choice but to give me contacts!"
When your child begins to attempt to manipulate Santa, it may be time for him to stop visiting her. At the VERY least, she needs to be on his "Bad List" this year.
Monday, November 23, 2009
My Heart; Meghan!
Meghan Murrell got married Saturday night. Meghan is my almost goddaughter. She was the first of my babies outside the family. She's my darling, and I bawled my eyes out from the moment her mother started up the aisle until Don's car parked in our driveway after the reception.
Many years ago, during the summer between my freshman and sophmore years in college, I felt the call of the Lord to live a little differently. I moved out of my parents' home and moved in with a family with small children. I believed the Lord wanted me to learn a different way of doing things, learn to stretch, and experience children. Being the youngest of 5, I hadn't ever lived with children.
When I moved into the Murrell's home, they had three young children: Kajse was about 7 or 8, Mary Kate was only 4 and hadn't yet started school, and Luke John was a toddler, probably just a year old. Over the next couple of years, I worked very hard at becoming a member of the family, not just a "boarder". It was very hard for me, not that the Murrell's weren't wonderful, but it was so very different from my home, which was all I had known in the past. And I had almost no contact with friends and family.
About a year and a half into living with them, I began to pray for them to have a new baby. I really wanted a baby in the house. Suffice it to say, I mentioned it by accident one day, and World War III erupted. It seems Karen wasn't ready for another baby and was upset I was praying for her to have one. I continued to pray and the Lord moved on her heart; Meg was conceived.
It was obvious to everyone when she was born that she was MY baby. A classmate of mine in French IV at my college wrote a poem about "La Petite Meghan" because we had talked so much about the baby in class. I even suggested to Karen that she let me take Meg to school with me every morning in her basket.
"She'll just sleep," I pointed out. "You'll be able to have some freedom and do your errands. If she gets fussy, I can always hold her in the back of the classroom and bounce her. She'll go right back to sleep!" Karen vehemently resisted.
It wasn't long before I put Meg to bed EVERY night. She was one of those babies who would force herself to stay awake. Karen would nurse her, but she never fell asleep while nursing. Once she had finished her final nursing of the evening, I would take her, put her in my lap facing me, hold her head tight against my chest, sing to her and bounce her on her parents' bed for 20 minutes or so. It never failed to work. One night, Karen decided she needed to be able to get her own child to bed. She told me I could have the night off (not that I WANTED the night off) and took the baby upstairs. Forty-five minutes later, in frustration, Karen returned downstairs.
"Patti," she asked, exasperated, "would YOU please put Meghan to bed?"
Delighted, I'm sure! I even had the dubious pleasure of weening Meg when her parents had to take a trip to Arizona and discovered at the last minute that they couldn't take the still-nursing baby.
For years I fussed at Karen for not naming me the godmother.
"Patti!" she would fuss right back, "You're not Catholic. She had to have a Catholic godmother."
"You know I would've raised her in the Catholic church, Karen. She's MY baby. I should've been her godmother!"
Lest you think I talk this way to most people, after 4 years of living in Karen's home, we became VERY close, like sisters, really. There are things I would say to her (and she would say to me, as well) that we probably would never share with another person. Anyway, when Meghan started college, she and I discussed this issue, also.
Meghan: "I never understood WHY you weren't my godmother. It always FELT like you were."
Me: "I know. And I was very frustrated with your mother about that, but you needed a Catholic godmother, and I'm Protestant."
Meghan: "Well, I consider you my honorary godmother. Can't you be my godmother, too?"
Not to slight her real godmother, whom she dearly loves, but Meghan and I had a bond at a very different different level. She was my FIRST baby.
And now she's married, ready to begin a new life and have her own children. The event was wonderfully exciting, but, also, bittersweet. I watched her walk up the aisle, so poised and lovely, yet in my mind's eye, I saw the little red-headed, freckled wild child with the hair poking in all directions and the mischievous look in her eye sitting in my lap, poking me in the eye and giggling. I sat next to the center aisle in the back of the church with tears streaming down my face. Meghan glanced just past me and never made eye contact. After the wedding, during the picture-taking, Don and I hung around with the family. Meghan ran to me, hugged and kissed me and said,
"Aunt Patti, the first person I saw when I started down the aisle was YOU! And you were crying! I knew that if I looked at you, I'd lose it and would cry through my whole wedding, so I quickly looked away. I'm sorry if you didn't think I saw you."
What a darling girl. How could I HELP but love her?
Lots of tears were shed but my darling Meg made a good choice. Her husband is a godly man who grew up with her and was raised in a fine, Christian home. He dearly loves her, as she does him. They're a good match and will have a good, fruitful life together. Someone once told me that the test of whether or not to marry is this: will your marriage enable you to do things for the Lord that you wouldn't otherwise be able to do? If so, marry. If not, remain single and serve the Lord that way.
Meghan is just beginning a new chapter of serving the Lord; through serving a husband, his family and, one day, her children. She will need to seek his wisdom daily to be the best wife and mother she can be. And as her heart is knitted to her husbands and his to hers, she will continue to grow in God's grace, beauty and strength, as every Christian woman should.
Congratulations, la petite Meghan. Je t'aime, ma cherie.
Many years ago, during the summer between my freshman and sophmore years in college, I felt the call of the Lord to live a little differently. I moved out of my parents' home and moved in with a family with small children. I believed the Lord wanted me to learn a different way of doing things, learn to stretch, and experience children. Being the youngest of 5, I hadn't ever lived with children.
When I moved into the Murrell's home, they had three young children: Kajse was about 7 or 8, Mary Kate was only 4 and hadn't yet started school, and Luke John was a toddler, probably just a year old. Over the next couple of years, I worked very hard at becoming a member of the family, not just a "boarder". It was very hard for me, not that the Murrell's weren't wonderful, but it was so very different from my home, which was all I had known in the past. And I had almost no contact with friends and family.
About a year and a half into living with them, I began to pray for them to have a new baby. I really wanted a baby in the house. Suffice it to say, I mentioned it by accident one day, and World War III erupted. It seems Karen wasn't ready for another baby and was upset I was praying for her to have one. I continued to pray and the Lord moved on her heart; Meg was conceived.
