Pocket Knives and Bugs

Sometime over the last year, I can't quite remember when, the children and I took my mother to visit my brother. He lives in Alabama and works so much we almost never get to see him. Mom tries to get someone to take her to visit at least twice a year, but there are not always drivers available to go for a weekend. This was my chance to take my children to see their cousins, aunt and uncle.

We stayed at my brothers and, as we were preparing for bed the night we arrived, Chuck came into my bedroom.

"Is it okay for me to give Dane a pocket knife, Trish? You know, every little boy needs a good knife. He's old enough now to learn to handle one, but I wanted to check with you first."

The funny thing is that all reason flies out the window when I talk to my brother. He spoiled me rotten as a child. He wanted a little brother and I was his last chance. When I turned out to be a girl, he decided he'd take me, anyway. It helped that I was a tomboy and lived outside. I liked nothing better than to go with him on a long motorcycle ride (he's 7 years older than me) or to roll on a creeper under the car and hand him tools and talk his ears off while he worked on Dad's car. (He took over all the repairs for the family vehicles by the time he was about 14 - he's a mechanical genius.) His buddies would give him a little bit of a hard time when he showed up to meet them with me hanging onto the back of his bike. But he could silence them with a look and he always made me feel wanted. Later, after he left home and was living up north, he started racing motorcycles. He was #2 in the Nation in Amateur Road Racing. On his way to any races in the southeast, he'd stop and pick me up. I worked on his pit crew and got to spend time with him. I've joked for years that if he ever fell off the pedestal I have him on, he'd kill himself, it's so high.

To add to the confusion, I always had a pocket knife as a child - a Swiss Army knife. It had the spoon, fork, bottle opener, etc. on it and I kept it in my pocket at all times. And I used it, almost daily. It worked great at cutting the bad spots off an apple that had just fallen out of our tree so I could eat it while swinging on the tree swing Daddy made. I used the scissors to cut down dandelions in the yard. Even now, I have a small Swiss Army Knife on my keychain that I use FREQUENTLY. So, when Chuckie suggested giving a 6-yr. old a SHARP knife to be kept in his pocket at all times, of course I willingly agreed. I thought he'd wait until the next morning (maybe by then I'd regain my senses), but he went into the bedroom where Dane was curled up in a sleeping bag, asked him to join him in the hallway, and gave him a beautiful stainless pocket knife. Dane was so excited that he put it under his pillow while he slept.

It took less than 12 hours for him to get it taken away from him. We were getting ready to go out and I had loaded the children in the van. I found Dane with a pile of tiny strips of leaves in his lap that he had cut with his knife. His instructions were that he could only use the knife or scissors with permission, which he didn't have. It got taken away for 24 hours. By the time he got it back, we were on our way home.

Dane couldn't wait to show his Dad his new treasure. Daddy glanced at me with raised eyebrows. I looked sheepish and shrugged. He knows how I feel about my brother. But, the next day, when Dane left for school, Daelyn got ahold of his knife and we haven't seen it since. We've searched the house, torn it apart, looking for this special knife from Dane's uncle. But it's nowhere to be found. For Dane's birthday this year, his Daddy gave him a replacement. It's not near as nice as the one Uncle Chuckie gave him, but he was thrilled to have a new knife. (Don says this is not a two-word expression. He is constantly telling me "It's not a jack-knife. It's just a knife." He's wrong. You can't refer to this kind of a knife without two words - it's either a pocket knife or a jack-knife."

Last night, as I was tucking the boys in, I found one of Dane's nicer outfits folded neatly on the bottom of his bed. I quizzed him about it and he explained that he wanted to dress as soon as he woke up. This is very unusual for my children. They usually stay in their pajamas as long as possible, like their mother. When I explored further, he explained that he needed pockets so he could carry his POCKET KNIFE (see - two words!).

