Not Too Impressive

The High School Principal, who is also a nationally-renowned Math teacher, spent an hour a day last week with the 8th Graders, preparing them for their move to the high school. He taught them how to use their Texas Instrument Calculators as well as other things so they can hit the ground running in September.

We dearly love this man, Mr. Funsch, but he CAN be a little intimidating. First of all, he's a high school teacher. Second, he's the Principal. Third, he is tall, thin, and imposing. And fourth, he smiles sparingly and appears stern most of the time, despite his incredible sense of humor, which Deanna has yet to experience.

Deanna has been with me when I've joked and bantered with him and she's well aware of the esteem with which Don and I both hold him. She felt it was very important to also show respect and, more than anything, she wanted his first impression of her in school to be very positive. Truthfully, she wanted him to think she was smart, self-assured, and attentive.

She sat very straight while with him. She told me she hung on his every word, never taking her eyes off him, pen poised above paper to jot down any important tidbit he might bestow on them. She was focused, concentrating, and trying very hard to seem intelligent and thoughtful.

"So," Mr. Funsch said the first day, "let's count off by fours. Faith, you're #1."

When Faith stared blankly at him, he said, "Just say 'One', Faith," which she did. Then he pointed at Deanna.

She smiled triumphantly. "FIVE!"

When he didn't move on, her brow furrowed. Then she noticed he was holding up two fingers for her to see.

"Four?" she asked. When I talked with him about this incident later, he said she had also suggested seven as the answer to counting off by fours.

Gently, ever so patiently, he said, "Two."

Deanna hung her head in shame. So much for impressing the High School Principal. Now he thinks she can't count to two.

Obviously, Deanna thought counting off by fours, if Faith started with 1, meant 5, 9, 13 . . . Mr. Funsch, however, meant 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4 . . .

By the time Deanna got home from school, she could clearly see the humor in this whole situation and laughed hysterically when telling me the story. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to joke with Mr. Funsch about my first child to encounter him as a teacher, so I gave him a call.

"I heard you had a little problem with the eighth grade today," I said. He, obviously, was still wearing his teacher/principal hat, and didn't get that I was kidding.

"No," he countered. "What do you mean?"

"They had difficulty counting by fours," I explained further.

Finally, he realized what I was talking about.

I continued. "So, you thought you'd be teaching them about their T.I.'s, but I bet you never thought you'd have to teach them to count to 2 first."

"It's not going to be a problem," he said. "I'm not the slightest bit worried."

Then he paused.

"I have them divided into groups now. No need for them to count anymore!"

Train, Lifeguard, and Nose

I was enroute to baseball practice a couple weeks ago when I heard a funny whistling sound in the van.

"Do you hear that?" I asked the boys.

"Hear what?" they both asked.

"That whistling sound." I was sure they were feigning ignorance. It was a very noticeable, frustrating sound.

"Does it sound like 'this'," Daelyn asked, making a strange noise, " 'cause that's my throat."

"No, son, it's not a throat sound. It sounds like a whistle."

Dane piped up immediately. "It's the seal on this window, Mom. I've noticed it's been making noise lately when we're driving fast and the air whistles through the window."

I glanced over to the passenger door. The seal around the door/window was, indeed, drooping down. I gave Dane instructions to push it back into place to eliminate that irritating sound. He complied.

A few minutes later, the same sound. I looked at the passenger door again. No, the seal was still intact right where it should be.

"That wasn't it, Dane. I still hear it."

After a moment's pause, Dane said, "Does it sound like 'this'?" There it was - that annoying 'wind whistling through the window' sound.

"YES!! That's it!!" I gleefully responded.

When Dane didn't say anything, I tilted my head and looked sideways at him. He had a big grin on his face as his eyes met mine.

"That's my Nose Whistle, Mom,"

It's Finally the Yard's Turn

I had given up all hope of having a garden this year. Life on Coumadin meant giving up many things. I worked hard to convince myself that it didn't matter, one year without a garden would be just fine. I made a decision to hit Farmer's Markets hard, get great prices on excellent produce, and can, can, can. It just wouldn't be the fruit of MY hands and yard I would can.