It was obvious to everyone when she was born that she was MY baby. A classmate of mine in French IV at my college wrote a poem about "La Petite Meghan" because we had talked so much about the baby in class. I even suggested to Karen that she let me take Meg to school with me every morning in her basket.
"She'll just sleep," I pointed out. "You'll be able to have some freedom and do your errands. If she gets fussy, I can always hold her in the back of the classroom and bounce her. She'll go right back to sleep!" Karen vehemently resisted.
It wasn't long before I put Meg to bed EVERY night. She was one of those babies who would force herself to stay awake. Karen would nurse her, but she never fell asleep while nursing. Once she had finished her final nursing of the evening, I would take her, put her in my lap facing me, hold her head tight against my chest, sing to her and bounce her on her parents' bed for 20 minutes or so. It never failed to work. One night, Karen decided she needed to be able to get her own child to bed. She told me I could have the night off (not that I WANTED the night off) and took the baby upstairs. Forty-five minutes later, in frustration, Karen returned downstairs.
"Patti," she asked, exasperated, "would YOU please put Meghan to bed?"
Delighted, I'm sure! I even had the dubious pleasure of weening Meg when her parents had to take a trip to Arizona and discovered at the last minute that they couldn't take the still-nursing baby.
For years I fussed at Karen for not naming me the godmother.
"Patti!" she would fuss right back, "You're not Catholic. She had to have a Catholic godmother."
"You know I would've raised her in the Catholic church, Karen. She's MY baby. I should've been her godmother!"
Lest you think I talk this way to most people, after 4 years of living in Karen's home, we became VERY close, like sisters, really. There are things I would say to her (and she would say to me, as well) that we probably would never share with another person. Anyway, when Meghan started college, she and I discussed this issue, also.
Meghan: "I never understood WHY you weren't my godmother. It always FELT like you were."
Me: "I know. And I was very frustrated with your mother about that, but you needed a Catholic godmother, and I'm Protestant."
Meghan: "Well, I consider you my honorary godmother. Can't you be my godmother, too?"
Not to slight her real godmother, whom she dearly loves, but Meghan and I had a bond at a very different different level. She was my FIRST baby.
And now she's married, ready to begin a new life and have her own children. The event was wonderfully exciting, but, also, bittersweet. I watched her walk up the aisle, so poised and lovely, yet in my mind's eye, I saw the little red-headed, freckled wild child with the hair poking in all directions and the mischievous look in her eye sitting in my lap, poking me in the eye and giggling. I sat next to the center aisle in the back of the church with tears streaming down my face. Meghan glanced just past me and never made eye contact. After the wedding, during the picture-taking, Don and I hung around with the family. Meghan ran to me, hugged and kissed me and said,
"Aunt Patti, the first person I saw when I started down the aisle was YOU! And you were crying! I knew that if I looked at you, I'd lose it and would cry through my whole wedding, so I quickly looked away. I'm sorry if you didn't think I saw you."
What a darling girl. How could I HELP but love her?
Lots of tears were shed but my darling Meg made a good choice. Her husband is a godly man who grew up with her and was raised in a fine, Christian home. He dearly loves her, as she does him. They're a good match and will have a good, fruitful life together. Someone once told me that the test of whether or not to marry is this: will your marriage enable you to do things for the Lord that you wouldn't otherwise be able to do? If so, marry. If not, remain single and serve the Lord that way.
Meghan is just beginning a new chapter of serving the Lord; through serving a husband, his family and, one day, her children. She will need to seek his wisdom daily to be the best wife and mother she can be. And as her heart is knitted to her husbands and his to hers, she will continue to grow in God's grace, beauty and strength, as every Christian woman should.
Congratulations, la petite Meghan. Je t'aime, ma cherie.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Garage
These are Daelyn's cars that Grandma Doughty keeps at her house. When we arrive, he runs into our bedroom, gets in the bottom drawer of the bedside table on Don's side of the bed, gets out all his cars, and parks them in his garage . . . Grandma and Grandpa's fireplace. This is the cutest thing. I would never have thought the cars would stay in these gaps in the stones, but they do. And there they stay until we get ready to return home and they go back in the drawer, readily available for play all day long.
Someday, Grandma, Grandpa and I will miss seeing these cars in the "stone garage" of the fireplace.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Our School
Last night was Report Card night. Parents were to come to the school, pick each elementary student's report card up from his/her teacher, and discuss any issues. I went to Dane's class first, then to Daelyn's. After that, I made my way to the Middle School, which is always a little more loosey-goosey. The report cards were laid out, face down, on a table for the parents to get. If you wanted to talk with a teacher, you were welcome to stand in line for your turn. I decided it wasn't necessary for me to talk with any of Deanna's teachers, particularly since I talk with them a lot during the school year, anyway.
Daelyn's teacher surprised me. When I asked how Daelyn was doing, she told me that this is the brightest class she's EVER had (she's a veteran teacher with, probably, 25 years of experience). She said they really keep her on her toes and challenge her. She has to always have extra work prepared to keep them occupied. She told me that she usually allows her students to read to fill extra time, but this group reads so well and so fast that they tear through all the reading material and she's at a loss to keep them occupied. What a wonderful problem to have!
I was struck last night, in talking with the teachers and running into other parents as they moved through the hallways or waited in line outside a classroom. Our Headmaster is fond of saying that we're a family educating it's children - our school is private and is limited to the children of Alleluia Community members. The truth of the Headmaster's statement overwhelmed me last night. Each teacher strives to work with the gifts and weaknesses of each child individually. Both of the boys' teachers spoke to me about what they're doing to help deal with minor problems my sons are experiencing (one that's not even academic) and talked about how they encourage them. We spoke heart to heart and I was absolutely convinced of their love for my children and their deep desire to see them progress and do well, not just in school, but in life. These women are not just teachers - they're Aunts. They have relationships with their students outside of the classroom and are able to speak plainly to parents about the issues at hand. We're all in this together and our children's education is a cooperative effort.
