"There was once a little monkey . . .

. . . whose name was Daelyn. Every afternoon, Daelyn's mommy would call to him through the trees, 'Daelyn, it's time for your nap. Come home, please.' Daelyn didn't like taking naps and thought he was old enough to not have to take naps everyday.

One day, after lunch was over and Daelyn knew Mommy would be calling to him soon to take his nap, he made up his mind to go as far away as he could so he wouldn't hear Mommy when she called. He thought this was a wonderful idea and flew from treelimb to treelimb, first this way, then that, until he was quite certain he was far enough away that he would never hear Mommy's voice.

'What a smart monkey I am,' Daelyn thought. 'Now I can play all afternoon and when Mommy says that I didn't come when she called me, I can tell her that I didn't hear her, and it will be the truth.' Daelyn played all afternoon, practicing flips and twirls through the treetops, first catching himself with his tail, then practicing with his front left leg, then his right back leg. Finally, Daelyn noticed that the sky was beginning to darken.

'It's almost nightime,' he said outloud, although there was no one around to hear. 'I guess I better go home now.' As Daelyn looked through the trees for the way home, he realized that he had no idea how to get there. He had taken so many different turns that he couldn't tell which direction was home.

'That's okay,' he told himself silently. 'I'm old enough to be on my own. I'll just find a comfortable place to sleep and prove to Mommy that I can take care of myself.'

He finally settled down onto a leaf-covered branch, but it wasn't nearly as soft as his bed at home. As the sky around him grew darker, he began to notice strange noises in the night.

'I'm sure those are the same noises I hear at home,' he told himself, 'they just sound louder without Mommy and Daddy to protect me.' As the night grew darker, the noises got louder. Then Daelyn heard a different noise, coming from him, and realized that he hadn't eaten any dinner. His stomach was growling. He was very hungry. But it was too dark now to find food and nobody had called him to dinner. And, at home, Mommy always gathered the food for him so he could play longer. He began to miss having food whenever he wanted it.

As the growling in his stomach got louder, he noticed another sound coming from the trees around him and realized that he wasn't safe. At home, Mommy and Daddy always slept around him and his brother and sister so they could protect the children from any danger. But here, Daelyn was alone. There was nobody to protect him.

The more Daelyn thought about Mommy and Daddy, the lonelier he got. He missed his brother and sister. It had been fun to play all day by himself, but he didn't want to do it again the next day, and the next, and the one after that. He wanted his brother and sister. He missed his friends.

All this became too much for Daelyn and he began to cry softly. He wanted his warm, soft bed. He wanted his brother and sister. He wanted his dinner and Mommy and Daddy sleeping near him to protect him. Leaving home had been a very big mistake. Daelyn began to feel even worse, and his crying got louder and louder.

Then Daelyn noticed a new sound. He wasn't sure what the sound was, but he listened carefully, quieting his own crying so he could hear better. Even though the sound was far off, he thought it was a little familiar. Slowly, the sound got louder and louder until he finally realized that the sound was the voice of his Daddy.

'Daelyn, where are you, son,' Daddy called in his deep voice.

'I'm here, Daddy, right here!' Daelyn yelled, then continued to call until Daddy found him in his bed in the tree. Daddy scooped him up, gave him a quick hug, then told Daelyn that they were in danger there and they were going home. Daelyn was very happy Daddy had come for him.

When Daddy and Daelyn got home, Mommy was waiting. She wrapped Daelyn in her warm, furry body, gave him 3 bananas for dinner, then hurried him off to bed.

'It's very late, son. And you've been a very naughty monkey. You need to go to sleep now and we'll talk about this in the morning.'

The next morning, Daelyn explained his whole story to Mama. After Mommy and Daddy explained how much danger Daelyn had put himself in, they decided to not punish him. They said he had been punished enough by the choices he had made.

Daelyn was happy to be home, even if Mommy and Daddy were still a little angry. And he now knew that he wasn't too old for a nap, or the safety of his home. He was glad he had a Mommy and Daddy who loved him and wanted to protect him. Daelyn never ran away again and, for the rest of his life, he told other monkeys his story and tried to help them understand how much their mommies and daddies loved them. The End."

Brief silence. "Can you tell me another story now, Mama?" Daelyn asks.

"No, son. It's nap time. Go to sleep."

As Daelyn's eyes grow heavy and his breathing becomes more regular, I lean over, kiss him, and whisper in his ear, "You'll be grown one day, little monkey. For today, enjoy this nap and the comfort of your bed. I love you."

Our Celebration

Yesterday was glorious. We went to a neighborhood festival. But, even before that, the day started wonderfully.

Deanna and I went up to our church to pick up a pound of barbecued pork we ordered. Our church does a fundraiser each year for the 4th - they roast a pig and sell the barbecue. We wanted to support our church, even though we live only a few blocks from one of the best, nationally-known barbecue restaurants. We planned on getting hash and sauce from Sconyers, but Don ordered and paid for our barbecue from church. It had to be picked up between 9 and 1. While Deanna and I were gone, Don and the boys worked on the oven, finally fixing it. We got to see some friends and socialized with a few folks from our church. Then, on the way home, we stopped at a fireworks stand. I knew they recently changed the laws for our state because I've seen fireworks being sold in stores like Wal-Mart, but I didn't know what was now allowed. I asked the gentleman at the stand (all older men, which relieved me. I would have been concerned if it was just young, pyromaniac hippies working there) who explained that Georgia now allows fireworks that stay on the ground, rather than being shot up into the air. He pointed out lots of different types to me that are all allowable under Georgia State law. Deanna and I began adding to our selection and keeping a running total. We decided to stop at $10.00 worth but had quite a few nice, legal firworks.

By the time we got home, the boys and their dad had already left for the festival. Deanna and I fed the dog and put the barbecue away, then ran across the street to the party! One whole area was set up with carnival-type games for which you could win tickets. The tickets could be cashed in for prizes like visors, funny masks, balls, boomerangs, and other assorted cheapie junk - the stuff all the kids LOVE. They had a duck pond, a bean bag toss tic-tac-toe game, pop the balloon with a dart, a treasure chest full of pennies and bird seed where you had to find as many pennies as possible in 30 seconds, and several other fun games. There were also two pinatas for different age groups. Another area hosted the water games. There were baby pools for very small children, a slip and slide, a cool sprinkler that was like a volcano that erupted water then blew it into a fine mist, and a big, inflatable 2-laned waterslide. There was also a dunking booth and a few of the men had signed up to work in 1/2 hour increments.

In addition to the inflatable waterslide, there was an inflatable moonwalk and this cool inflatable thing that involved bungy cords. Then, there was the snack area. There were free snocones, a popcorn machine with GREAT popcorn, as much cotton candy as any of us could eat, and a soda machine. This all went on from 10 a.m. until 2 p.m. At 2, they started a tug-of-war through vanilla pudding. All-in-all, the festivities went until around 3. Then we came home for lunch and a cool-down break. At 6:00, we returned for dinner - bring your own meal and a dessert to share. Following dinner, we cleaned up and took down the tables, then the entertainment started. We had a talent show to end all talent shows. The only thing that could have made it better would have been if it had been longer or the weather was cooler.

Towards the end, Neil Diamond showed up!! (Or, at least, a pretty good impersonation of him.) One of the men donned sunglasses and performed to "Coming to America". He ended it with setting off a curtain of fireworks across the stage. It was wonderful.

We came home from the festival hot and tired. We had a chance to cool down before some of our invited friends came over to set off our fireworks. At 9, we moved out into the driveway and began setting off our small, legal firecrackers. The people two houses down on the other side of the street were setting off huge, high-in-the-sky ones, so we watched inbetween our own. By 10, we were finished and getting the children settled down for bed.

While all of us were in the kitchen and the children were taking their medicines before bed, Dane said he thought we should spend sometime praying and thanking the Lord for our freedom. My heart jumped a beat - in the busyness and excitement of the day, thanking the Lord was something we had missed. Deanna chimed in and asked if we could also thank the Lord for the wonderful day we had had. We moved into the living room as a family, snuggled on the loveseat, and thanked the Lord for the sacrifices that led to this wonderful day of freedom. Then we thanked him, one by one, for all the blessings of this day. I sat and listened to my children, pouring out thankfulness to the Lord, and silently thanked Him for them. I'm so thankful that they understand the part the Lord plays in their lives and want to show their appreciation to Him.

It was a wonderful day, in every sense. Thank you, Jesus, for all your many blessings.

The 4th.

Today, my mind continues to be drawn to the thought of the Fourth of July. I realize that this day is a holiday and special to all Americans. But it holds a particularly significant role in my life.

My parents were both Canadian citizens, with my father holding joint citizenship due to his birth having been in the U.S. My father joined the American Army at a young age, declaring his U.S. Citizenship, and my mother was Naturalized prior to my birth. Being an American has always been very important to them, especially since they left behind their country and culture for something different and, in their opinion, better on many levels. They felt that the U.S. offerred their children a better future and more opportunity for their futures, as well. But there were difficult times as their siblings and friends didn't understand their choice.

My father was a two-time Vietnam veteran. He put his life on the line for the cause of freedom in the world. He experienced many, many personal losses as the men assigned to him were killed in combat. Freedom held a personal cost for him, as for our family, as we waited for news of his life or death. Many times, we would hear about attacks in the area where Daddy was assigned on T.V. and hold our breaths while we waited to be contacted through Military channels with a report. Freedom was costly to all of us, and our country's freedom meant all the more.

I remember one year while living in Europe. On the 4th of July, we visited Waterloo. I ran up the steps of the Waterloo Lion, the monument built on the rubble left behind by the Battle of Watterloo, and stood at the top yelling, "Happy 4th of July". We were the only people there who were celebrating American's freedom. Mama had dressed us all in red, white, and blue, and we looked like an American flag when we stood together at the top of the Lion. I was filled with pride for our country and our accomplishments as I stood, looking out across a foreign land. We lived outside our country and couldn't wait for the day we returned "state-side", as Military families called it. People kept a count - they'd say, "We're down to triple digits" or "double digits", which was when the going-away parties began. When they got down to "single digits", it was time for goodbye's and tearful parting gifts. They were going HOME - the U.S., the country we all longed to see again.

As much as traveling and living in foreign countries was a wonderful experience, it was very difficult living nextdoor to people who spoke a different language, living in a different culture that we didn't quite understand, not being able to buy American foods, etc. We learned to truly appreciate all that it meant to be Americans.