Then, the amazing news came that I could discontinue Coumadin. It still took at least a week to work it all out of my system, but I turned a corner during Holy Week. I woke up one morning, wide awake, at 6:45 a.m., before my alarm clock began bellowing at me. This used to happen in my life, but was a very faded dream in recent history.

My father-in-law came for Easter and I called him in advance and asked for his help putting a box garden in a spot on the side of the house. I have one box garden, and I put another in about 3 years ago for Dane. But there was just enough space for a third, and I desperately wanted the extra garden. I have a huge garden against the back fence, but it hasn't been worked in two years and it's so overgrown, you can't even see the dog if he gets in there. Weeds are about thigh-high and I couldn't imagine ever finding the time to clean it up, till it, and plant it. The ONLY possibility was above-ground gardening, in rich, fertile soil that could be turned easily with a hand trowel and watered along with the other two box gardens.

Grandpa and Dane worked very hard and put in a beautiful box for me, lined with landscape fabric on the bottom and sides. I began filling it with topsoil, manure, compost, etc. immediately. Then, it happened. I went to Lowe's, bought some vegetable plants, and PUT IN MY GARDEN!!

I've been like a driven woman. Ever chance I get, I'm in the yard. I've been weeding, putting mulch around the trees and plants, pruning, neatening, sweeping . . . For years, my yard has looked like a cross between a jungle and a tenement. It could easily have been transplanted into the Slums. But slowly, EVER so slowly, it's improving. I'm getting more done each year to clean it up and beautify it. This year, I just can't stay out of the yard.

I'll decide I need to get laundry done or clean a particular room. Then the dog needs to tinkle, so I take him out. Before I even realize what I'm doing, I'm off on some outdoors project.

It feels amazing to be able to work outside, to have the energy to invest in the yard. Truth is, the weather is so hot in Georgia during most of the summer that the only yardwork I do has to be completed in the Spring, while it's still mild enough to be out of doors. I realize that whatever doesn't get done over the next few weeks likely won't get done until next year.

So, I work with a vengeance. And the yard is beginning to show evidence of care - yippee!!

There's always more to do, but, as I told Don last night, the inside of the house if falling down around our ears. If I don't hurry up and get the outside done, we won't have a house to come into. I've got more laundry than you can even imagine and cleaning chores that will take until Christmas to accomplish.

But I'm very happy as I survey the accomplishment of my hands. I don't know if anyone else will even notice, but I know what I've done, and am pleased.

Beyond the Obvious

My heart is full today. The song, "Great is Thy Faithfulness" keeps going around and around in my head. The Lord has been SO merciful and faithful to me.

Years ago, when yet a single, I would get so discouraged when I saw no potential mate on the horizon. At times, I was peaceful, enjoying being single and the freedom that came with that state in life. At others, I was a basket-case, wondering why NO ONE loved me unconditionally. (Of course, I mean no one other than God.)

One thing was certain - I would not marry anyone who wasn't God's perfect choice for me. I had watched some marriages struggle and fail. I knew I could be happy single but realized that being in a bad (or the wrong) marriage would take a toll on me, the cost of which could not be calculated. I preferred to be happy on and off as a single than miserable in a marriage, so I waited.

My friend, Jane, and I would get together regularly to pray. Around the new year, we would list the big prayers the Lord laid on our hearts in a book she kept in a drawer, then faithfully pray for those requests throughout the course of the next year. Year after year, we saw God honor these prayers and answer them in ways that were unimaginable to us. One year, when we gathered, another single friend, who was in a dating relationship, joined us. After praying for a while, Jane asked the Lord to speak to us, and we stood in silence for several minutes. Then Jane told us that she felt she had a word from the Lord that one of the three of us would be either married or headed towards marriage by the same time the following year. The other single woman confirmed the Word, saying she had heard the same one.