It occurred to me last night that public school teachers, and even many in private schools, must be so very careful how they deal with student issues and even how these are addressed to the parents. It's not necessary for us to sidestep issues or sugar-coat problems. Teachers and parents can stand nose-to-nose and talk through strategies for improvement without offense. We all know and understand that these teachers are committed to their young charges and love them, seeking the Lord for them. Dane's teacher told Don this summer, before school even started, that she had prayed throughout the summer for Dane's health in anticipation of having him as her student.
What a gift we have! When a teacher is praying like that for her students, the Lord supernaturally blesses those relationships. My children are nurtured, loved, cared for, looked after every school day by gentle, kind women that love them. Short of home-schooling, there's no better place for them to be.
I signed those report cards last night and was proud; not just because of my children's grades, but by the teacher comments written on the back and by the knowledge that the Lord loves us enough to give us this wonderful gift. The teachers, hand-picked by God, are second to none. But the school, as a whole, is a gift few people will ever experience. I'm so glad I was called to this life and the riches God pours out on me because of my obedience. How could I do any less? Even my children reap the benefits of mine and their father's commitment to Him.
I know all children go through a rebellious stage in their lives and I'm quite certain I'll have to deal with that, as every parent does, but I'm ever so hopeful that the Lord will give these wonderful children the insight to see the wonder of our school and the advantage they will always have in life because of the nurture and caring of these wonderful men and women. They are blessed. I just pray we, in turn, can bless those teachers. They certainly deserve an extra helping of jewels in their crown.
Daelyn's teacher surprised me. When I asked how Daelyn was doing, she told me that this is the brightest class she's EVER had (she's a veteran teacher with, probably, 25 years of experience). She said they really keep her on her toes and challenge her. She has to always have extra work prepared to keep them occupied. She told me that she usually allows her students to read to fill extra time, but this group reads so well and so fast that they tear through all the reading material and she's at a loss to keep them occupied. What a wonderful problem to have!
I was struck last night, in talking with the teachers and running into other parents as they moved through the hallways or waited in line outside a classroom. Our Headmaster is fond of saying that we're a family educating it's children - our school is private and is limited to the children of Alleluia Community members. The truth of the Headmaster's statement overwhelmed me last night. Each teacher strives to work with the gifts and weaknesses of each child individually. Both of the boys' teachers spoke to me about what they're doing to help deal with minor problems my sons are experiencing (one that's not even academic) and talked about how they encourage them. We spoke heart to heart and I was absolutely convinced of their love for my children and their deep desire to see them progress and do well, not just in school, but in life. These women are not just teachers - they're Aunts. They have relationships with their students outside of the classroom and are able to speak plainly to parents about the issues at hand. We're all in this together and our children's education is a cooperative effort.
It occurred to me last night that public school teachers, and even many in private schools, must be so very careful how they deal with student issues and even how these are addressed to the parents. It's not necessary for us to sidestep issues or sugar-coat problems. Teachers and parents can stand nose-to-nose and talk through strategies for improvement without offense. We all know and understand that these teachers are committed to their young charges and love them, seeking the Lord for them. Dane's teacher told Don this summer, before school even started, that she had prayed throughout the summer for Dane's health in anticipation of having him as her student.
What a gift we have! When a teacher is praying like that for her students, the Lord supernaturally blesses those relationships. My children are nurtured, loved, cared for, looked after every school day by gentle, kind women that love them. Short of home-schooling, there's no better place for them to be.
I signed those report cards last night and was proud; not just because of my children's grades, but by the teacher comments written on the back and by the knowledge that the Lord loves us enough to give us this wonderful gift. The teachers, hand-picked by God, are second to none. But the school, as a whole, is a gift few people will ever experience. I'm so glad I was called to this life and the riches God pours out on me because of my obedience. How could I do any less? Even my children reap the benefits of mine and their father's commitment to Him.
I know all children go through a rebellious stage in their lives and I'm quite certain I'll have to deal with that, as every parent does, but I'm ever so hopeful that the Lord will give these wonderful children the insight to see the wonder of our school and the advantage they will always have in life because of the nurture and caring of these wonderful men and women. They are blessed. I just pray we, in turn, can bless those teachers. They certainly deserve an extra helping of jewels in their crown.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
God's Blessing of Family
Grandpa just left. It's always hard to see them drive away. I still cry when we leave West Virginia after visiting, even though we seem to be able to make the trek up there fairly often these days.
The bottom line - I love Don's parents and I miss them when we're not together. Sometimes, I just have to call his Mom and have a good, long chat with her. She's such a sweet, supportive, loving person. And Grandpa is a delight, as well - an unbelievably gifted man that still manages to be humble and kind. My friend, Kelly, told me on the phone this morning, "It's easy to see where Don gets his disposition."
The visit went very well, not that I expected any different. The one thing I WAS concerned about was whether or not Grandpa would get any rest. He doesn't sleep well under the best of circumstances and being away from home and exhausted didn't bode well for him being able to rest. We put him in Daelyn's bedroom and put Daelyn in with Dane, which was a very simple transition for us. All we really had to do was move three day's worth of clothes into Dane's room for Dae.
Grandpa arrived Sunday afternoon and I had planned a cook-out with my family so they would get some time with Grandpa. After my parents left, my sister, Grandpa, and I went into the living room and sat in front of the fire visiting. Grandpa fell asleep. The kids went on to bed and Toni left. I got up to do the dishes, and Grandpa slept. I eventually woke him up to call Grandma before it got too late, but he had a nice nap. Then, the next morning, he told me that he had slept like a rock. I was thrilled. I had scheduled enough time in the middle of the day Monday for him to have a nap. I had to wake him up to get him back down to the school for his afternoon session and he said he would've slept right through if I hadn't woken him.
I've thought a lot about him being able to sleep here and I think it must be that he felt comfortable. He was with family. I know I feel that way when I'm at their house. I go to bed when I want, get up when I want . . . it's easy and natural.
One of the teachers at the school on Monday commented about how much Don looked like his Dad. That surprised me, I guess because I always think of him as being so much like his mother.
"I guess so," I responded. "But his personality is much more like Mom's. I'm the one who's more like Dad."