I'm not saying that others don't have the same intense feelings of patriotism, just that my family does have them. Our country and its freedom is hugely important to us. We've paid a price for that freedom and to maintain it, and the cost makes it ever the more special to us.

As we celebrate the day our country declared itself free, we'll watch fireworks, eat barbecue, and remember the many lives that have been lost for the cause of freedom in this world, including those stolen from us by 9/11. Our military men and women are heroes in every sense of the word, and this is a day to celebrate heroism, regardless of your political views or your opinions about our current war.

I'll shed a few tears - I always do - as I think about how much has been lost for the gain of freedom. The intensity of my emotions about this day will be as strong as always. I just hope and pray that my children will grow up with the same intense love of our country, even though they've never lived outside of it and have never experienced personal loss due to war. I pray that they'll be choked up everytime the National Anthem is played and their hearts will soar along with our flag each and everytime they see it displayed.

I pray they'll be true Americans who love and respect all that this country stands for. I pray.

Grandma and Grandpa's

Last week, Deanna went up to visit Grandma and Grandpa (five houses up the street). She was taking full advantage of the summer. She disappeared right after lunch and, at dinnertime, I called to inquire as to whether or not my daughter would be coming home sometime. Grandpa laughed and asked who I was referring to. I explained that I was putting dinner on the table and she needed to come home.

"She's already eaten," he told me. "You don't think we'd let our baby starve, do you?"

Turns out, she and Grandma had been playing cards and were now watching a movie together.

Yesterday, after VBS and lunch, Dane asked permission to go to his grandparent's house. He took off mid-afternoon while I was getting Daelyn down for his nap. Again, at dinnertime, I called looking for my son.

"Oh, he couldn't possibly come home now," Grandpa told me. "He and Grandma are taking a break from a hot card game and they're only separated by 15 points." Turns out, taking a break meant that he and Grandma had played Crazy 8's and Uno, then launched into a roaring game of Hand and Foot (a significantly more difficult card game). They both reached 4,400 and some points when Dane went out on Grandma and caught her with a fistful of cards. Then they decided to take a dinner break (Grandma still has to feed Grandpa) and got involved in a movie over dinner. There was no way Grandma was letting Dane out of the house until she squarely beat him.

While on the phone with Grandpa, he mentioned that he hadn't seen Daelyn in three days and was wondering when his youngest grandson was coming to visit. I repeated that to Daelyn who immediately headed for the door.

"You can't go now!! We're just sitting down to the table."

"It's okay, Mom," he called over his shoulder just before the door slammed behind him. "Go ahead without me."

Deanna, Don and I sat down to a dinner of pancakes (our oven has gone on the blink and the lovely pork loin I've been marinading for 3 days had to go back in the fridge for another night). The table looked empty. I consoled myself with the fact that at least one child joined us for dinner. I fear this is a foreshadowing of the teen years.

"Mama, as soon as I finish eating, can I go up to Grandma's?"

Big sigh. "I suppose so, dear. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em," I retorted.

A half an hour later, I looked for the puppy to feed him dinner. No dog anywhere to be found. By then, Daelyn had returned for dinner and said that Deanna had taken the dog with her. I grabbed the phone and dialed Grandma and Grandpa's number to be sure.

"It's not bad enough you've adopted my daughter last week and my son this week," I said as soon as Daddy answered, "now you've taken my dog, too?"

"Well, he wanted to be with the other children, honey," my Father responded.

Me, too. But at least they're still young enough that they WANT to be at Grandma and Grandpa's. What a wonderful season of life. And summer, to boot.

Tired - oh, so tired!!

Our puppy (who turned 6 months on Sunday, by the way) seems to have a very well-developed protective instinct. Apparently, this is quite rare in Border Terriers. I chock it up to the closeness of his relationship to me and the children. He has slept on the foot of Don's and my bed for the last several weeks but, after our camping trip, moved to the Oriental carpet on the floor of my side of the bed.

During the night, he'll jump up, bark furiously, run down the hall in pursuit of an intruder, then return to curl into a ball and growl for 1/2 hour or so. The problem is with the definition of "intruder". He seems to think that the dishwasher is an intruder, as is the wind blowing past our bedroom windows or the rain hitting the roof.

Last night, three different intruders interrupted his sleep. His barking and pursuit of the intruder interrupted Don's and my sleep. His growling for untold periods of time inbetween his intruder pursuits pretty well ensured that there was no possibility of sleep for me. Finally, in desperation, I kenneled him. Then Don and I laid in bed listening to him growl and moan for at least an hour.

Sleep continues to elude me. Between heat exhaustion from camping, severe stomach cramps for several nights as a result of the heat exhaustion, three charlie-horses in one leg (one right after the other) in the course of one night (most likely a result of the heat exhaustion and the loss of all the potassium in my body), and Donovan's heighthened sense of the need to protect us, I'm beginning to feel like a new mother again.

We're hoping our puppy will soon grow out of his understanding of intruder and begin to pursue only burglars instead of ANYTHING and EVERYTHING that goes bump in the night.

That and some bananas and maybe, just maybe, I'll get some sleep.

Over-committed

We just completed humpday in our Vacation Bible School at our church. It started on Monday morning. I'm helping and needed to be there at 8:30 a.m., requiring us to leave home by 8:00.

As I drag through the week, trying desperately to finish unpacking and doing laundry in the few hours each day I'm home, I kick myself for committing to work immediately following camping for 4 days. I'm a glutton for punishment.

It's not that I can't say "no". It's just that I don't.

When I was younger, I was very quick to pop off the "n" word. But as I've aged and the Lord has filled my spirit with thankfulness for all He's done for me, I'm overwhelmed with a desire to serve him and others whenever possible. The "possible" word is really my problem. I still think I'm 18 and ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE for the young.

So I over-commit myself. I plan too many things for too short a time. I spread myself and my family w-w-w-w-ay too thin.

I've realized over the last 6 months or so, in the process of trying to dig myself out of the holes I've dropped into because I take on too much, that my immediate reaction when asked to do something is always, "Sure!! I can do that." It's not until later, when I take time to think through how I'm going to accomplish it, that I realize I should have said no.

Friends will call and ask if I can possibly keep their children. They kindly explain why they need help and I'm overcome with the need in their lives and the realization that they would do the same for me in an instant, without any thought to their own situation.

"Sure. I can do that," I spout off, then realize that I have my own plus two or three others that I'll be taking to my OB/GYN appointment with me.

I'm joking, of course. It's not usually my OB/GYN - it's my Family Practice doctor. And he ought to understand. After all, he treats families.

Or someone will call and ask if I can cook a meal for a friend who's just had a baby or is on bedrest. How many meals were prepared for me during and after my pregnancies by caring friends?

"Sure. I can do that," I quickly respond, only later realizing that I'm hosting a potluck in my backyard the same night, starting an hour before the meal is to be delivered to my friend and requiring several hours of set-up prior to my guests arriving.

The problem isn't related to lack of knowledge or not checking my calendar. I look at the dates, see what's listed already for then, and briskly ascertain that another thing is CERTAINLY possible - if I plan well, if I prepare in advance, if I take along lots of toys.

So my husband patiently waits for his dinner. The children dig through the dryer looking for clean underwear. And I stay up until 11:30 folding clothes and putting away paper plates and plasticware as I carefully unpack each bag.

By the end of the week, I should be caught up. And by the time VBS is over, I'm sure I'll think it was well worth the strain and effort.

After all, nothing worth having comes cheaply, I keep reminding myself.

Battle over Naptime

Daelyn has reached that awkward napping stage. He has to have a daily nap or he's violent, aggressive and nasty. But he doesn't want to go to sleep, fights it with everything in him, and knows every trick in the book to keep himself hanging on by a thread, refusing to let sleep carry him away.

Both my other two children reached this stage. Yet, even now, at 9 and 7, if I lie down with them, they fall asleep, like yesterday. We just don't do this very often because I can't lie down with everyone at one and the older children just don't want to waste their time napping.

Today, I laid down with Daelyn. I told him a very interesting story about a naughty puppy that ran away from home to escape discipline, then ran back home to escape danger. We snuggled and I tried to be very still to lull him into slumber. No chance. He wiggled, played with his toes, scratched the wall, tugged on my ear. I threatened. No help. He cried, decided he was too hot under the sheet, pulled off his socks, and played with his stuffed animals. I spanked (just one swat). No help. He screamed, pouted, scratched his knee, and practiced opening his eyes as wide as possible. Finally, in desperation, I grabbed him and wrapped my arms around him, holding him gently but firmly to keep him from moving constantly. He yelled at me, frowned, maneuvered his arms (the only loose parts) into all kinds of wild gesticulations, then finally settled down and, within 3 minutes, was sound asleep.

Now, you may wonder why I persist. But if the child falls asleep that quickly when still, he needs a nap. He just can't seem to still himself.

The situation has gotten much worse since summer started. When brother and sister were in school, he knew naptime was a daily routine and he needed to settle down. The quicker he fell asleep, the quicker he was up and able to do fun stuff. But I've slacked off since the beginning of summer and he's had many days (more than I care to admit) of no naps - and we've all paid the price for that.

I'm working very hard at getting him back into his routine. Plus, he's still exhausted from camping - late nights, NO naps, extreme heat, and no end to fun stuff to do. This morning, he woke up around 6:30 mean as a snake. Even his sister commentd how desperately he needed a good nap. In addition to punching and kicking his brother, he screamed at me for half an hour that he wasn't going to Vacation Bible School this morning.

Since I'm working at VBS and Daddy's not on vacation this week, he had no choice. Dane tried to explain to him and got wolloped for his trouble.

So, we push through and force the nap issue. Now the house is quiet. Daelyn is fast asleep, Donovan's worn out from a long walk and resting peacefully at my feet. Deanna and Dane have run up to Grandma's for a game of cards, and I'm thankful I persisted.

I just hope this season doesn't last two long. I'm older now and my patience is running thin.

Goodbye!

Hi, ho, off we go. We'll be sleepin' in the woods tonight.

Two days ago, when we checked the weather forecast, they were expecting rain all weekend. I just checked it again - cloudy with an possible occasional shower Friday night and Saturday night. Clear days. Winds at 5 - 10 mph. Perfect for camping.