Jane and I both looked at our friend. It seemed pretty clear she was the one who would be marrying soon. We were very excited for her and all rejoiced that one of us would soon be moving into a different season in our lives. Since neither Jane nor I were dating, nor had any possibilities at the time, this all seemed quite reasonable. Our friend also felt she was the one for whom the Word was intended.

Turns out, it was me. Don and I began dating the end of August of the following year and, by the end of December, were very serious and both knew we were headed towards marriage. Both of those friends are still single. I WAS THE ONE that Word was meant for.

Don is God's perfect choice for me. I often say he's perfect; not in a human sense, but certainly perfect for me. Then, he gave me these precious children. Again, there are difficult times when I wonder how I'm going to survive until they're grown, but the good times are SO good that they outweigh the hard times. Don has always been able to provide well for our family, so I've been able to be a stay-at-home Mom, which is one of God's great mercies. I get to go on Field Trips, substitute at the school, drop my children off and pick them up every day. I get to stop by a friend's house for coffee in the morning, hit Wal-Mart at 8:30 when the parking lot is still empty, get yardwork done while it's still relatively cool outside. There are so many more blessings that God has poured out on me; not the least of which is still having both my parents living on the same road as me, two sisters in town that I talk with almost daily, many close friends who love and encourage me, and Alleluia, the Community that the Lord has loved me enough to allow me to be a part of.

Why shouldn't my heart be filled to overflowing? He loves me the most, as my Deanna would say. He loves me in little and big ways. He cares about the small things, like what color I paint the den, and makes His protecting hand clearly visible in large issues, such as my health. He is a great and might God, but not too big to notice even the small things that lay heavy on our hearts.

And isn't that truly what unconditional love is about? To love someone enough that you're concerned even about the seemingly insignificant things that affect them.

God has given me so much, but the greatest miracle, and the one for which I'm the MOST thankful, is that he's shown me HIS unconditional love through husband and children. He really is enough, but it took marriage and a family for me to see that HIS love is the greatest I will ever experience and meets my deepest needs.

Great is Thy faithfulness, O God, my Father!!!

Batter Up!!!

Daelyn had his firth baseball practice last night. He plays with the Recreation Department. We received a call from his coach the previous night telling us that they will have practice DAILY for the next two weeks. Apparently, they're a championship team and he wants to whip these boys into shape early.

Daelyn was thrilled. So happy, in fact, that he begged out of soccer yesterday. All he can think about is baseball. All I can think about is that we have two other children, a ton of other activities, and his brother is also playing baseball with the Rec Department at a different field a 20-min. drive away.

After the practice last night, as Don and I were preparing for bed, I commented that the thought of these daily practices is a little overwhelming.

"You don't actually have to go to every practice, Honey," he said. The very words sent chills up and down my spine.

Now, I've gotten a lot of freedom from thinking I need to be at school sporting events. The children are surrounded by friends, adults they love and trust, and coaches that know them well and are committed to our family. If I can't make a school game, there's always another parent that can take my child and/or pick them up. I NEVER stay at school sports practices; drop 'em off, try and arrange carpooling for pick-ups. If the carpools can't be arranged, I know the coach will stay with them until I arrive to spirit them home again. But THIS??? THIS is totally different. I don't know these coaches. I don't know ANY of the parents. He's only 9 years old and there's no phone anywhere nearby. My blood runs cold just thinking that the practice may end early for whatever reason and my son has no way to contact me.

No, I will not be "dropping him off" at practice while I do other things EVERY DADGUM NIGHT OF THE WEEK FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS.

We'll just have to figure it out. Maybe his sister can stay with him if I have to run his brother to his practice and I can leave my cellphone with her. Although, if SHE has my cell, then I have nothing to receive a call on.

Not a great situation any way you cut it. So, while Daelyn's stoked and Don's nonchalant, I'm worried. I'm just not sure how I'm going to swing all of this. I've decided I'm going to do what I can and, if he misses a practice or two, baseball IS NOT the sum total of our life. Actually, it's a very small part.