The teacher looked at me a little funny. Then it struck me. There's no blood between me and Don's parents, no inherited traits from them. The truth is, though, I AM a lot like Don's father. I was talking with someone about this yesterday and they said,
"You know, people tend to choose a spouse that's like one of their parents." It's true, in our case. Don is very much like my mother. They really understand each other. I'm JUST like my father. In fact, when Don and I were first married and I'd be frustrated with him, I'd often go to my father for advice.
"Let me tell you what I did with Mom one time when that happened," Daddy would say. Don is very much like his mother, so he married a woman much like his father (unfortunately, without the Doughty humility - I'm working on THAT!). It's really not so unusual after all that I'm a lot like his father, even if there's not a blood trail between us. There's a love trail, that's for sure.
It'll be a quiet, sad day for me today as I recall the conversations and fun we had with Grandpa. Just having him in our house made it feel fuller, more homey. Early on, I commented,
"The only thing that could make this better would be if Grandma was here, too, and they could stay longer." And I meant it. Maybe someday they'll live close to us. Until then, I'll cherish every moment I have with them and appreciate the times they make the effort to walk away from their very busy lives and visit us. They're so very dear to all of us. Thank goodness we have phones and computers and summer months to spend driving back and forth.
Thank goodness for Grandma and Grandpa Doughty. What a gift they are from God.
The bottom line - I love Don's parents and I miss them when we're not together. Sometimes, I just have to call his Mom and have a good, long chat with her. She's such a sweet, supportive, loving person. And Grandpa is a delight, as well - an unbelievably gifted man that still manages to be humble and kind. My friend, Kelly, told me on the phone this morning, "It's easy to see where Don gets his disposition."
The visit went very well, not that I expected any different. The one thing I WAS concerned about was whether or not Grandpa would get any rest. He doesn't sleep well under the best of circumstances and being away from home and exhausted didn't bode well for him being able to rest. We put him in Daelyn's bedroom and put Daelyn in with Dane, which was a very simple transition for us. All we really had to do was move three day's worth of clothes into Dane's room for Dae.
Grandpa arrived Sunday afternoon and I had planned a cook-out with my family so they would get some time with Grandpa. After my parents left, my sister, Grandpa, and I went into the living room and sat in front of the fire visiting. Grandpa fell asleep. The kids went on to bed and Toni left. I got up to do the dishes, and Grandpa slept. I eventually woke him up to call Grandma before it got too late, but he had a nice nap. Then, the next morning, he told me that he had slept like a rock. I was thrilled. I had scheduled enough time in the middle of the day Monday for him to have a nap. I had to wake him up to get him back down to the school for his afternoon session and he said he would've slept right through if I hadn't woken him.
I've thought a lot about him being able to sleep here and I think it must be that he felt comfortable. He was with family. I know I feel that way when I'm at their house. I go to bed when I want, get up when I want . . . it's easy and natural.
One of the teachers at the school on Monday commented about how much Don looked like his Dad. That surprised me, I guess because I always think of him as being so much like his mother.
"I guess so," I responded. "But his personality is much more like Mom's. I'm the one who's more like Dad."
The teacher looked at me a little funny. Then it struck me. There's no blood between me and Don's parents, no inherited traits from them. The truth is, though, I AM a lot like Don's father. I was talking with someone about this yesterday and they said,
"You know, people tend to choose a spouse that's like one of their parents." It's true, in our case. Don is very much like my mother. They really understand each other. I'm JUST like my father. In fact, when Don and I were first married and I'd be frustrated with him, I'd often go to my father for advice.
"Let me tell you what I did with Mom one time when that happened," Daddy would say. Don is very much like his mother, so he married a woman much like his father (unfortunately, without the Doughty humility - I'm working on THAT!). It's really not so unusual after all that I'm a lot like his father, even if there's not a blood trail between us. There's a love trail, that's for sure.
It'll be a quiet, sad day for me today as I recall the conversations and fun we had with Grandpa. Just having him in our house made it feel fuller, more homey. Early on, I commented,
"The only thing that could make this better would be if Grandma was here, too, and they could stay longer." And I meant it. Maybe someday they'll live close to us. Until then, I'll cherish every moment I have with them and appreciate the times they make the effort to walk away from their very busy lives and visit us. They're so very dear to all of us. Thank goodness we have phones and computers and summer months to spend driving back and forth.
Thank goodness for Grandma and Grandpa Doughty. What a gift they are from God.
Monday, November 09, 2009
Mistaken Identity
While doing some cleaning yesterday afternoon and waiting for Grandpa Doughty to arrive, Dane ran into the house yelling. He was trimming some grass from around my box garden with the electric trimmers and discovered, "A snake, Mom, a snake!"
I ran out behind him. He pointed deep down into the grass. I had to look hard, but I could make out the brown, what appeared to be the snake's head, and clear markings on his brown back. I was concerned that we had a baby diamondback rattler.
It wasn't long before the whole neighborhood appeared. We were all gawking and yelling, excited and a little scared. I kept saying, "Even if it IS a baby, where there's a baby, there's a Mama, so please be careful!"
About that time, Grandpa rounded the corner of the house onto the driveway. We glanced up briefly and acknowledged him (not much of a welcome for poor Grandpa!) and Deanna yelled to him what all the excitement was about. Grandpa jumped right into things with us, leaving his suitcase in the driveway to join the group gathered around the grass. Grandpa finally got a stick and managed to get the snake on the stick and raise it almost to the top of the grass before it fell off. It looked pretty short to me and really made me wonder if it WAS a snake.
"Maybe it's a newt," I kept saying. People looked at me like I was crazy. It was just that it was fat, but very short. It seemed to me that a snake that was that big around should have been far longer.
Don got some yard tools out of the shed and another dad, him, and Grandpa began working on the grass pile, trying to reach the snake. I decided I had had enough and headed back inside.
A few minutes later, Dane came running back in.
"Guess what, Mama?" he said. "Turns out our snake is a caterpillar!" We all had a good laugh. It really DID look like a snake, except for the length.
Anyway, for your viewing pleasure, I put a picture of it above. It's an elephant hawk moth caterpillar, which are native to England, interestingly enough. Dane put in back in the ground this morning - they burrow under the dirt to pupate, and we didn't want it to die.
Grandpa made it here safely and we did greet him once the excitement was over. And it was a fun afternoon. I can't say I'm sad it wasn't a snake. At least I can sleep peacefully at night.