I can't wait to get there and start enjoying the outdoors.

Camping coming

We leave in the morning for a 4-day camping trip. Just how much summer can you fit into one 3-month period?

Swimming, matinees, beach trips, eating out, playing cards, spending time with friends, and camping, too. I decided this year that I was going to take a summer vacation, as well, so I've battled to accomplish my stream-lined chores in the morning and reserved the afternoon for playtime.

My children are young for such a short time. I've decided that, even though this may not be an extraordinary summer in terms of trips, I want it to have extraordinary memories of fun and relaxation.

Tonight I pack, tomorrow I set up camp. Then I sit back in my camp chair and listen while the children splash in the lake and laugh as they call to each other.

I'll be lulled to sleep by the sound of water lapping at the bank and the crickets playing their mournful song. I'll wake to damp dew on the ground and a fire that needs to be remade, then enjoy the smell of coffee cooking over an open fire while I spend some early-morning time with my Lord.

Four days of peace, rest, and camping. Then back to reality and Vacation Bible School.

Hope you all have as wonderful a weekend as we're planning. We'll eat a few s'mores for each of you as we sing softly around the campfire tomorrow night.

Sisters

My sister called this morning. She said, "Okay, Trish (family name), I have a cup of coffee in my hand and some free time and I thought we could have a nice chat for a change."

This kind of conversation was a daily occurrence until a few months ago. My sister, at the ripe old age of 48, began school again. In the days before marriage and children, she went to Tech School and got her Associates Degree in Secretarial Science. But that was a long time ago, and not useful for employment at this stage in her life. She decided to go back to school and study medical terminology, a field that she can use to supplement the family income from home.

Our daily visits over coffee ceased to exist and, boy, have I missed them and her. It's not as if she disappeared from my life. I've continued to visit but the visits have been somewhat less than thorough and very few and far between. So I was thrilled with my call this morning.

We talked for about 1 1/2 hours. We caught up on most of our current life stuff. It was wonderful and reminded me of how special the relationship of "sister" is. I have friends that don't have sisters or that have a large age difference between themselves and their sisters and don't have the benefit of the close friendship that I experience. No one can address a problem in my life with quite the clarity of a sister. No one knows me as well as that woman who has stood beside me for all 45 years of my life. No one is able to look past my shortcomings like the sibling who recognizes all too poignantly that her shortcomings are being looked past, as well. In short, there's nothing like a sister, or the visits we have over the phone.

God bless my sisters, all 3 - the one in California expecting her third grandchild, the one struggling to begin a new career as a Realtor, and the one back in school and fighting to make her mind function the way it did at 20. I love them each and every one.

A Father's Day Tribute

One of the most important things you taught me was the importance of laughter - not to take myself too seriously, to use humor to diffuse a tense situation, to look at the world and realize that I'm just here temporarily and nothing it has to throw at me can move me off my course and laugh at that realization.

You taught me to love my husband, to cling to him, even if that requires forsaking everything and everybody except our Lord.

You taught me to budget. You showed me by example how not to live beyond my means and how to value what the Lord provided for us. You trained me to live simply and not demand the best of things. You ingrained in me the idea that money is here to serve us, not the other way around.

You showed me how to love my children by the way you loved me. You always took time for me, taking me fishing, talking with me, listening more than anything else. You valued me and proved that time and again by putting me before your own pursuits. When I was involved in something, you supported it wholeheartedly and completely. I was never left to wonder if Daddy would be there when I needed him.

You taught me about business. As a young child, you talked about working relationships and the importance of honesty and integrity in everything I did. I watched your example of arriving at work early and working hard all day. As I grew older, I came to you for much-needed advice in business matters, and you always steered me towards the right answer.

You taught me about cars. You made sure that I always knew how to change a tire, check tire pressure and oil and water levels. You explained that you didn't want me to be at the mercy of some man if my car ever broke down on the side of the road. You also taught me to talk to service people, mostly men, when necessary about repairing my car. You made sure I was comfortable with taking no prisoners and could speak about vehicles with confidence.

You showed me the importance of being myself - always. You gave me strength of character by giving me your genes, but you went a step further and made me feel that who I was was important and that I mattered in this world. I always was led to believe that the world needed ME - just the way I was, my strengths and weaknesses. It wasn't necessary to put on aires or attempt to be something I wasn't. "I" was good enough. In fact, "I" was GREAT.

You gave me an ability to weave interesting stories that has hugely impacted my life. From my very early years, sitting on your lap listening to yours, to the present day when I long to hear all about your childhood and mission trips, you have trained me to communicate effectively and interestingly.

You have poured out affection on me in such a way that some people would call us "mushy". In fact, many people do. Kissing, hugging, and words of encouragement and affection were never in short supply around our home. We always felt nurtured and loved.

You loved my mother. Oh, how you loved my mother. You made me yearn for that kind of love in marriage. Even today, the sacrificial love that you demonstrate towards her sets a high standard for all of your children.

You were so much more than just a Father. You were and are a Dad, a Grandpa, an example of the best. You never fall short in expending whatever energy is necessary to love us, even though we're all grown and gone now, with families of our own (and some of us, with grandchildren of our own). You continue to treat us like your children, listening, advising, comforting, hugging, supporting.

You are and will always be Daddy Extraordinaire. You are the example that all our husbands strive for, the one we know will always be there for us.

I love you, Papa, and always will. You gave me life, not only before birth, but every day since. But life was just the beginning. You gave me and my siblings so much more. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

There is no way to adequately communicate all you mean, but I know you understand without me having to explain. And the Lord has not failed to notice. Your reward will be great in due time but, for now, thank you, Papa. Happy Father's Day.

The Yin and Yang

The entire school year, I can't wait for Summer. I hate saying goodbye to my children every morning and ushering them out the door to spend their day with someone else. I grieve the entire 9 months they're in school. I've considered home-schooling, but know myself well enough to know we'd spend all our time playing and they'd graduate from high school at 35, complete idiots. So I send them out the door each weekday, dying a little inside, and count the minutes until they get back home and tell me everything they can remember so I can share in some small part in their day.

Sounds pretty sad, doesn't it. It's just that I had children later in life, after I had already had my career, and THEY were the only things I wanted to do in the world. Raise children. Stay at home with them. Read to them. Snuggle them. Kiss their boo-boo's, celebrate their successes, be at their side day and night. All too soon, they hit 5 and started Kindergarten.

All that said, they've been out of school now 3 weeks, and they're starting to get on my nerves. I have a good friend that was talking with a Catholic priest, a young man who has recently been ordained, and sharing her struggles in life. She shared how badly she wants children and her grief over not having more. Then they moved onto another subject - her frustration with the children she has. The priest was a little confused. It seems he had trouble grasping the concept of wanting more children while wanting to kill (at times) the ones you already have. She laughingly told me this story, knowing I would understand. Of course I understood. Any mother would understand.

And that's the very complexity of emotions I'm experiencing today. If I have one more crying child come to me complaining that one or the other sibling kicked or hit him or her, I think I'm going to scream. But do I want to send them back to school? The mere thought makes my blood run cold.

We Mom's dance this funny dance between exhausting, sheer love and urge to kill. At times we understand completely the animals in nature that eat their young. But just let one of the children fall off a swing or trip running down the hall, and all those protective instincts kick in.

Ah, Motherhood. So duplicitous, so lovely. So requiring of God's mercy. Send it like rain, Lord, falling from Heaven.

Want to hear more about our Vacation?

More details from our vacation.

Deanna's class was studying homonyms the last two weeks of school. They learned weather and whether, due and dew, sew and sow, deer and dear, fairy and ferry, etc.

"Mama," Deanna asked one morning on the way to school, "what's a 'ferry'?"

"Something you ride on that takes you across water," I explained. I went on to tell her about the hovercrafts that cross the English Channel. I explained that some ferries are just for people and some transport cars. She was very interested, as was Dane who was also sitting in the car listening.

So what did we find on our way to the Outer Banks when we stopped at a Welcome Center for information on Bike Paths? A free ferry going from Cape Hatteras to Ocracoke Island. One morning, we took off for my first attempt at parasailing (they wouldn't take me that day - the Captain was still in bed). After making reservations for the next day, we decided to head south and look at some of the lighthouses on the islands. We ended up at the Ferry and, after waiting for about 45 minutes, were ushered onto one. The kids were ecstatic. It really was cool. They all jumped out and we had this very strange sensation when the boat started moving and the car was sitting still. I was sitting in the van and could see things passing by the window, but the van wasn't moving.

We had quite a long ride since one of the engines went out and the pilot brought the ferry back into port. Just as they started unloading, making people back their cars off an extremely crowded boat, the pilot announced that the engine was repaired. They closed the gate and sent us on our way. It was a 1/2 hour ride, even without the delay, and the children got to see dolphin in the Sound.

We exited at Ocracoke, turned around, and headed right back. I got Daelyn to sleep in his carseat for the return trip and the kids and other adults stood at the back of the boat, enjoying the ocean breeze and sights. When we finally returned to Hatteras, we headed for the historic Cape Hatteras Lighthouse. Deanna's sandal had broken, so I gave her my shoes. Don took all the kids up to the top while I limped around on one sandal, looking like a refugee.

On the way back to our condo, we drove past a huge snake slithering through the grass towards a marsh. He was on my side and moving very fast. We saw another snake, also, at the Welcome Center I mentioned earlier. I was standing on a boardwalk along the side of the Intercoastal Waterway. We were watching a turtle I had pointed out to the children. He swam under the boardwalk and, in his place, a huge water snake swam out, right underneath my feet. I screamed. It took me quite by surprise. I'm not a person who's fearful of creatures. Spiders don't frighten me, nor bats or rats or cockroaches or any other animal that most people are at least mildly frightened of. But, give me a snake, and I go to shaking. They are the only real animal I'm truly afraid of. And afraid is a little of an understatement.

We also climbed huge sand dunes in Jockey's Ridge State Park and the kids slid down, we watched hang gliders in training, we flew kites on the dunes like the Wright Brothers, some of us visited the Wright Brothers Memorial in Kitty Hawk (also part of the Outer Banks), the kids and Don rode their bikes, we swam in 3 different pools and in the ocean, we walked and enjoyed sunsets over the Atlantic, we hunted for shells, we saw amazing sealife that we couldn't identify and some we could (such as horseshoe crabs and skates in the surf), we played cards, we watched Sci-Fi and Animal Planet, Deanna scared some lady at the pool with the remote-control shark Don bought her, and we shopped - a Tanger's Factory Outlet and a Christmas store!! I made a good dent in my Christmas shopping.