This morning, after breakfast, Dane asked permission to "cut some things" with his knife. I had visions of shredded pieces of paper all over the den or leaves all over the van. "Cut what and where?" I asked.

"You know, stuff," he replied, then added, "out in the woods."

We have a little stand of trees in the corner of our yard. It's about 6 trees and the area is full of underbrush and sticker bushes. The children call this "the forest" or "the woods". Thankfully, he was wanting to use his knife outside. I was thrilled. Not only would he make a mess someplace other than the house, but he might even cut down some of the underbrush. The added benefit is getting the boys outside, which they've barely seen since the thermometer hit 100.

"Yes, that's a great idea. Lets' review our safety rules."

Dane rattled them all off, then ran out to "cut", with Daelyn close behind. He was gone a whole five minutes when he came running in, screaming. My heart stopped a beat. I expected to see a finger hanging by a hunk of skin, nice outfit all bloodied. Instead, he appeared with red splotches and said he was getting eaten alive by mosquitoes and wanted bug spray. I gladly sprayed him and Daelyn and sent them back out.

Big sigh. It only lasted about 2 minutes the second time. The bugs are still biting, despite the bug spray. Suddenly, cutting doesn't seem to interest Dane so much.

I need to get better bug spray or come up with some other solution if I want to keep the house clean for our dinner guests on Wednesday. Until we can get to the store, I think the solution is to get the children involved CLEANING. Dane may decide he doesn't mind the bugs so much, after all.

Air Time

My son, the Pilot. You may remember from a year ago that my parents take each of their grandchildren for a flight in a small plane for their 7th birthday. Deanna's was a year late, due to bad weather conditions and some confusion. It didn't matter, however, when the pilot let her land the plane unaided. Dane's happened like clockwork, the day of his birthday. We took him to Chuck E. Cheese for lunch and went straight from there to the airport. On the way, Daelyn pointed out the airport and referred to it as "Sissy's airport". Dane corrected him and told him it would be "my airport soon". He had no sooner made that remark than we pulled up at the airport, Grandma and Grandpa pulled in next to us on one side and my niece on the other. It didn't take him too long to figure out that was his day.

Here he is - at the controls, while the pilot did the pre-flight check. The legs in the back are Grandma and Grandpa. Dane got to try his hand flying the plane while in the air. Unfortunately, he didn't get to try a landing. I guess the pilot thought he was just a little too small. But he was undaunted. He had a wonderful time, as is evidenced by the look on his face.

Altered States

Donovan got altered yesterday. Our Contract with the Breeder stated that he would be neutered by 6 months of age. We got permission from her to wait until 7 months, per our Vet's request, so he'd develop more of his masculine traits before losing his masculinity. We later discovered one of his testicles had never descended and was imbedded in his thigh. The Vet explained that he would HAVE to be neutered, even if it hadn't been in the Contract, but the surgery would be much more extensive and require stitches and limitations of activity for 5 to 10 days afterward.

The day was at hand. We took him to the Clinic in the morning and stayed with him until after he had his pre-op sedative and was getting very drowsy. Then we kissed him, said goodbye, and let them take him to the back. Deanna cried. I gulped hard.

In the afternoon, I was missing him terribly and got to thinking about this keeping him overnight business. Everybody goes home at the Vet's at 5:30-ish, so who was going to be there to monitor my baby. If something happened to him, no one would even know until the next morning. I began to feel panic rising in me.

I called the Vet's office and asked for the Office Manager who's been with this doctor for about 20 years and is a very compassionate young woman. I explained that I realized I was hysterical but that in my altered mind, I couldn't quite figure out why he needed to be there alone overnight. She laughed and said that he didn't need monitoring - that was why they operated in the morning, giving him all afternoon to be monitored by the doctor - he just needed lots of good rest. She put me on hold and discussed it with the doctor. Within a half an hour, we were back at the Vet's, signing a release of liability so we could bring our baby home for the night.