Saturday, November 07, 2009
Like Father, Like Daughter, Son, Other Daughter . . .
Deanna and I were eating potato chips together one day out of the bag. She reached in and grabbed a few chips.
"Hey!" I yelled. "You got the chip I wanted!"
Deanna looked at me and shook her head.
"Mama, that is so weird!"
"What's weird," I asked.
"YOU! Wanting a specific chip!"
"Well, it had a lot of barbecue seasoning on it and I had picked it out. It was going to be my next chip."
"It's just weird that you always look at the chips in the bag, then carefully choose ONE," she said.
I hadn't thought about that and it caught me a little by surprise.
"What do you mean?" I asked her.
"Well, whenever you eat chips - EVERY time you eat chips - you examine every chip, then choose ONE from the bag or bowl. It's so weird. Who DOES that? People just grab a handful of chips and eat them. But not you! You examine every chip carefully, then choose just one. Mama, people don't 'PICK' their chips. They just EAT them."
I really had never thought about that before. But she's right. I examine my chips - always! I don't know why - I guess it's because, if I'm going to waste those calories, I want to be sure I get the best of the chips in the bag. I suppose it IS a little weird, and she's right, most people don't examine their chips. But I always have. One of those quirks of my personality, I guess. I'm particular, even about my potato chips. I do the same thing with popcorn. If I share popcorn with the children at a movie, I get real upset with them because they just GRAB! I take one kernel at a time, eat all the little pokey parts off it, then eat the center. I nibble on it, kernel by kernel. Don learned while we were courting to always buy me my own popcorn, cause it drove me crazy that he'd just GRAB!!!
I took my mother to a doctor's appointment yesterday (so, does it seem like I dramatically changed subjects?) and one of my sisters was going to pick her up there and take her over to another sister's house to work on my niece's wedding invitations. Before Mom and Toni left, we all sat in Toni's car for a few minutes to visit. We got to talking about the SHAPE High School Reunion Toni, my brother, Chuck, and I went to a few weekends ago in Myrtle Beach. It was so interesting getting to have that time with Chuck and watching him interact with people that went to high school with him. His old cohorts in crime.
Toni and I were telling my mom a story about how, when we left the Reunion on Sunday, we walked under the house (the house was on stilts and there was parking underneath. My brother had parked his motorcycle underneath the stairs. Toni and I had parked across the street on the road.) to where Chuck had his motorcycle and stood with him while he got ready to go. Several women had gathered around him and were visiting and oohing and aahing about his bike - just like in high school. It was so funny to watch. Here are these women, in their mid-50's, Chuck is 55, and it was like they were teenagers again. They fell right back into those years. Chuck with his harem. He always had girls gathered around him back then. He was cool, very smart, handsome, and didn't date just one girl. One of the gals that knew him back them referred to him as a "freelancer". So, he was available, and fun to flirt with. And, boy, was he ever a chick magnet. The girls ALWAYS gathered around him. It was no different at the Reunion.
Toni and I stood, just outside the little circle of women, watching with smiles on our faces. Chuck, in his element. It was fun telling Mom the story, too.
"How long did it take Chuck to get ready to leave?" she asked.
Toni and I rolled our eyes and laughed spontaneously.
"You would NOT believe how long it took him to get geared up!" we both responded. He had a knit facemask he put on, then his helmet, then gloves. You would think those 3 things could be applied quickly, but, no! Everytime we stopped, it took Chuck a good 10 minutes to get everything back in place again. The facemask had to be just SO, then he gingerly applied his helmet and made sure his glasses and face shield were clean. Then the gloves, which took forever. Honestly, it took him a good 10 minutes to get ready to go.
Toni said, "You've never seen a production like this before, Mom. First, he had to shake everything out. Then, very slowly and carefully, he examined each item. Then he'd shake them out again. Finally, he'd begin to put them on! It was unbelievable."
"Just like Daddy," Mama said. Have you ever watched Daddy take off his socks?"
We all laughed. All three of us are very familiar with the routine Daddy goes through to undress. Yep, Chuck's just like him - slow, meticulous, seemingly about things that really don't matter that much.
Sound like somebody we know with potato chips? At least I can claim I got it honestly. Blame Daddy!
"Hey!" I yelled. "You got the chip I wanted!"
Deanna looked at me and shook her head.
"Mama, that is so weird!"
"What's weird," I asked.
"YOU! Wanting a specific chip!"
"Well, it had a lot of barbecue seasoning on it and I had picked it out. It was going to be my next chip."
"It's just weird that you always look at the chips in the bag, then carefully choose ONE," she said.
I hadn't thought about that and it caught me a little by surprise.
"What do you mean?" I asked her.
"Well, whenever you eat chips - EVERY time you eat chips - you examine every chip, then choose ONE from the bag or bowl. It's so weird. Who DOES that? People just grab a handful of chips and eat them. But not you! You examine every chip carefully, then choose just one. Mama, people don't 'PICK' their chips. They just EAT them."
I really had never thought about that before. But she's right. I examine my chips - always! I don't know why - I guess it's because, if I'm going to waste those calories, I want to be sure I get the best of the chips in the bag. I suppose it IS a little weird, and she's right, most people don't examine their chips. But I always have. One of those quirks of my personality, I guess. I'm particular, even about my potato chips. I do the same thing with popcorn. If I share popcorn with the children at a movie, I get real upset with them because they just GRAB! I take one kernel at a time, eat all the little pokey parts off it, then eat the center. I nibble on it, kernel by kernel. Don learned while we were courting to always buy me my own popcorn, cause it drove me crazy that he'd just GRAB!!!
I took my mother to a doctor's appointment yesterday (so, does it seem like I dramatically changed subjects?) and one of my sisters was going to pick her up there and take her over to another sister's house to work on my niece's wedding invitations. Before Mom and Toni left, we all sat in Toni's car for a few minutes to visit. We got to talking about the SHAPE High School Reunion Toni, my brother, Chuck, and I went to a few weekends ago in Myrtle Beach. It was so interesting getting to have that time with Chuck and watching him interact with people that went to high school with him. His old cohorts in crime.