Anyway, dinner's ready and we need to eat. All-in-all, we had a great and memorable time, despite the surf problems. Another great vacation for the Doughty family.

Dane's Birthday

Today was Dane's birthday. He turned 7. In an effort to nip the "every-year-birthday-party" thing in the bud, Don and I were adamant with Dane that we were not going out to eat this year, nor would there be a big party. We just got back from vacation and we're going camping next week in honor of his birthday (his choice of things to do back when we first started talking about his birthday, several months ago). So, to gloss things over a little, I told him I'd make anything he wanted for dinner and we could invite Grandma and Grandpa down to eat in celebration.

As I sat Sunday night at the kitchen table, trying to flesh out the next month's menus so I could do the grocery list for Don, I asked Dane yet again what he wanted for his birthday dinner.

"I don't know, Mom," he responded blandly. "Maybe pizza."

"We have pizza every Thursday night, son," I reasoned with him, "and your birthday is on a Wednesday. Isn't there something else you'd like?"

He just couldn't think of anything. Dane likes almost all the foods I make - ham and broccoli quiche, marinaded pork tenderloin ("Is there anymore of that good chicken left?"), meatloaf . . . So why he couldn't come up with anything for his birthday was a mystery to me.

In an effort to take a break from the menus, I invited him to stroll around the house with me and check out my gardens and Sissy's cabbages that she's growing for school. When we got to the herb garden, we were both surprised at how well my basil was growing.

"Gosh, it's really gotten big," I grinned from ear to ear. "Just think. In another week or so, I'll be able to do my first harvest and make Pesto."

"That's it!!!!" Dane yelled exuberantly. "I want your homemade Pesto Chicken for my birthday."



Early this morning, I harvested my first batch of basil and began the process of making Pesto. I took chicken breasts out to thaw and then coated them in Pesto on both sides and let them sit. This afternoon, I put them in a slow oven to tenderize and baste in the Pesto as they cooked.

In the meanwhile, Grandma and Grandpa called yesterday to be sure this was Dane's Seventh Birthday. They have a family tradition that they started with the grandkids, of which Dane is #14. When each grandchild turns 7, Grandpa rents a plane and a pilot from the local private airfield and takes that grandchild up for a 1/2 hour tour of the city. When Deanna went up, the pilot let her land the plane. He let her try different maneuvers in the air and thought she was a natural, so he decided to let her try her hand at landing. He talked her through it and she did a wonderful job. Dane was chomping at the bit for his turn.

Grandpa called me back last night to tell me he had a 3:00 p.m. appointment to take Dane up and we needed to meet him at the airstrip. One of Dane's friends turned 7 yesterday and his mother took him and another boy to see the movie "Cars", so Dane started asking this morning if we could do the same today.

"You have two choices. You can either go see the movie or I'll take you to Chuck E. Cheese for lunch right after soccer camp." I secretly prayed he'd choose Chuck E. Cheese, since I wasn't sure we'd have enough time to pick him up from soccer camp at noon, feed him lunch, get to a matinee, and still make it to the airfield on time. He chose Chuck E. Cheese, and I told him he could invite a friend.

After spending the morning working on Pesto and clearing off the dining room table for his birthday dinner (that's where we dumped everything when we unloaded the van Sunday night), we took off like mad for his friend's house, picked him up, then headed to the school. We got to our destination around 12:30 and the kids had a wonderful time, as did I. (I always do, by the way. I LOVE Chuck E. Cheese. I know all the angles. For $10.67 today, we got 4 drinks, a large pepperoni pizza with extra sauce that fed my three kids, our guest, myself, and a friend of mine who joined us, and 60 tokens for the kids to use. When we left, we had enough tickets for each child to pick several nice gifts out of the display cabinet, something they ALL love!! Dane got a balloon and crown on the way in and a coupon for a free ice cream on the way out. We were all very happy.)

I told the kids I had to be at an appointment at 3:00. Dane's friend asked if I'd drop him at home first, but I'd already cleared the airport thing with his mother, so I explained that I didn't have time to take him home right then. As we approached the field, Daelyn sang out, "There's Sissy's airport" which is what they've called it ever since Deanna had her flight with her Grandpa.

"Not for much longer," Dane responded. When I asked what he meant, he explained that Grandpa takes all his babies flying when they turn 7, so he expected either today or tomorrow he'd get to go up in a plane and it'd become HIS airport. I chuckled as I turned into the parking lot, waved to Mom and Dad who were just exiting their car, and parked next to them. Right behind me, my niece pulled in and parked on the other side of Grandma and Grandpa. Dane still didn't get the full picture.

He got his flight. The pilot let him take the yoke for a while in the air and taught him some basics. He loved seeing our city from above and it made his day for him. Dane's uncle and godfather arrived just after us and Don made it there just after Dane took off but was waiting for his baby when Dane touched down.

We hurried home after sending Don, Dane, and Dane's friend after a cake. I realized as we were walking into Chuck E. Cheese that, in my fretting about Pesto, I had completely forgotten about a cake for my son. Thank goodness for Kroger. Don arrived home with a vanilla two-layer, strawberry-filled cake with whipped icing. YUMMY!!

Grandma and Grandpa have a houseguest, an old friend, who joined us for dinner. Afterwards, Grandma and her guest, Dane, Deanna, and I went out on the deck and played cards until dark. I just finished cleaning up the kitchen, content with the day. Dane had lots of fun, albeit mostly down-home fun, and a special meal. He got to ride in a plane (his first time in a small, non-commercial one), got to go to Chuck E. Cheese, got great presents, and enjoyed every minute. I think Don and I succeeded in pushing the "not every year needs a big party" agenda.

I just can't figure out why a 7 year old would choose Pesto Chicken and Honied Carrots for his birthday meal. Dane continues to amaze me at every turn. He's awfully grown up at the ripe old age of 7.

Happy Birthday, my sweet thing. Mommy loves you more than you will every know. And I'm proud of you, son. I couldn't ask for anything more from you than what you give to the Lord right now. Keep putting him first and you'll always be as happy and wonderful as you are at 7.

The Beach

We returned last night around 5:00 p.m. from vacation. We went to the Outer Banks in North Carolina. The beaches in that area are called "The Graveyard of the Atlantic" because there are so many sandbars and hazardous surf conditions that there have been thousands of shipwrecks. The surf took its toll on us, as well. The children weren't able to go out very far and, on Friday, our last day on the beach, I was riding waves in when another wave lifted me up and flipped me in two like a pretzel. I wrenched my back and had trouble standing up at first. The lifeguard rushed down and said that they have lots of back and spinal cord injuries in that area because of the fierceness of the undertow combined with the angle of the beach coming down to the surf.

Anyway, despite not having a great beach experience, the rest of the trip was awesome. I went parasailing, something I've wanted to do for many years but not had the opportunity.

Much more to pass along in future posts, but Dane is in soccer camp this week and waiting to be picked up, so I've got to run.

Hope you are all enjoying the beginnings of summer.

The Beginning of Summer

Today was really the first day of summer. Since yesterday was a holiday, today was the first day the children would have been in school, if it hadn't been for them getting out of school last Friday. We slept in late, then they went to a friend's house to play while I went to an appointment. This afternoon, Dane and Deanna each played with friends while Daelyn took his nap and I worked on some projects that have to be done by tomorrow evening. Late dinner, late bedtime, tired, tired, tired.

But happy. My babies are home, albeit very little today. It felt good in the house today - full of life and activity.

The beginning of many more to come this busy summer. YAY!! Summer is here!!!

Sharing the Bed with Donovan

Donovan has adopted a bad habit. He won't go to bed at night until I tuck him in. Now, of course, you all remember that Donovan is the DOG!! He sleeps in his kennel in the kitchen but, if Don tries to put him to bed for me, he cries, whines and yelps until I go into the kitchen, take him out of his kennel, tell him he's a good boy, kiss him and snuggle him for a minute or two, then put him back to bed myself.

Don's indignant about this situation, but his feelings have no bearing on Donovan's actions. The puppy, like all three of my children, wants MOMMY to tuck him in, not Daddy.

Last week, in the throes of this terrible bronchitis, Don brought the puppy to bed with us one night.

"You're not putting him in his kennel?" I asked.

"No, I'd like to actually get some sleep tonight," he retorted in a frustrated voice.

Apparently, he figured that since I was sick and already in bed, there was no chance I'd be tucking the boy in, thus his concern that Donovan would cry all night long (and a very long night it would have been, at that). However, once you allow the pup in the bed with us, there's absolutely no chance of ever getting him back in his kennel.

So he now sleeps with us. And he does such a good job of it that I decided to allow him in the bed with us for naps, as well. Today, while I was trying to get Daelyn down, I put Donovan on the end of the bed. By the time I had gotten myself in a prone position, he was next to my head, licking my face and Daelyn's. Daelyn laughed and yelled, "The Puppy!", which I hear at least 1,000 times a day now. I picked Donovan up, placed him gently back at the end of the bed, but before I was back in position, he was next to my head again. Once more, I moved him and turned over on my stomach.

Five minutes later, "The Puppy!!" reached my ears. I glanced down and Donovan was at knee level, nibbling on Daelyn's fingers.

"Just move your hand, son, and go to sleep!!"

Within several minutes, he had snuck back up to my face. In frustration, I decided to stare him down. I got eyeball-to-eyeball with Donovan and frowned at him, holding his gaze for several minutes. Just when I was certain I was very intimidating and he finally had the full picture, he licked me.

I've decided the best solution is to sleep on my side.

Early Morning Visitors

Several weeks ago, but after Daylight Savings Time had begun for the year, I awoke one morning to find Dane standing over me. He was fully dressed for school - glasses, uniform, shoes and socks.

"Mom," he said softly, "you need to get up and make my breakfast."

The first thing I noticed was that Don was still in the bed next to me. Very suspicious, since he's usually up by 4:30. Next, I noticed it was dark outside - very dark, not the thinning darkness of early morning.

Don groaned. I rolled over and looked at my clock, squinting to see it without my glasses on. 2:20 it glared at me with its red light. I groaned.