Deanna was going to her Aunt's to spend the night but chose to have her Aunt wait, if necessary, so she could go with us and see the puppy before she left. He was pretty pitiful - very groggy, although excited to see us, and droopy-eyed, with big stitches and betadine on his underside. We promised the doctor to kennel him for the remainder of the evening and night. So much for my promise.

After listening to him crying and whining in the kennel for 3 hours and consoling Dane, who was crying because he couldn't stand listening to the puppy cry, I asked Don to tend to the children and I put Donovan on my lap in the Den. He curled up and fell fast asleep, and there he stayed for 3 hours. At bedtime, I gently laid him next to my bed, where he sleeps, then went down the hall to check on the children (my bedtime routine). I turned around to find him following slowly behind me. He stood outside the boy's room as I checked on them and straightened their covers. Then he padded along behind me to my bathroom and laid on the bathmat while I changed into jammies.

A little insecure still, he wanted to be on the bed with me. I carefully tucked him between my body and Don's, where he contentedly lay for a couple of hours. Then he got restless, so I put him back on the floor where he slept soundly until around 7:00, when I woke. I put him up on the bed with me and we snuggled a while, then each of the boys had some snuggle time with him. By the time we were up and about, he was stepping high and wagging his tail, obviously feeling better. All day today, Dane has talked gently to him and discussed his surgery with him. Deanna made it home from her Aunt's and, first thing, asked how the baby was doing. She proceeded to tuck him in her arms and talk baby-talk to him. At one point, I asked her why she was talking like that to him and she answered simply, "Because he's a baby."

I am thoroughly convinced that Daelyn has been replaced as the baby of the family. There's a line in the movie, "The Little Mermaid" where Ariel kids Flounder by telling him "You're such a guppy!" Everytime I look at Donovan dragging himself pitifully around, whimpering for someone to hand him his toy, or hear the children cooing gently at him, I think about this line. He may be a dog, but he's sure a guppy.

He's not allowed to climb stairs yet, so I have to carry him out into the yard to do his business. Neither Dane nor Daelyn can handle him without the chance of dropping him, so I attach his leash and carry him down the stairs. I leave him with one of the boys holding the leash, then return in a few minutes to carry him up the stairs. He doesn't even attempt them. He's perfectly happy with Mommy toting him about.

We've all been a little altered by this experience. Daelyn's position in the family has been altered, my good sense has been altered, Don's familiar spot in the bed has been altered, Dane's ability to take the puppy for walks and play with his best friend has been altered, Deanna's favorite doll has been altered, and Donovan, poor Donovan, has had his parts altered.

All in a day's work - with a little pain medicine to help the process.

Motor-mouth

One of my nephews came home to visit this weekend. Well, really, to say goodbye. He's leaving Wednesday for a backpacking trip. He quit his job and is spending two to three months bumming around South America. He plans on staying at Hostels or in homes, if invited, and seeing that part of the world. I wish I had had the chance to do something like that, but the pressures of need (need food, need a car, need a roof over my head) far outweighed my desire for adventure. I commend him for his decision and am thrilled he's getting this opportunity.

He spent a good bit of time with my parents. We made plans to go out to dinner Saturday night as a family. Then Grandma told the children that he and his girlfriend were coming over around 2:00 Saturday afternoon to play cards. The children begged permission to join them. I called Grandma to check and see if it was okay, then sent them through the backyards.

I was doing some work later on the computer when Daelyn returned, red-faced and out of breath. He had run home in the heat from Grandma's house. He dropped at my feet for a short rest, then began talking. He finally paused, thought for a minute or two, then blurted out, "Grandma's so old she's almost dead."

I stifled a laugh. Pretending shock, I raised my voice, "Son! How could you say such a thing. She is getting older but she has a lot of life still left in her."

He continued. "Well, if she's gonna die anyway, let's just get it over with."

He should have stopped before he dug his hole deeper. This time, not needing to feign shock, I looked at him over the top of my glasses. I took a long breath myself before jumping into this one.