Toni and I were telling my mom a story about how, when we left the Reunion on Sunday, we walked under the house (the house was on stilts and there was parking underneath. My brother had parked his motorcycle underneath the stairs. Toni and I had parked across the street on the road.) to where Chuck had his motorcycle and stood with him while he got ready to go. Several women had gathered around him and were visiting and oohing and aahing about his bike - just like in high school. It was so funny to watch. Here are these women, in their mid-50's, Chuck is 55, and it was like they were teenagers again. They fell right back into those years. Chuck with his harem. He always had girls gathered around him back then. He was cool, very smart, handsome, and didn't date just one girl. One of the gals that knew him back them referred to him as a "freelancer". So, he was available, and fun to flirt with. And, boy, was he ever a chick magnet. The girls ALWAYS gathered around him. It was no different at the Reunion.
Toni and I stood, just outside the little circle of women, watching with smiles on our faces. Chuck, in his element. It was fun telling Mom the story, too.
"How long did it take Chuck to get ready to leave?" she asked.
Toni and I rolled our eyes and laughed spontaneously.
"You would NOT believe how long it took him to get geared up!" we both responded. He had a knit facemask he put on, then his helmet, then gloves. You would think those 3 things could be applied quickly, but, no! Everytime we stopped, it took Chuck a good 10 minutes to get everything back in place again. The facemask had to be just SO, then he gingerly applied his helmet and made sure his glasses and face shield were clean. Then the gloves, which took forever. Honestly, it took him a good 10 minutes to get ready to go.
Toni said, "You've never seen a production like this before, Mom. First, he had to shake everything out. Then, very slowly and carefully, he examined each item. Then he'd shake them out again. Finally, he'd begin to put them on! It was unbelievable."
"Just like Daddy," Mama said. Have you ever watched Daddy take off his socks?"
We all laughed. All three of us are very familiar with the routine Daddy goes through to undress. Yep, Chuck's just like him - slow, meticulous, seemingly about things that really don't matter that much.
Sound like somebody we know with potato chips? At least I can claim I got it honestly. Blame Daddy!
Thursday, November 05, 2009
"Precious"
I have a very close friend, Kelly. We were fairly close as singles, but then I married. A year later, she married. I had Deanna. A year later, she had Tim. The year after that, I had Dane. A couple years later, she had Kolbe and I had Daelyn. Kolbe and Daelyn are in the same class and are close friends. Timothy was very close to Deanna when he was little, even waking his mother up early one morning and asking her to take him to school so he could see Deanna on her first day. Later, when he reached that "Girls are Ucky" stage, he and Dane became very close and we discovered that they like almost all of the same things. Kelly and I are both married to Engineers that work at SRS.
While we were in England, Kelly found out she was pregnant again. Lest you wonder, she's younger than me, but no Spring Chicken. It was amazing and quite a blessing from the Lord. Since I'm unable to have anymore children and it will be a while before I have grandchildren, I very happily accepted any children Kel could give me. I encouraged her to continue to bear babies for me to spoil.
John was born a little over two years ago. What a miracle. He was one of the most beautiful babies I've ever seen - right up there with Deanna and my niece, Alicia. He was my darling from the very beginning.
I made it a point to go and see him everyday for about the first two months of his life (I'm sure there were some days I missed, but I made a real effort to see him VERY often). I'd stop by, Kelly'd open the door and we'd begin talking while I followed her around. She would always go right to the baby, wherever he was, pick him up and put him in my arms. It was so amazing - this dear friend that I loved so much generously sharing her baby with me.
I'm not sure her husband completely understood this relationship at that time. He eventually caught on, when I was the only person who could get kisses or attention from John. Anyway, John has continued to be my darling boy, despite the fact that he's in the Terrible Two's, and you'll noticed I capitalized that.
Several months ago, Kel produced another baby for me! After not having a male child in her husband's family for many generations, Kelly and Dave had a little girl. I loved that child from the moment I knew of her conception, but she's stolen my heart over and over again since then.
I was able to be in the room when she was born. I'm 48, have 3 children of my own and 12 nieces and nephews, and had never seen a live birth. My sisters wouldn't let me in with them, since I was still single at the time (which I find bizarre - I even thought it was crazy back then, but there was no convincing them) and I had C-Sections. My only hope was that I'd get to see my grandchildren born. Then, without even discussing it in advance, I showed up at the hospital, Kel was in transition, and Dave was standing in the Hallway having just called my house to tell me to hurry.
I'm sure ALL births are amazing, but this one was doubly so. There were some scary moments, but Ainsley Elizabeth was born, a big girl, and beautiful. When it was finally my turn to hold her, I put her close to my face, my cheek to hers, and whispered in her ear of my love for her. She had been crying and screaming and my voice immediately calmed her. Truth is, it might have just been the skin to skin contact, but I'd like to believe she recognized my voice and was quieted by it (it COULD be, you know - I talked to her often while she was in the womb).
I haven't been quite as faithful to see Ainsley as I was Jon-Jon, but I still get to see her very often. She's just precious, which her mother and I comment about constantly. We hold her in front of us, coo at her, smile and watch her smile back while calling her "Precious". Jon-Jon has picked up on this.
The fourth child in a family of boys, Ainsley will have much to overcome in life. We just never expected it to start quite this soon. We've noticed that the boys have picked up our little comments and have begun calling her "Precious" in a Smeagle-tone. Now, if any of you have seen Lord of the Rings, you'll know what I'm talking about. NO ONE, in their right mind, would want their beautiful child connected in ANY way with Smeagle's lust for the Ring. When we hear the boys call her "Precious" in that gutteral, snearing way, we quickly tell them to stop. But, boys are boys, and they like nothing better than to get under our skin.
Even Jon-Jon has taken to calling Ainsley "Precious", except, with him, it comes out "Pwecious"! He even can imitate his older brother's tone of voice and you'll feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up when he calls to the baby. Unfortunately, there's no breaking John of his term for his baby sister. Sometimes, he calls her other things, but Precious seems to be the predominant expression.
A couple of weeks ago, Kelly called me, laughing. It seems she found Jon-Jon with a toy machine gun strapped over his shoulder. He was sneaking from room to room, in his best Smeagle voice, saying, "Precious, where ARE you?"