"SON," I nearly shouted, "it's 2:20 in the morning. That's the middle of the night. I only went to bed 3 hours ago. Take your shoes and socks off, put your glasses away, and go back to bed!!"

"Oh," he responded, simply - typical response for Dane. Then he quietly disappeared.

Several hours later, he re-appeared, this time without his shoes and socks.

"Now is it time to get up, Mama?" I glanced at the clock. A very respectable 6:30 a.m.

"Yes, son, it's fine to get up now, if you're ready."

"Will you get up and make my breakfast," he asked eagerly.

"It's a little early for breakfast, sweetie. Sissy's alarm won't even go off for another 15 minutes. Mine hasn't gone off yet, and Daelyn is still asleep. Once everyone's up and Sissy's dressed for school, we'll have breakfast, the same as usual."

"Well, then, can I go play on the computer or watch a movie?" he asked.

Long sigh. Why is it that he bounds out of bed before the crack of dawn and I struggle to get up well after the sun is high in the sky and the son has been up for hours? And what do I do with him when he gets up so early and I'm still battling to get in as much shut-eye as possible?

Deanna's just like me. Even as a baby, she's snuggle up against me in the bed and sleep until I was full ready to wake. On weekends, she'll sleep in until noon, if I let her. She's motivated to rise early because she can't watch cartoons until her Saturday chores are done, so she generally gets up and at 'em. But, given the opportunity, she's a sleeper.

Daelyn has always been early to rise. As an infant, he'd be up around 5:30 every morning. Dane is just like him, rising early no matter how late he got to bed. He might be an absolute bear all day, but he's still up early.

Now we've got Donovan to add to the mix. It's very funny that none of the children have any compunction about waking Mom, but everyone tiptoes around to keep from waking the puppy. HE'S A DOG!!! Who cares if he gets woken up. But they're, like, "Don't wake the baby. He's still asleep." "Be quiet. You'll wake Puppy." "Don't jump on Mommy's bed. Donovan's sleeping." They walk up to the side of the bed, shake me, and whisper in my ear. Mommy ought to be up - after all, we're up - but Donovan, he's the baby. He needs his sleep.

I know I need to be thankful for these years. Soon enough, they'll all be rising and dressing for school without the need for Mom to wake them. They'll be running out the door with a piece of toast in their hands and won't want to sit and eat as a family. I'll make them, anyway, of course, for the sake of family life, but life will be very different.

For now, I'll have to settle for buying Dane a clock for his room to curtail the 2:20 a.m. visits. That should do nicely - for now.

Better

The antibiotics and Kahlua and Cream did their job. I'm feeling better and ready to face the world again. And just in time, too. Of course, Don went back to work again today and I had to get the children up and dressed for school, breakfast made, laundry sorted and started, and the kids out the door. Dane has a doctor's appointment this morning, so I've got to be bathed, dressed, with hair done and make-up on before 10:15. Nothing like going from a standstill directly to a sprint.

And I'm sprinting in another way this week. This is the final week of school - YAY!! Deanna's teacher's husband is having major surgery tomorrow (for cancer), so today is her last day of school. The class is having a party in honor of her last day, using gift certificates they received for participation in a fund-raiser. Tomorrow, Dane's class has their end-of-year pool party all day. Deanna's is on Wednesday. Then, Thursday is Field Day and Friday is a 1/2 day, with most of the day being taken up with Assembly and Awards. I'll be subbing for Deanna's teacher and Don and Daelyn will join me for half of the morning.

Whew!! The last month is always a challenge. On the flip side, I never knew a person could sleep so much, short of a coma. The bronchitis really zapped my energy and I'd get up about 11:00 a.m. or so for a couple of hours, lay around on the couch, and then head back to bed for a nap around 1:00 or 2:00. Up around 5:00 to lay on the couch and kiss the kids good-night, then back to bed around 9:00. The whole weekend was just a blur. I didn't realize how bad it had been until the children were complaining about something yesterday and Don commented that he did the best he could and "have you noticed Mama? She hasn't even put on any clothes in the last 3 days, nor has she bathed or been outside the house."

A slight exaggeration. On Friday, while Don napped, I got Daelyn down for his nap, then dressed, picked the kids up from school, got them home and directed them through chores, then got Deanna to ballet at 3:30 before coming home and collapsing. But it was mostly true. I decided I better bathe, quick, before my husband caught whiff of me. Yesterday morning, I woke at 8 a.m. (a sure sign I was feeling better) and decided all the outside plants desperately needed watering. Truth be told, they needed watering on Friday and Saturday, too, but it just wasn't in me. But they got their water yesterday, and I wore myself out from 2 hours of watering. And I DID put on clothes.

So, today, I'm back in the saddle - attempting full-scale life, albeit gingerly. I'm trying to pad my day with naptime and rest time. But if I'm going to get my chores done and still have time for a nap, I've got to get to work - dinner to put in the crockpot, laundry loads to switch.

Have a wonderful Monday. Hope you all are able to accomplish everything on your To Do List today.

Bronchitis Woes

I had to go to the doctor yesterday. My throat started getting scratchy last Thursday and, instead of getting better, I kept getting worse. By Wednesday, I was coughing a deep, dry cough. Yesterday, it worsened and became productive. I knew I had bronchitis.

The problem was, I was in the process of switching doctors and had not yet seen my new doctor. But I called anyway and asked if he'd see me. He's a family friend who lived next door to me with his young wife while an Intern. His wife's whole family has been very close to me for years. I lived with her parents for 4 years while she was still very young, so this doctor is almost family.

Because I had not yet had a new patient visit, the nurse asked him if he'd see me. He told her he'd fit me in, and I packed up Daelyn and headed out.

The wait was very short. I was suitably impressed. When he walked into the Treatment Room, I hopped on the table.

"Okay, Patti, what's the problem," Billy asked.

"Scratchy throat a week ago, followed by cold symptoms. Now progressed into bronchitis. Need antibiotics before it turns into pneumonia," I rattled off.

Billy turned his head sideways and looked up at me over the top of his glasses.

"I self-diagnose," I explained. I was attempting to make it as easy and quick for him as possible since he was doing me the great favor of fitting me in, although not even officially a patient of his yet.

"I see," he commented, and snickered. Then he pulled out his stethescope to have a listen.

"Deep breath in and out," he commanded in his polite doctor's voice. I attempted to follow directions but broke into a coughing fit.

"Okay, NOT so deep breaths," he said. "As a matter of fact, breath as little as possible."

The coughing was BAD. Nobody ought to have to hear this, especially not through a stethoscope.

He finished up and made the expected announcement.

"It's not pneumonia yet. Your lungs are clear. But you definately have bronchitis. Let's get you on some antibiotics."

See. I told you. Do I get a break in cost for saving you the diagnostic effort?

He sat down in the chair in front of his little desk. He pulled out his prescription pad and then stopped to think for a minute.

"Patti, you don't smoke, do you?" he asked.

"No, no, no. No smoking. But I try real hard to drink," I answered. Again, the eyebrows up, looking at me over the top of his glasses.

I continued. "I begged Don Tuesday night to get me a bottle of Kahlua. We had a half-pint of cream in the fridge and I was dying for a Kahlua and Cream. But he refused."

"To help you sleep," Billy asked.

"Yes," I replied, emphatically. "I figured it'd take the edge off my coughing and relax me. But Don said 'no'."

"Well," Billy responded, "we'll take care of that. I'll write you a prescription."

He discussed a few other matters with me, drew some blood (a new patient thing), then wrote out two prescriptions.

"Here's your antibiotic. Can you take Amoxicillin with your stomach problems?"

"Yep. That one I can handle."

"Okay, then. That's what we'll use. And here's your other prescription. I need to see you back in two weeks to review your bloodwork and check your breathing again." He handed me two prescription sheets, said goodbye, and left the room.

As I was putting them in my purse, I glanced at the second one.

"Kahlua & Cream QSH" it read. I asked at the Pharmacy what QSH meant. They said "at bedtime". Several of the women working at the Pharmacy would like my new doctor's name and phone number.

I picked up a bottle of Kahlua on the way to pick the kids up from school. Last night, I crushed some ice in the blender, put it in a juice glass, covered it with Kahlua and added cream. I sat on the loveseat in the Den, sipping my drink. When it was half done, I noticed my coughing had subsided tremendously and I was breathing easier.

"Don, if you had just bought me that Kahlua the other night, we could have saved a doctor's visit today," I told him.

But where would the fun have been in that. Billy was quite entertaining in his serious, doctor way. Thank you, my friend, for seeing me, for the antibiotics, for the caring ear, and for the Kahlua prescription. I'm feeling better already.

Preschoolers

Overheard while in the van driving to the Mall with Daelyn and a 4-yr. old friend buckled in back seat.

Boy #1: "What's that smell?"

Boy #2: "It's you!"

Boy #1: "No it's not. I think it's your Mama."

Me: "I beg your pardon!! I just took a bath, put on perfume and deodorant and brushed my teeth. It certainly isn't me!!"

Boy #2: "I think it's gas."

Boy #1: "No, no. It was a bus."

Peels of Laughter. I have no idea what was so funny. I think they were trying to make a play on words and they thought they pulled it off.

Later:
Boy #2: "There's a crocodile."

Boy #1: "A Kroger truck?"

Boy #2: "No. A crocodile."

Boy #1: "A crock-go-dial?"

Boy #2, shouting: "A crocodile!!"

Boy #1, shouting back, and frantically looking outside the van: "Where?!?"

Boy #2: "Right here in this book."

Long quiet pause.

Boy #1: "What does that bug do?"

Boy #2: "I TOLD YOU, 'I don't know'. I've been saying it over and over again. I DON'T KNOW!"

Silence. Despite Boy #2's rants, I never heard him say anything until the above statement.

Just think how much fun three 4-yr. old boys would be. I need to pray more often for the Preschool Teachers of the world.

Can't Celebrate for even One Moment

Several weeks ago, after returning from our visit to Don's parents for Holy Week, my dryer broke down. It was still turning, but it no longer had hot air.

I had about 8 loads of wash to do upon returning home, and no way to dry my clothes. Two loads dried fairly well by me laying them over chairs on the deck, but it was an arduous process and I could only dry a few things at a time. Eight loads would not all get done. So laundry piled up.

I do laundry twice a week - Monday's and Thursday's. I discovered the broken dryer on Monday but Don hadn't gotten it repaired yet by Thursday, so I had to forego laundry yet again. Over the weekend, Don was able to get it working again and I had a formidable task facing me for the following Monday.