That's what I keep telling myself.

Snickering Evil

This summer, while we were in Hawaii, I received a call from the Elementary Principal. The fourth grade teacher had been diagnosed with cancer, which I was aware of. At first, it seemed that it was really not a big issue but, during the summer, the picture changed a little for her and her doctors wanted her to start chemo. She needed to go to half-time at school and they were looking for someone to teach the other half-day in the 4th grade.

Don and I talked about it. I was inclined for volunteer for a couple of months to give them a little wiggle-room in finding someone for the rest of the year, but Don reminded me that I was going to have knee surgery, which hadn't yet been scheduled, and I couldn't make a commitment to anything with that hanging over my head.

The Principal was able to find someone to teach in the afternoons but, the Friday before school started, the regular teacher had her first chemo treatment and had a pretty rough time. The doctors told her it would just get worse with subsequent treatments.

The first day of school was pretty tough and she had to leave the Opening Assembly to go back to her classroom and rest. After Assembly, I headed for the Elementary Wing to see if I could help. She was in her classroom, so I bopped in and asked if she needed me to sub for her. She gladly accepted.

A very long story to get to a short truth: I fell in love with the 2010-2011 4th Grade Class. I ended up subbing for them that whole first week and a day or two of the next week, until they worked out a second 1/2 day teacher to replace their regular one who really needed to take the year off. They are an absolute delight. There are some children that are a challenge, but I love each and every one of them; they have become MY class.

Several weeks ago, I got a message on the answering machine from their afternoon teacher. It went something like this:

"Patti, I know you're having some problems and you may not be up to this; I even hesitated to call you, but these kids just LOVE you. I need a substitute. If you can't do it, please feel free to say 'no', but I just wanted to give you a call and see. They love you so much."

I called her back and reassured her that she should ALWAYS call me first when it comes to the 4th grade. I committed to two days of subbing in the afternoon two weeks ago.

The second day was their Play Practice day. Every year, the 4th grade students perform a Shakespearean play. The play varies from year to year. This year's choice was "Much Ado About Nothing". The teacher left a script and notes on what they should work on and I had such fun with them. We practiced speaking slowly, loudly, and distinctly; we worked on entrances and exits; we spent some time on body movement and expression. It was a dream for an English major that fell in love with Shakespeare in elementary school herself.

Their performance was last Friday. I got a call that morning from the mother of one of the students to remind me, not that I needed a reminder. I was picking up hot Krispy Kreme doughnuts for Daelyn's class for his birthday surprise, so I picked up an extre 2 1/2 dozen for the 4th grade for their Cast Party.

They were superb. I've never seen the audience so engaged at a 4th grade play. We clapped everytime the actors left the stage. We laughed readily and easily, and very often. The students seemed to be naturals, pausing until clapping and laughter subsided and playing to the crowd. They obviously enjoyed themselves immensely, and the parents/aunts/cousins/siblings . . . LOVED it.

The comedic characters in the play were the head of the Watch, Dogberry, and his assistant, Verges. For these two parts, the teacher chose the quietest, shyest of the students. They found a voice they've never had before and were amazing. In the play, they are cautioned by the Governor to watch for "evil, sneaking about". Dogberry, who gets little right and is very confused, makes a strong case for why "evil snickers" and the play on words continues throughout the length of the performance.

We've adopted a new term around our house: snickering evil. Anytime something looks questionable, it's "snickering evil". That term is probably used daily by one of the members of the Doughty family. This morning, Deanna commented on the snickering evil of something or other.

I love that we have a family culture; that we have phrases that we use and all understand, that we have jokes that only make sense to us and no one else would really "get" them, that our shared experiences have created a oneness that's obvious in our humor and the way we talk. And, now, we have snickering evil to add to our repertoire of Doughty Family culture.

Thank you, 4th Grade, and I look forward to subbing for you this afternoon.