Kelly added, "My daughter is going to need ministry before she's two!" Hate to break it to you, Kel, but I'm quite sure that will be her life with 3 older brothers. But it's okay. If things get too tough for her, she can come and live with me.
While we were in England, Kelly found out she was pregnant again. Lest you wonder, she's younger than me, but no Spring Chicken. It was amazing and quite a blessing from the Lord. Since I'm unable to have anymore children and it will be a while before I have grandchildren, I very happily accepted any children Kel could give me. I encouraged her to continue to bear babies for me to spoil.
John was born a little over two years ago. What a miracle. He was one of the most beautiful babies I've ever seen - right up there with Deanna and my niece, Alicia. He was my darling from the very beginning.
I made it a point to go and see him everyday for about the first two months of his life (I'm sure there were some days I missed, but I made a real effort to see him VERY often). I'd stop by, Kelly'd open the door and we'd begin talking while I followed her around. She would always go right to the baby, wherever he was, pick him up and put him in my arms. It was so amazing - this dear friend that I loved so much generously sharing her baby with me.
I'm not sure her husband completely understood this relationship at that time. He eventually caught on, when I was the only person who could get kisses or attention from John. Anyway, John has continued to be my darling boy, despite the fact that he's in the Terrible Two's, and you'll noticed I capitalized that.
Several months ago, Kel produced another baby for me! After not having a male child in her husband's family for many generations, Kelly and Dave had a little girl. I loved that child from the moment I knew of her conception, but she's stolen my heart over and over again since then.
I was able to be in the room when she was born. I'm 48, have 3 children of my own and 12 nieces and nephews, and had never seen a live birth. My sisters wouldn't let me in with them, since I was still single at the time (which I find bizarre - I even thought it was crazy back then, but there was no convincing them) and I had C-Sections. My only hope was that I'd get to see my grandchildren born. Then, without even discussing it in advance, I showed up at the hospital, Kel was in transition, and Dave was standing in the Hallway having just called my house to tell me to hurry.
I'm sure ALL births are amazing, but this one was doubly so. There were some scary moments, but Ainsley Elizabeth was born, a big girl, and beautiful. When it was finally my turn to hold her, I put her close to my face, my cheek to hers, and whispered in her ear of my love for her. She had been crying and screaming and my voice immediately calmed her. Truth is, it might have just been the skin to skin contact, but I'd like to believe she recognized my voice and was quieted by it (it COULD be, you know - I talked to her often while she was in the womb).
I haven't been quite as faithful to see Ainsley as I was Jon-Jon, but I still get to see her very often. She's just precious, which her mother and I comment about constantly. We hold her in front of us, coo at her, smile and watch her smile back while calling her "Precious". Jon-Jon has picked up on this.
The fourth child in a family of boys, Ainsley will have much to overcome in life. We just never expected it to start quite this soon. We've noticed that the boys have picked up our little comments and have begun calling her "Precious" in a Smeagle-tone. Now, if any of you have seen Lord of the Rings, you'll know what I'm talking about. NO ONE, in their right mind, would want their beautiful child connected in ANY way with Smeagle's lust for the Ring. When we hear the boys call her "Precious" in that gutteral, snearing way, we quickly tell them to stop. But, boys are boys, and they like nothing better than to get under our skin.
Even Jon-Jon has taken to calling Ainsley "Precious", except, with him, it comes out "Pwecious"! He even can imitate his older brother's tone of voice and you'll feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up when he calls to the baby. Unfortunately, there's no breaking John of his term for his baby sister. Sometimes, he calls her other things, but Precious seems to be the predominant expression.
A couple of weeks ago, Kelly called me, laughing. It seems she found Jon-Jon with a toy machine gun strapped over his shoulder. He was sneaking from room to room, in his best Smeagle voice, saying, "Precious, where ARE you?"
Kelly added, "My daughter is going to need ministry before she's two!" Hate to break it to you, Kel, but I'm quite sure that will be her life with 3 older brothers. But it's okay. If things get too tough for her, she can come and live with me.
Monday, November 02, 2009
To Laugh or Not to Laugh . . . that is the question.
Deanna came home from school one day last week upset. It seems they were playing kickball at P.E. One of the girls in her class was up and, as she ran towards the ball to kick it, it somehow missed her first foot and got stuck between her two feet. The girls all laughed, including the one trying to get past the ball, but when her friends continued laughing, she got hurt feelings and started to cry. Deanna said she wasn't laughing and some of the girls took it a little too far. They got into trouble with the coach and Deanna felt really bad for her sweet friend, a girl we dearly love.
It brought up an interesting question. Is it okay to laugh at something that's objectively funny when it involves another person. I'm terrible about that. My kids are always doing crazy things like using the wrong words, falling off the bench at the kitchen table, etc. I can't help myself - I'm not making FUN of them, I just think the humor in it is so unique and it catches me so off-guard that I crack up. Deanna has told me before that she feels like I'm making fun of her. I've assured her that I'm not, that I'm laughing WITH her, not AT her and pointed out that, normally, she's laughing too. The last time she got hurt feelings, I started pointing out to her the times she did the same thing to her brothers.
"Were you making fun of them?" I asked her.
"No, Mama, of course not. It was just funny."
"And that's how I feel, too, honey. When you do those funny things, I'm not making fun of you - I'm just appreciating the humor in them."
I think she's beginning to see it and I think it probably is a more sensitive issue right now because of her age. We don't laugh if the person involved in the incident is hurt (unless it's REALLY funny and I try hard to stifle while I'm running to help the hurt child).
I know I must sound terribly callous. There was a time when one of the kids fell off the bench and, literally, turned a flip on their way down. It cracked me up. I wanted to hold up a score card and yell, "10". The injured child was quite insulted and cried. I rushed to him/her, bending down to assess the damage, but I just couldn't stop laughing.
"I'm so sorry, hon. Are you okay? (Ha, ha!)"
"NO! I hurt my shoulder and my foot, Mama."
(Ha, heh!) "Oh, I'm so sorry. Let me help you up." (Chortle, laugh)
I WAS sorry they were hurt, but I couldn't quite get the picture out of my mind. It was like a spontaneous slapstick comedy right there at my kitchen table. The child got angry.