I did 10 loads of wash - 1 of whites, 2 of lights, 2 of darks, 1 of reds, and one of something else, I don't remember what. Then I had a load of bath towels and a separate load of beach towels that I had used for a picnic. Last, I had a load of mats (maybe two loads of mats - that might be my extra load). Anyway, lots of wash. Then it all had to be folded, hung up, put away . . . By the time I got to bed Monday night, I was exhausted but felt pleased with how much had been accomplished.

Tuesday, I sprang out of bed, hollering to the children to strip their beds. I did 4 more loads of wash, all our bedding, then remade all the beds with clean sheets and washed a few more mats. I finished the last of my chores at 11:30 p.m. but, again, was pleased that the house was getting put back in order. I lay in bed, thinking about how much work had faced me Monday morning but how it was all now behind me. I had accomplished it all. I had met the task head-on, fiercely tackled hours and hours worth of monotonous, exhausting work, and I was proud of myself. I decided to take the day Wednesday to rest, spend with a friend and her child Daelyn's age, and make sure Daelyn got lots of Mommy-time.

I was still feeling quite smug on Thursday, despite being thrown back into the normal routine of laundry. At least it wasn't Mega-laundry. I got most of it out of the way, then laid down with Daelyn to settle him in for his nap. Suddenly, a thought rolled through my head. I latched onto it, expanding it and searching my memory banks to make sense of the random thought. Like a lightning bolt, clarity struck me. I was supposed to have spent Tuesday morning with a girlfriend who's on bedrest due to complications from pregnancy and help with her toddler while giving her a chance to visit with a friend. Not only had I forgotten, it was SO FAR forgotten that I didn't even remember when the initial thought hit. I had to pursue it before the memory clicked and, even then, it was THURSDAY.

Talk about embarrassed. I don't know how she managed. She has various friends coming to stay with her on different days, and that was the one for which I had volunteered. Somehow, the accomplishments of Monday and Tuesday were shameful, instead of inspiring. Guilt rather than satisfaction prevailed in my spirit.

I've since spoken with that friend and asked her forgiveness for forgetting about her need and placing my own before hers and my commitment to her. It certainly wasn't intentional - I was just caught up in a broken dryer and lots of laundry.

Doggone, though. Just when you start to feel good about what you've accomplished, you realize how short you fall routinely. God is the only perfection - I know that. I just wish I was more like Him.

Grand-standing

My Mom called yesterday right after we got home from church looking for an egg to borrow and told me that my sister, niece, and nephew, who was home from college for the weekend, were at her house. When I couldn't sleep because of the drop of caffeinated coffee I had at church, I snuck out of the house with the puppy and headed for Mom's.

It was great to see my nephew, who hasn't been home since Christmas. Grandma decided my nephew needed to see Donovan's tricks, so I trotted him into the living room to show him off. He's a wonderful puppy and smart as all get-out, but he's young and distractable and often has to be given a command repeatedly before he responds. I knew it was a stressful situation for him, also - at Grandma's house, in front of at least one stranger. He followed me to the carpet and dutifully turned, looking up at me. I smiled at him, told him what a good boy he was, then commanded him to sit. The words were barely out of my mouth when he plopped his rear right down. I patted him on the head and told him how impressed I was. Then I told him to lie down. As if in anticipation of my words, he flattened his belly onto the floor almost before I spoke. I was amazed and praised him. Then I commanded him to jump up and raised my hand to waist level. He stood up on his back legs and began dancing for his audience. Everybody clapped for him. I picked him up and kissed him and told him what a smart dog he was.

"Well, that's it. That's all the tricks he knows."

"What about that one I saw you doing with him at your house," my sister asked.

"You mean, rolling over? He's just learning that. He can't get his hind quarter over yet and doesn't yet understand the command. And I don't have any treats with me."

"Oh, come on. I saw him doing it at your house and he almost had it. Let him try for Bradley." Toni's argument was compelling.

"Well, we'll give it a try, but don't be disappointed if he just lies there yelping," I responded.

First, I told Donovan to sit. Then, lie down, both of which he did immediately. "Roll over," I said, and turned my hand in a circle in front of his fact. "Roll over," I repeated, turning my hand again. And doggone it if he didn't. Flipped that rear and rolled completely over, grinning at me the whole time.

I shrieked in disbelief. My little puppy's been holding out on me. Whoops and cries went up from Donovan's audience. I scooped him up into my arms, kissed him, and praised him highly. The rest of the crowd clapped vigorously. Mama came and took Donovan from my arms. She kissed him, then took him around to Bradley.

"Isn't he the smartest dog you've ever seen?" she exclaimed. "And he's so sweet and easy to teach."

"He's sure smarter than our dogs," Bradley said drily.

"Hey," yelled Toni. "My babies can do all kinds of tricks."

"Yeah," Bradley responded, "like eating frogs."

Everyone laughed. Toni added, "At least he keeps the neighborhood frog-free!"

Our little puppy is so much like the rest of the family. He apparently loves grand-standing and is a little of a show-off. He learns quickly and loves being appreciated and praised.

Not all too different from my children. Possibly even a little like me.

Path of Least Resistance

Today, our Bishop was coming to do Confirmations. The Handbells were playing for both the 9:00 and the 11:30 services at our Church, so Don had to get there early to practice and stay late to take down. We decided I should take the kids just in time for the early service since we were staying for both (to hear the bells play) and they'd get very antsy. The less time they had to waste around the church the better for all of us.

On the drive over, it was raining. Deanna was sitting in the very back of the van, looking out the window.

"Mama," she asked, "why do all the raindrops, no matter where they hit the window, make their way to the same path to run down the window?"

"It's called 'the path of least resistance', honey," I explained. Then I launched into a philosophical discussion about what that means. I explained that the raindrops find the easiest route down, where the path of debris and dryness has already been cleared, much the same as the ice speed skaters we watched during the Olympics would tuck themselves in behind the front skater and take advantage of the lead man breaking the air. The wind resistance on them would be much less, giving them a little rest and the opportunity to increase their speed after the respite. Even the tiny bit of resistance they experienced from moving their bodies through the air could affect their overall time and every microsecond of less resistance moved them closer to Gold.

The Scripture from Matthew 7 (13 and 14) sprang to mind: "Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it." I explained to Deanna that the world, the flesh and the devil are all tugging at us. If we're not moving forward, then these forces are pulling us backward. There is no standing still in the spiritual world.

"It's much easier to get to Hell than Heaven," I told the children. The way to Hell is the path of least resistance. Heaven takes work. It's not easy - it's narrow, rocky, and has had much less traffic to smooth it over."

All three children sat quietly. I asked Dane if he understood what I was saying.

"Yes, Mama, I really do," he responded. "Satan makes his way easier for us so we'll take the easy path and end up with him. If we want to be with God in Heaven, it takes work."

"It also means that we can't do what everyone else does," Deanna chimed in.

"That's right," Dane added. "We have to choose the hard way, even if everyone else chooses the easy way. We shouldn't follow the crowd, we should follow Jesus."

"And His way isn't usually easy, but it's worth it," Deanna finished.

Long sigh. Children with spiritual eyes and loving hearts. I hope this is a lesson they remember always. Me, too.

Hair and Cinnamon Buns

The other day, Deanna did her own hair before school. She pulled it into a ponytail, then didn't pull the ends all the way through, leaving the hair in a loop.

"Look, Mom," she announced, "I have a bun. And I did it myself."

I smiled and nodded, not willing to burst her bubble. However, after several remarks about how nice her bun looked and how easy it was to do, and how everyone ought to do buns, I was a little afraid she might go to school and chastise her friends for not doing their hair in "buns" more often. I decided she needed to know the truth.

"Sweetie," I explained, "that's not really a bun. It's just a ponytail that you didn't pull the hair completely through."

"Then what's a bun?"

"You start with a ponytail but then you twirl the end of your hair around the ponytail holder and pin them down. It really does look like a bun - like a sweet roll or cinnamon bun."

"Oh." She was a little disappointed, but she doesn't even have hair pins, so a bun probably wasn't going to happen for her. And certainly not of her own doing just yet.

She thought about it for a minute and then brightened.

"Well, maybe a hair bun looks like a cinnamon bun, but I don't think anybody'd want to eat it."

I laughingly responded, "Except maybe Donovan. You can never be too sure about him."

We both laughed, appreciating the fact that Donovan often chews on our hair. Maybe he really does think hair is as good as cinnamon rolls.

Yesterday, I was getting ready to go the hospital to visit a friend. My hair was lack-luster and flat. I fiddled with it a little, then decided to pull in into a high ponytail. I used a barrett first, but the hair just fell flat against my head again. I got out one of Deanna's rings and used it instead of the barrett. It added a little more heighth, but the weight of my hair still pulled on the front. Finally, I wrapped the hair around the ring, pulling it into a tight bun and reached for hair pins one-handed while holding the bun in place with the other. I successfully attached it with only 3 pins, then took off for the hospital.

When I got home, it occurred to me to show it to Deanna.

"This is a bun, honey. See how it's curled so it really looks like a bun."

She nodded, examining it carefully. We chatted for a few minutes, then went outside to check on Don and the boys, who were working on the side of the house building a garden box for me. The puppy was tied around the wheelbarrow and the boys were sitting in the driveway keeping Dad company while he worked. I spoke to Don and the boys, then noticed Donovan was jumping up on me, trying to get my attention so he could greet me. I bent down to him, tucking me chin down so he could give me lots of kisses on the face. Instead, he went straight for my hair. I felt his teeth on my bun. I quickly grabbed the top of my hair and gingerly extricated it from his jaws.

"Let GO of my hair, you monkey," I yelled. "That's a hair bun, not a cinnamon roll."

Deanna glanced up just in time to see me pull my hair out of Donovan's mouth. Her eyes got big around and she broke into a deep laugh.

"You were right, Mama. He doesn't know the difference between hair and treats."

Good thing a hair washing was on my agenda.

Sesame Street

As I'm typing, Daelyn is watching Sesame Street. Cookie Monster is smelling the letter for the day, "J".

Cookie Monster: "It smells like a 'J'. It looks like a 'J'. It sounds like a 'J'."

Daelyn: "You can't hear it, because you don't have any ears. YOU'RE A COOKIE MONSTER!!"