Tongue Twister

On the way to Dane's baseball practice last night (which turned out to not really be a practice), we were stopped at a light. To our right was a large drugstore, an Eckerd or Walgreens, or something or other. What struck me was a BLUE BOX sitting in front of it with the words "Blockbuster" emblazoned across it.

The children noticed it first and we all had a good laugh.

"I guess Blockbuster is trying to compete with Red Box," I commented, slurring my words hopelessly. But that gave me an idea.

"Hey, guys, bet you can't say 'Blockbuster Blue Box' five times!"

I couldn't even successfully do it twice. The second time, it always came out 'Blockbuster Blue Blox'.

The children tried, repeatedly (and I DO mean repeatedly; it kept them occupied for about 10 solid minutes). Dane finally succeeded, after many attempts, to do it 3 times in a row. Neither Deanna nor I had any success, and the original challenge of 5 times, we decided, was an impossibility.

You try it. Say "Blockbuster Blue Box' 3 times fast and see what a mess you end up with.

Just a normal Monday afternoon on the road with the Doughty's.

More rain than I can take

It's been raining for days. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, because we normally have drought conditions by June and, maybe this year, we'll miss the bullet. But it's so dark and drab outside and everything's muddy. Add to that Daelyn's baseball try-outs, which have already been rescheduled from Monday night til tonight and Dane's baseball practices tomorrow night and Saturday, and I'm spending way too much time calling around to find out if things are canceled.

About ten days ago, we had rain one evening. I could have sworn that I saw the plants growing the next day. They had gotten so much bigger just from one good rain that I can't wait to see what Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday night, and Wednesday rain will do for them.

I don't have my garden in yet, which is a travesty, especially with all this great natural watering. But things are hectic around here, as usual, and on the days I've had time, it's been raining. I'll have to get my work done in the house this week so I can spend some concerted time and energy on the gardens on Saturday.

Daelyn's birthday is Friday, and there are lots of preparations to be made, mostly outside, which can't be done. But, if I survive, I should have Saturday afternoon to work on gardening.

Our dryer went out over a week ago. I honestly don't know what people did before modern conveniences. Don put a clothes line across the living room for me so I can dry clothes, but EVERYTHING has to be ironed. I mean everything. The elementary school boys uniform consists of khaki pants and white polo shirts. In 6 years of elementary school for Dane and 4 so far for Daelyn, I've never once ironed a polo shirt - until this week, and I've ironed every single one in the last several days.

I've just left the ironing board up in the den. I bought the second set of parts for the dryer yesterday in the hopes Don would put it back together last night, since I have to wash P.E. uniforms. As I was crawling into bed, I asked the "dreaded" question: "Can I use it?" The answer was not affirmative.

I didn't quite understand what he has yet to do, but he said something about having to move the washing machine back out (I keep pushing it back in place so I can use it) so he can get behind the dryer to put it back together. It looks put together; I guess that might just be the front.

So, I suppose I'll have to do one more load of Chinese laundry before we again have a dryer. I've tried very hard to not complain; I figure if Don is spending every evening working on it, taking up his precious time to try and repair the one we have, then it must be important to him that we not buy a new one. The least I can do is try and have a good attitude.

I'm going to put on my smile and go do a much-needed load of wash, then plug the iron back in. More school pants, underwear, T-shirts, etc. need to be touched up before marching out the door on children.

Fun, fun, fun. I just LOVE these rainy days.

Gratefulness for Our School

I haven't posted in a very long time (nearly a year), but something struck me so strongly this morning that I wanted to write about it.

In a nutshell, I'm thankful for our school.

Now, the long version.

Yesterday morning, when I went to check on the children, Dane was still in bed, sound asleep, despite the noise all over the house. He was just exhausted. He's dealing with that "coughing thing" again; the non-stop wheezing and coughing that happens to him when his asthma gets exacerbated by a respiratory thing. He's coughing so much, he's unable to sleep well and is just slap worn out.

I decided to let him sleep and take him into school late when he woke up naturally. By the time he woke up and went through his morning coughing spell, I decided he needed MORE sleep and that his coughing would likely be disruptive at school, so I kept him home. He took a nice nap, which is almost unheard-of for him, and spent most of the day laying around, resting and coughing, complaining of his chest hurting.

