Sorting, sorting

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn't happen often,

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

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

"I'll check it," I promised.

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

"I said 'I'll check'!"

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

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

A few minutes later, Don appeared.

"You called?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tackling the Linen Closet

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

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

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

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

Happy St. Patti's Day Birthday!

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

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

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

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

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

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

Disdogbedience

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Bard Off the Top

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

"Fie! Fie on you!"

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

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

Deanna, quick-witted as usual, responded.

"Is this a bedtime I see before me?"

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

Stocking the Pantry My Own Way

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brothers-At-Arms

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

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

"STOP!" I shrieked.

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

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

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

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

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

Police Presence in Our Backyard

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

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

Deanna appeared at my elbow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sitting Exercise

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hamlet Performed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two Kinds of Aliens

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

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

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

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

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

Hamlet and The King

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

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

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

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

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

A Sure Way . . .

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

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

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

Just a Little More Craziness

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

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

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

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

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

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

They all laughed. Then I continued.

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

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

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

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

And they think I'M crazy?

Can't We Just Read Aloud Without Commentary?

A Bigger House for June

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

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

Daelyn: "Apparently, June is fickle!"

The Outcome

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Chore for Me, As Well

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He just couldn't resist.

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

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

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

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

Quiet Times

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bowl Mania

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

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

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

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

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

"What about the 1-yard line?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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