"Do you have any idea what that means?"

"No. It just sounded good."

"Then absolutely DON'T say it. Never say anything unless you understand what it means, son."

"What DOES it mean, then?"

"It means you want your Grandma to hurry up and die."

For the first time, possibly ever, he was stumped. The reality of his own words sunk in and as the thought of life without Grandma finally became clear, his eyes got big around and his mouth dropped open - - silently open. He was amazingly quiet for several minutes, then decided he wanted to go back to Grandma's house. He gently told me he was returning and took off out the door.

Life without Grandma will happen at some point in the future. It's not something we look for or even dare to think about. My little one had blundered into something that he probably heard on Gunsmoke or Magnum PI and repeated at the first opportunity. But even he realized it was a blunder.

There was nothing more said about this subject. Later, I repeated the first part of it to my Mom who told me he had also told on Grandpa. My father was diagnosed last week with Shingles and is in quite a bit of pain. Daelyn, while visiting on Saturday, told Grandpa to stop scratching, that he wasn't allowed to scratch, then ran to report to Grandma.

If he keeps this up, he may be on the plane to South America with James on Wednesday. I'm sure Grandma and Grandpa will pitch in on the fare.

How "little" are they?

Last night, Don snuggled up to me in bed. I had already put on my CPAP breathing machine (for sleep apnea) and was lying on my side turned away from him. He put his mouth close to my ear and whispered, "What service are we going to tomorrow?" My husband, the romantic.

We decided to try the early service, which starts at 7:45 a.m. We used to attend this service regularly when Deanna was a baby, as she was always up early and it didn't interfere with morning or afternoon naps. But back then, the service was at 8:00. It got changed to 7:45 when they added a third service at 11:30 a.m.

We live 20 minutes from our church, so to arrive on time for a 7:45 service means getting up early-thirty, getting the children fed, dressed, Deanna's hair done, shoes on the boys feet, and ourselves bathed/showered and dressed. For years, we've considered it impossible and have not even attempted the early-morning ritual. But we went to the 8:00 service when visiting Don's parents last week in West Virginia and are having friends over this afternoon for a game of cards and an early dinner. The early service seemed to be the best option.

This morning, we dressed quickly, I threw on some make-up, and we headed out the door. We were about 3 minutes late getting out of the driveway. We had traveled only about 2 blocks when we realized one of the children had left a chocolate pop-tart on the edge of the kitchen table, well within Donovan's reach. As most of you know, chocolate is toxic to dogs, so we turned around and headed home. Pulling out of the driveway the second time, we were running about 10 minutes late. Don commented that we'd be lucky to arrive before the sermon. The early service has no hymns, no bells, no whistles. The Priest processes in with the cross in silence, the scriptures are read, the Psalm said, then the Sermon starts.

We were driving as quickly as the speed limit would allow.

Daelyn: "Wow, we're really flying!"

Daddy: "Well, we're not flying too fast. We have to be careful. There's usually two little police cars that sit right ahead on this road watching for people speeding."

Daelyn: "How little are the police cars?"

Dane: "A lot smaller than our van."

Daelyn: "Why don't we just run over them with the van, Daddy?"

Don and I glanced at each other and grinned. Great way to not draw attention to yourselves when we're late for church.

We arrived just at the end of the Gospel, in time for the sermon. No speeding tickets, no crushed "little" police cars. Just a slightly disheveled family smiling radiantly as we slipped into our pew.

Order Restored

We picked Deanna up yesterday near the border of Virginia and West Virginia. It was a 4-hr. drive each way, so I rented movies for the children to watch in the van. We took pecans for Grandma and Grandpa, they brought bell peppers from their garden for me.

Last night, she was determined to bring peace back into our home. She was very frustrated with her brothers. The problem was, she thought the best way to do that was to be a second mama. She bossed, fussed at, and tried to discipline. Don and I finally talked with her and explained that the boys didn't need another mother, they needed their sissy.