When I dropped the children off at school this morning, one of his teachers (that he has for 2 classes and is the Dean of Girls and the Mama of the Middle School) was in the parking lot, so I stopped to talk with her. I told her what he's dealing with and that you should feel free to call me to pick him up if his coughing got too bad. As I drove away, it HIT me like a ton of bricks.

If we didn't have our school, my son might be in Public school. Now, I'm not dis-ing Public school. My tax dollars help pay for them. But, in Georgia, you can't keep a child home from school without a doctor's excuse. Gone are the days of parental decision-making. The state has taken that right away. Now, only doctors can decide if a student needs to stay home from school. I understand that so many parents have abdicated that right and allowed their children to be truant without good reason, that the state felt it must step in. But I could not keep Dane home to sleep and cough without disrupting class without dragging him into a doctor's office, paying a co-pay, and hoping that the doctor agreed with me. That is, if he were in Public school.

Suddenly, I had an image in my mind of the Public school I went to for a couple of years. In the middle of the picture was my sweet Dane. It, quite literally, sent chills up and down my spine. My children have teachers that are a part of their daily lives. When the kids have questions, we can call their teachers at home for help. When the dog ate their Science Fair project this year, I e-mailed their Science teacher, who was in Utah at the time, and he promptly responded, explaining that his cell phone coverage was spotty but he could get his e-mail, and asking me to please e-mail him ALL the details so he could advise us. IN UTAH!! ON VACATION!! His response saved the day and the project.

And it's not just that the teachers are "available". They really care about the children. They talk with me about issues of concern, things they see that I might not. They discuss progress and how best to meet the needs of each child. They spoil when my kids need it, Aunt or Uncle when my children need that, discipline when that's needed, but, mostly, they love, love, love.

There's so much more I could say. When we keep the children home, all we really need to do is call the school office and let the secretary know we've kept them, so all the children are accounted for. I even forget that most of the time. The Middle School teachers have a system where they write up all the work missed for absent students, then give it to a neighbor or sibling. In Elementary, the teacher chooses another student to pull together the absent child's work. Dane sent a note via Deanna to one of his friends, listing the specific things he needed sent home from his locker and asking his friend to give it to Deanna. When it arrived home in a plastic bag, there was a theater-size box of candy in it, as well. We're not sure if it was from the teacher of the student that Dane sent the note to. In any case, he was missed and his absence was noticed.

All this might sound, I don't know, surfacy or something. But this is nothing but deep. I'm so deeply grateful. I remember when we started our school. I was very excited and ready to do what I could to help. But the picture really changes when your own children are school age. I can't even imagine what it would be like without our school and the love of the teachers and staff that interact daily with my precious babies.

I'm really glad I won't ever have to experience having children in Public school. I'm very thankful for the sacrifices that were made by so many to start our school and to continue to keep it going, despite huge challenges.

We're blessed in so many ways that we take many for granted. Today I realized one of those ways that I don't often ponder.

From the Mouths of Babes

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

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

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

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

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

Just can't see it

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

Just how do you do that?

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

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

Just Another Sibling Spat

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Confused

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

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

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

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

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

Don: "What?"

Later in the meal . . .

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

Me: "We? Who was with you?"

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

Me: "You said, 'we'."

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

By this point, the children began to add comments.

Deanna: "You, yourself, and him?"

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

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

Don: "It must be bedtime."

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

Lots of space

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Appliance Nightmare

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Baseball FINALLY comes to an end

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our Goat Situation

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lawn Care

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whoops . . . did I say that?

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

"He talks constantly," one said.

"Yeah, Mama. He talks nonsense."

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

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

When they paused, Daelyn began talking nonsense again.

I reached over and patted him on the arm.

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


So much for encouraging silence instead of silly talk.

Nothing Like Family

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

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

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

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

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

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

" 'Grandma'," I giggled.

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

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

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

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