"STOP laughing, Mama. It's NOT funny. I'm hurt!"
"But, honey, it really WAS funny. I'm sorry to be laughing, but you nailed the landing!"
When the child looked around and noticed his/her siblings cracking up and they began explaining the humor of the fall, the child finally saw the humor and began to chuckle.
Every now and then, Deanna will call me "Evil Mommy"; like the time we were showing her new underwear in the package to her friend who was joining us for dinner. We played keep-away from Deanna who was trying to reclaim her undies. Her friend was convinced we were all bonkers and Deanna still cracks up when telling that story, but it's times like that when she calls me "Evil Mommy".
There was also the time we were coming home from church on Sunday. It was a dreary, cold morning and we were all VERY tired from the trip we had taken the previous day. As we sat in absolute silence at a long stoplight, an elderly man began to slowly make his way across the street in front of us, moving like a snail. When he was right in front of us, I yelled, "Hit him, Daddy!" I was just trying to put a little levity in our morning. Apparently, though, with the low cloud cover, my voice really carried. I may have been a little louder than I intended, too. Anyway, the poor little man heard me, jerked his head up, looked me straight in the eyes and began running for the side of the road. He went from wobbling and barely walking to running for his life. The children and I burst out laughing. Of course, I had been joking, but the little old man's reaction was priceless. We will NEVER forget that scene, and we recall it often when we're together as a family. It STILL elicits peals of laughter from all of us except Don. I think that's when Deanna gave me the nickname, "Evil Mommy".
Anyway, back to her friend. I think it has a lot to do with their age and the fact that they're all dealing with insecurities right now. Nobody wants to feel like they're a laughing stock, even if they thought the incident was funny.
The moral of this story: I'm trying to teach Deanna to lighten up and see the humor in life. Choose to not be hurt or offended. It's a very hard lesson for ALL of us, but particularly hard during adolescence. If she can just get it down, her life will be less stressful and she'll get along better with everyone.
As for our dear little friend with the ball - out of respect for her, we won't bring it up. When she's older, we may remind her of the story. I expect, by the time she's out of school, she'll see the humor in it, as well. But for now, we'll protect her self-image and try very hard to not laugh at faux pas involving Deanna's friends.
It brought up an interesting question. Is it okay to laugh at something that's objectively funny when it involves another person. I'm terrible about that. My kids are always doing crazy things like using the wrong words, falling off the bench at the kitchen table, etc. I can't help myself - I'm not making FUN of them, I just think the humor in it is so unique and it catches me so off-guard that I crack up. Deanna has told me before that she feels like I'm making fun of her. I've assured her that I'm not, that I'm laughing WITH her, not AT her and pointed out that, normally, she's laughing too. The last time she got hurt feelings, I started pointing out to her the times she did the same thing to her brothers.
"Were you making fun of them?" I asked her.
"No, Mama, of course not. It was just funny."
"And that's how I feel, too, honey. When you do those funny things, I'm not making fun of you - I'm just appreciating the humor in them."
I think she's beginning to see it and I think it probably is a more sensitive issue right now because of her age. We don't laugh if the person involved in the incident is hurt (unless it's REALLY funny and I try hard to stifle while I'm running to help the hurt child).
I know I must sound terribly callous. There was a time when one of the kids fell off the bench and, literally, turned a flip on their way down. It cracked me up. I wanted to hold up a score card and yell, "10". The injured child was quite insulted and cried. I rushed to him/her, bending down to assess the damage, but I just couldn't stop laughing.
"I'm so sorry, hon. Are you okay? (Ha, ha!)"
"NO! I hurt my shoulder and my foot, Mama."
(Ha, heh!) "Oh, I'm so sorry. Let me help you up." (Chortle, laugh)
I WAS sorry they were hurt, but I couldn't quite get the picture out of my mind. It was like a spontaneous slapstick comedy right there at my kitchen table. The child got angry.
"STOP laughing, Mama. It's NOT funny. I'm hurt!"
"But, honey, it really WAS funny. I'm sorry to be laughing, but you nailed the landing!"
When the child looked around and noticed his/her siblings cracking up and they began explaining the humor of the fall, the child finally saw the humor and began to chuckle.
Every now and then, Deanna will call me "Evil Mommy"; like the time we were showing her new underwear in the package to her friend who was joining us for dinner. We played keep-away from Deanna who was trying to reclaim her undies. Her friend was convinced we were all bonkers and Deanna still cracks up when telling that story, but it's times like that when she calls me "Evil Mommy".
There was also the time we were coming home from church on Sunday. It was a dreary, cold morning and we were all VERY tired from the trip we had taken the previous day. As we sat in absolute silence at a long stoplight, an elderly man began to slowly make his way across the street in front of us, moving like a snail. When he was right in front of us, I yelled, "Hit him, Daddy!" I was just trying to put a little levity in our morning. Apparently, though, with the low cloud cover, my voice really carried. I may have been a little louder than I intended, too. Anyway, the poor little man heard me, jerked his head up, looked me straight in the eyes and began running for the side of the road. He went from wobbling and barely walking to running for his life. The children and I burst out laughing. Of course, I had been joking, but the little old man's reaction was priceless. We will NEVER forget that scene, and we recall it often when we're together as a family. It STILL elicits peals of laughter from all of us except Don. I think that's when Deanna gave me the nickname, "Evil Mommy".
Anyway, back to her friend. I think it has a lot to do with their age and the fact that they're all dealing with insecurities right now. Nobody wants to feel like they're a laughing stock, even if they thought the incident was funny.
The moral of this story: I'm trying to teach Deanna to lighten up and see the humor in life. Choose to not be hurt or offended. It's a very hard lesson for ALL of us, but particularly hard during adolescence. If she can just get it down, her life will be less stressful and she'll get along better with everyone.
As for our dear little friend with the ball - out of respect for her, we won't bring it up. When she's older, we may remind her of the story. I expect, by the time she's out of school, she'll see the humor in it, as well. But for now, we'll protect her self-image and try very hard to not laugh at faux pas involving Deanna's friends.
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