I'm not sure who needed to know that more - the T.V. set, the puppy who's sitting next to Daelyn as he screams, or me. In any case, apparently, Cookie Monsters don't have ears.

Humor at Home

The dynamics of humor are very interesting at our house. Don has a great sense of humor, but very dry and quiet, so if you don't listen carefully, you'll never hear it. Deanna, also, has a great sense of humor. She enjoys a good joke and laughs readily and heartily. She gets the nuances of humor in a way that the boys may never be able. Like the time Daelyn was jabbering nonsense at the table. I looked at him for a while, then asked gently if he had had a fall on his head that I didn't know about. Daelyn just stared at me, but milk spurted out Deanna's nose like a fountain. She's very tuned-in to humor and listens for it in every conversation.

Dane is my quiet child. We're not sure if he gets most of what happens around him. I suspect it's all going in, he's just not reacting (very like his father). Once, when he was only 4, we were driving down the street. I had resigned myself to the fact that he must have a learning disorder and was a little "slow", at least compared to Deanna, when he commented that one of our neighbors had a different air conditioning company than us. I quizzed him about this comment. He responded that the truck sitting in their driveway was different from the one that visited us. It had been a solid year since our air conditioners had been serviced and I was floored that he remembered what the truck looked like. Add to that the number of service trucks sitting in driveways, and the fact that he even noticed the truck, and I was astounded.

"But, son," I pressed further, "how did you know that truck was from an air conditioning company?"

"Oh, that," he responded in his slow, drawling style, "I saw them carrying in the condenser a few days ago."

We decided that the only thing "slow" about Dane was his speech patterns. Obviously, he had a brilliant mind and noticed everything, he just didn't feel compelled to share all he observed, unlike a little girl I knew.

Dane's that way with just about everything. If he gets our jokes, or even hears them, is any man's guess. And Daelyn is still a little too young to understand humor, unless it's slapstick, which we don't go in for real big at our house. Sissy's our bastion of humor.

About a year ago, Daelyn was talking at the breakfast table about the Trinity.

"Okay, Mama, so there's three people who are all part of God - the Father, the Son, and the Homely Spirit."

Deanna snorted before she fell off the bench. Daelyn looked puzzled, I grinned, and Dane hummed quietly. When Deanna finally stopped laughing enough that she could resume her meal, Dane asked me to explain what was so funny.

"Daelyn said 'homely Spirit', not 'Holy Spirit'."

"What does homely mean, anyway," Dane asked further, trying desperately to understand why Deanna and I had spent the last 5 minutes cackling.

"It means 'ugly', son," I told him.

Dane eyes got big around. His mouth got even bigger in the shape of a giant Cheerio.

"OH!" was his simple reply. No laughter, no other comment. But we knew he got it. Deanna smiled from across the table and nodded at me. Our sweet, quiet Dane. Maybe someday, he'll learn to appreciate humor - at least, the humor used by our family.

Tooth problems

I tried to write yesterday, but Blogger seemed to be doing goofy things and never would come up. So I abandoned the idea of yesterday and am attempting posting today.

Over a year ago, I was trying to open a bottle and used my teeth to assist the process. Don always tells me and the kids that teeth were meant for chewing - nothing else - but I did it anyway and paid the price.

I have several adult teeth that are missing. My father has 4 missing teeth, my mother has 3. I inherited all 7. Three of them were wisdom teeth, so that was no big loss. My dentists over the years were able to save two baby teeth, but they were smaller than the adult teeth, so they put bonding material over them to make them larger. Bonding material can't exactly match tooth enamel in its opaqueness, so then my front teeth didn't match the ones on either side. The end result was the dentist bonded both of my front teeth with a coating of bonding material that matches the other teeth.

In the bottle accident, the bonding chipped off on one of my front teeth. Although my natural tooth is showing up underneath, it's a different color and it looks like a chipped tooth. I look like a hick.

Unfortunately, the process of having this redone is expensive and timely and my dentist doesn't work on Fridays. Don is home on Fridays so I could leave Daelyn with him to get my dental work done, but HE DOESN'T WORK ON FRIDAYS. What kind of business doesn't work on Fridays? For two years now, I've looked like a country bumpkin with missing teeth in the front.

We had to go to Homecoming at my parents church while looking like that. I used to be the Youth Director there and they were honoring past staff members, so I was singled out. Of course, the accident happened the night before Homecoming.

Lots of other events have taken place with my teeth in this condition. I got a call earlier this week from a lovely young woman who was one of the teens in my Youth Group. She's getting married in September to a young man who was also in the Youth Group. They're in their late 20's and have dated on and off since high school. I put the date on my calendar and then made a mental note that "the tooth" MUST get repaired before the wedding.

In the meantime, I try real hard to smile with my lips shut. No open-mouth pictures for me. At least until the dentist starts working on Fridays.

Cinquo Success

Momentus day yesterday. Daelyn had his 4-yr. check-up with the Pediatrician. Dane had a talk with him the night before, unbeknownst to me. At 8 p.m. on Thursday, Daelyn came into the kitchen crying.

"They're gonna give me shots tomorrow. Call Dr. Miller right now and cancel my sheck-up, Mama. I don't want to go."

I could have killed Dane. What's more, I wasn't sure that was true.

"Son, I don't know that you ARE getting any shots. Brother might be wrong."

"I'll get the phone. You call Dr. Miller and ask, okay?"

Daddy and I both worked very hard to get out of that one. Daelyn woke up the next morning fussing about his "sheck-up". All told, Dane was right. Daelyn had to tinkle in a cup, he had his hearing and vision checked, he had a physical exam, and (deep breath) got 3, count them, 3 shots. We didn't tell him about the shots until the nurse had the syringes sitting on the treatment table, all ready to go. I had to hold him down. I put my arms over his torso with his hands above them, so he couldn't harm the nurse. He reached up and, when it hurt, pinched my neck repeatedly. Not out of meanness, just out of pain. So now Mommy has a bruised neck to match Dae-Dae's bruised thighs.

He missed his nap and was a huge grump. Deanna came home from school feeling puny, so she skipped ballet to rest in anticipation of her big night. I skipped my 5 p.m. commitment, and we went to pick up her friend for dinner. I told Don that whatever he and Ken did with the boys for dinner, they should do it early so he could get the boys to bed early - then Deanna and I ran out the door.

We were sitting in a booth with my niece and sister, munching on chips and salsa and our wonderful meal (shrimp quesadilla for me) when my sister sucked in her breath and muttered, "Uh-oh!" She was sitting facing the door, I sat across from her. I stood up, turned around to look over the booth and standing at the front entrance was Don holding Daelyn. For a minute, I wasn't sure if they had chosen the same restaurant as us for dinner or if there was some problem with Daelyn and Don had come to bring him to me. Turned out it was the former. They were sitted two booth's away from us. Dane ran over to visit, as did Daelyn.

Later, our waiter came over. I explained that that was my husband sitting over there. My sister and niece kept yelling, "Don't believe her. She just wants to flirt with him and wants you to do the dirty work." I ignored them and asked the waiter to go tell him I thought he was a hunk. The waiter laughed and said, in very broken English, that he didn't deliver messages.

As we were getting ready to leave, he brought our check. "Did you give that handsome guy my message?" I asked, joking.

"Yah," he said, "but he said he didn't know you."

Deanna got her ears done. They look beautiful and she's very tickled with herself. I'll post pictures soon of the experience. I got several of her cringing in anticipation. On the way home, she said it didn't really hurt.

But she's decided her hair looks much better in a bun than down. I wonder if it has anything to do with the sparkle at the bottom of her ears?

Oh, by the way, my brother-in-law says that the Mexicans won a very important battle on May 5 against the . . . (I wasn't listening closely enough) - that's why they celebrate Cinquo de Mayo. I came home with a great Corona Beer T-shirt that has some cutesy saying on it. A good time was had by all.

Piercings and Parties

Cinquo de Mayo. I'm not quite sure what this holiday is all about in the Mexican tradition, but it's fun to say, anyway. And tonight, we're celebrating. Not the 5th of May, as thousands of other Americans will be today, but a hallmark in Deanna's life. She and I have finally prevailed with her father and she's getting her ears pierced tonight.

We're making quite a big deal out of it. We invited all the girls in the family. Unfortunately, Grandma, the leader of the Clan and most fun person in the family, is still in Kazakstan on a Mission and won't be able to join us. But Aunt Toni and Aunt Trina and Cousin Meme will be there. Deanna asked if she could invite a friend, as well, so her buddy, Theresa, will be going with us.

We're going to - yes, I'm a little crazy - a Mexican Restaurant for dinner. I'm hoping that we'll get there early enough to celebrate the fun of Cinquo without the drunken crowds of Cinquo. We're planning dinner for 5:30. I'm leaving Don and the boys to fend for themselves - ah, ain't it lovely!!! (By the way, that's a statement, not a question.) Then we'll all process up to the Mall for "The Piercing".

Deanna's wanted her ears pierced since she was two. The idea of being able to wear sparkly earrings beckoned to her like a Siren's Call. But her Daddy's response was, "When you're 16, we'll think about it." I, myself, got my ears pierced by a woman in the neighborhood without permission and much younger than 16. We froze my lobe with an ice cube, sterilized a large needle, then she poked it in, using a carrot top behind the ear to catch the needle on the other side. I thought I was all prepared, though a little nervous, until the needle went into the carrot and there was a loud CRUNCH. You don't want to hear crunching when someone's sticking a needle in your ear. I tried very hard to calm my panic by telling myself it was the carrot that crunched, not my ear, but the second ear was pretty tricky. The process they use these days is so much simpler and cleaner. Just choose a pair of earrings (they have 4 different styles from which to choose), sterilize the ear, place a dot on each and make sure they're even, then - pop - the gun shoots the earring right through the hole, like a paper punch. Very little pain, very quick, almost no preparation.

But, back to my previous thoughts. I got my ears pierced earlier than 16, and I've been lobbying for Deanna. Every little girl needs pierced ears. Once I was convinced Deanna was fastidious enough to keep her ear disinfected and clean until it healed and was certain this was what she really wanted, I was all for it. But Daddy said "16 - that's the age for those kinds of things."

For Easter, I got Deanna this beautiful jewelry set to wear with her Easter dress. It had a bracelet and necklace and matching earrings. Again, she complained and asked if she couldn't get her ears pierced so she could start wearing some of the beautiful earrings she sees. I talked with Daddy again. Deanna's had a tough year. She needs some encouragement, some kind of reward. Daddy agreed to think about it a little more.

When we came home from West Virginia, he pulled out the School Handbook, which he had studied while we were gone. He had it open to a page about grooming.

"Okay," he started, "according to this, you can have pierced ears, but no more than two piercings per ear and no piercings anywhere but the ear."

I waited patiently for the final statement. You can't extrapolate with Don. It would seem that this was his approval, but you can't be sure until you hear the final answer. So I stood there, waiting. He looked at me, dead in the eyes, then squinted and looked again, as if he was trying to read something there. I'm not sure what he saw. Maybe hope for Deanna. Maybe pleading. Maybe an image of my beautiful little girl with pierced ears. I don't know. But the final answer eventually came.

"I suppose it's alright. You can get her ears pierced."

I whooped and hollered, then hugged and kissed him and thanked him for his thoughtful consideration. Not many daddys are as concerned about the small things as Don. I'm glad he's so involved in every aspect of our children's lives and wants to be the one to make these decisions. He's a strong, loving, prayerful man of God, and an example to our sons and daughter.

So, we're celebrating Cinquo de Mayo tonight as gals, with the youngest one being honored for another rung in the ladder of life. My little girl is growing up - slowly, but surely.

Happy 5th of May to you, as well.

The Unexpected

Two Daelyn stories today.

This morning, I had to take a quick bath before walking the kids to school. We're in the process of teaching modesty and privacy - knocking before you enter a closed door, waiting until you are invited to enter, closing the door back behind you, not running through the house (or outdoors) naked, not dropping your drawers on the WAY to the bathroom, etc.

I always close the bathroom door, not that it makes much difference. But the children are beginning to learn to knock before entering. This morning, I pulled my hair up on top of my head so it wouldn't get wet during my 5-minute bath. I was busy scrubbing when the door flew open and in walked all three. Deanna had something to ask me, Daelyn had already thrown the door open, so she followed him in, assuming it was alright. Dane was tagging along.

Grand Central Station. A little embarrassed to have so much company while trying to bathe, I asked what was up. Deanna began her question when Daelyn interrupted her.

"Mama," he said, "you look nice today."

Thanks ever so much, son - naked, no makeup, hair piled on my head. At least he's generous in his opinions.

Later this morning, we had to go to Wal-Mart to get some pictures developed. While we waited for the 1-hr. developing, I took him to the in-store McDonald's for lunch. I've been trying to teach him letters and their sounds in preparation for Kindergarten in another year. We've been working on the vowels. He now knows a and e and their sounds. I decided to give him a little different experience and, while we ate, I asked him about the letter "c".

I told him the sound c makes, then asked him, "What word starts with that sound," expecting "cat" or "cow".

"Culture," responded Daelyn.

O.K. Culture begins with a "c". I sat and stared at my son for a minute. He certainly is unique.

The unexpected - both in vocabulary and opinions of beauty. That's my boy.

Health Issues

I never thought I would dislike the subject of Health. When Deanna was in Kindergarten, First and Second Grades, I couldn't wait for her to have some new, interesting subjects. This year, they added Health to the curriculum. What I thought would be wonderful has become a thorn in my side.

Deanna spent the first 2 months of school spouting daily at the breakfast table, "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day." Then she went through a season where they were studying the food pyramid and she had to eat a balanced breakfast, including fruit, each morning. Now, I don't make slouchy breakfasts. On Monday, we have eggs, toast, and sausage or bacon. On Tuesdays, we have French Toast, Waffles, or Pancakes. Wednesday is hot cereal day - Cream of Wheat, Oatmeal or Grits. Thursday I've declared Junk Food Morning - toaster streudel, pop tarts, those wonderful pastries you can now buy in the frozen food section that look line mini cinnamon rolls but you put them in the toaster. Friday (Don's morning to do breakfast) is cold cereal. Variety is key. I rotate from week to week what we have each of these mornings, so we don't eat oatmeal two weeks in a row or waffles twice.

I think I do a pretty good job with breakfasts. BUT . . . Deanna had to have a "food-pyramid-balanced" breakfast. I had to add lots of extra foods to include a piece of fruit every morning, then there's be so much food on the table that the children couldn't eat it all. I was very happy when they finished that module in Health.

Next came the Digestive System - oh, good grief. As we ate dinner, we'd get a lecture on appropriate chewing habits, how the digestive juices begin working in the mouth to break down food, then continue the job in the stomach, then to the colon, etc. Great dinner table talk. They actually took a field trip and spent a whole day studying the stomach. In a city near us, there's a museum where they have a 3-story boy and you can walk through his internal organs. His esophagus is a slide. The Third Grade spent an entire day wandering through somebody's digestive tract. Gross (educational, however).

And, OOOOOOOH, the skeleton. I can't tell you how many times I've heard the proper names for bones. When Deanna broke her foot, she babbled for hours about which bone in her foot had broken. She discussed various bones with the Doctor as if she were an Intern. Musculature became a frequent topic.

"That's your trapezius muscle, Mom. " "Don't you know that's your clavicle, not your 'collar bone'?" "My triceps are sore." "Dane, that's your patella!!"

My daughter has become a know-it-all. She's old enough now to know lots of stuff but not yet old enough to know that you don't have to show everybody just how much you know.

The maturing process - learning when it's appropriate to share knowledge and when you should quietly keep it to yourself. Come on, Maturity. We're eager for you!!

Brothers in Crime

Daelyn and Donovan are like twin brothers. They're about the same age, into the same things, and have about the same daily schedule. Donovan's relationship with each family member is unique. Dane is his sugar-boy (same as me) - everytime he gets near Dane, he licks him profusely, then cuddles with him. Deanna is his exercise buddy - they walk together and she plays with him and feeds him. Daddy is the authority figure from afar - seldom home but silently meets Donovan's needs when he is. Mama is the same to him as to all the children - he follows me around, expects me to meet all his little desires, whines for me when he needs something, and has to have lots of quality time with me. But Daelyn . . . Daelyn is his bosom buddy. They fight with each other, they share food, they tease, jump, play, bite, pet, snuggle. You never know from one second to the next if they're playing, fighting, or loving on each other.

Daelyn will dangle his food in front of Donovan's face, then snatch it away just in time. Donovan will jump up and nip his finger. Daelyn will sit on the couch to watch a movie. Donovan sprawls on the floor and takes a nap. I take Daelyn to put him down for his nap; Donovan kennels himself for HIS afternoon nap. When Daelyn gets up, he runs around the house with Donovan chasing him, both of them shrieking with excitement. Just two toddlers enjoying each other.

The problem is, they're always complaining about each other. Daelyn screams that Donovan is jumping up on him. Donovan yelps because Daelyn is teasing him. Several times a day, I'm separating the two of them and sending each of them into their own corners.

Deanna wanted a little sister when I got pregnant with Daelyn. She was sure God was going to give her a sister to spoil and do girl-things with. Instead, we got Daelyn - a VERY boyish boy. Sissy's grieved her lack of females in the house. I work hard at spending quality time with her practicing the feminine arts (such as SHOPPING), but I can't substitute for a baby sister. She treats Daelyn sometimes as if he were her sister. She puts makeup on him and dresses him in her dress-up dresses. He's still young enough that he's willing to play girl-things to spend time with Sissy. But this season won't last forever.

Then we got the puppy. Sissy tries to treat him like a little sister, as well. She wants to hold him all the time and snuggle him. Donovan is extremely snuggly, but only when HE wants to be. He won't be forced to cuddle when he wants to run and play. She gets bitten quite often instead of the snuggling she desires because she tries to force it.

I got a lovebug companion, Dane got his sugar-pup, Daelyn got the brother he wanted and Deanna got another boy in the family. Poor Sissy. Everybody got exactly what they wanted except her. She loves Donovan and is thrilled with him, but he can't replace a little sister. She has to settle for Mom.

Summer's Coming

Today is the first day of the last four weeks of school. The children can wear shorts (a special uniform short with a special shirt, not just any old shorts) this month and during the first month of school - September. It's a nice change for them and me.

Lots of parents choose not to invest in the shorts uniform, but I love it. It gives me a break from HAVING to do wash every third day to be certain the kids have uniforms. If they don't have any clean shorts, they can always wear their regular uniforms.

This time of year is always so busy, it's like walking a tightrope. One wrong move and you fall off. Between end-of-year tests, end-of-year parties, end-of-year recitals . . . there's more than enough to fill every waking moment of most of the sleeping ones, as well.

But it's a fun month, and then we have summer!!! I love the summer - having my children home from school every day, getting to play and do fun things with all of them, planning activities and swimming. We've already booked a lot of the calendar.

In June, we're going to the Outer Banks for a week on vacation. We have a place on Hilton Head Island but, for years, I've been wanting to trade it for something right on the beach. We love our timeshare - it's perfect for us, but it's a good ways from the beach. We plan several beach days while we're there, but it's not quite the same thing as rolling out of bed and running out to the beach. So, I put my request in with our Exchange Company when we realized we couldn't go to Hilton Head this year due to timing. They discouraged me, nearly promising that nothing that met my requirements would be banked. I wanted a 3-bedroom that slept 8 privately right on the beach but not too far a drive from us. I called frequently to check on our request. While the kids and I were in West Virginia visiting Don's folks, he called one night and said RCI had called about 15 times and left messages that they had a match for our vacation request. When I called them, it seemed perfect for us. I was willing to settle for something much less nice than our condo to be on the beach, but I needed accomodations for 8 so we could take Don's parents with us. They found us a 3-bedroom with two queen rooms, one room with 2 twin beds, and a queen sleeper sofa. It's ON THE BEACH and the date was perfect for us. Although it's a bit of a ride, we're excited.

We leave early in June for a week. Once we get home, we have Dane's 7th birthday and we're planning a camping trip for the week after our vacation. Next up is Vacation Bible School at church and I've volunteered to help again this year. That takes care of June.

Deanna's wanting to attend Horse Camp and we want to make another trip to West Virginia. Deanna usually spends a week alone with her grandparents, so we have to try and schedule that, also. The summer's booking up quickly.

But, first, I have to get through May. I just have to remember that there's a light at the end of the tunnel. Summer's coming, and so is vacation.