This morning, she slept in, then got up and encouraged the boys to get their Saturday chores done. Don and I had been encouraging, but it didn't matter. Sissy dangled in front of their noses that they could do something fun once their chores were done. The idea of doing something fun with their sissy was enough to motivate them.

Deanna's laying on the floor in the Den now. The boys are also prone and, in the middle, is a huge pile of Geomags. Dane got them for Christmas last year and they've never piqued his interest - until this morning. Daelyn wants Deanna to make the Leaning Tower of Pizza (except I explained that a recent engineering study indicated that the tower in Pisa is actually leaning more each year, so the children have decided to change its name to the Falling Tower of Pizza). They've made amphitheaters, pyramids, wheels, and lots of other interesting things this morning. No one has asked to watch morning cartoons. No one has complained that there's nothing to do. No one's destroying the Play Room.

As I type and Donovan sleeps under my chair, Don clips coupons on the loveseat and we listen to the children chattering happily.

Sissy is home. All is well with the world.

Non-Stop Commentary

I was just checking out my Post from earlier to make sure the picture downloaded correctly. Daelyn is standing at my shoulder looking at the picture of me parasailing.

Daelyn: "Oh, look, a hot air balloon."

Me: "That's not a hot air balloon. It's me, when I was parasailing. See that little spot at the bottom of the parachute. That's me."

Daelyn: "Turn the picture around so I can see the boat." (He's been watching over my shoulder as I do 3-D photo tours of hotels - we're shopping for a place to stay for our anniversary.)

Me: "You can't turn the picture around, son. That's the picture, just like that."

Daelyn: "Why did the sign say 'Alligator Crossing'? There was no water there."

Me: ? No need to respond. I have no idea what he's talking about. Does the child ever follow a single train of thought? I wonder.

Daelyn, completely undeterred by my lack of response: "See this little thing on my finger? It hurts." He presses one thumb up against the other until it turns white and jams it so close to my face I can touch it with my tongue."

Me, laughing: "I can't see anything. It's way too small."

Daelyn: "I have to go to the bathroom."

He's down the hall in the halfbath now, talking non-stop. But he doesn't seem to expect a response from me, which is just fine since I'm busily typing. NONSTOP!! He's talked the entire time I've been writing. Don's concerned about Kindergarten. Thankfully, we have one more year to try to curb the constant chatter.

Ah, the boys too much like his mother.

Close to God

This is me - can't you tell? I was parasailing at the time. At this point, I was high enough up that you can barely see the parachute, let alone me.

Deanna took this picture from the boat. I was taking pictures from the air with a waterproof disposable camera Don bought for me. My pictures show the boat progressively getting smaller and smaller. While I was in the air, the only way I could tell how high I had gotten was by the size of the boat. At this point, I was probably around 800 feet up.

If I had known then what I know now, I would have taken Deanna up with me. She loves to go high on swings and this would be the ultimate high swing ride. Hopefully, there'll be other opportunities.

On another note, my precious baby girl has almost finished her week with Grandma and Grandpa and I can't wait for her to get home. We're picking her up tomorrow at a half-way point.

When Deanna was born, people kept telling me that since my first child was a girl, I would always have peace in my home. I didn't quite get that, but I heard it from, literally, dozens of people. As Deanna gets older and becomes the big sister in practical ways, I notice it more and more. Often, by her absence, like this week. The boys have been intolerable - disobedient, belligerent, basically stinkers. Yesterday, Daelyn called me a "dumb Mommy" and Dane threw a toy car at me when I told him it was bathtime (for which they were both disciplined - I exercised amazing restraint by only sending them to their rooms). They never act like this when Sissy's home. She has a way of weaving them into her activities without them even realizing. She keeps them occupied and entertained in ways they can't think of on their own.

Come home, Sis, while you still have brothers. If we have to wait too much longer, their health may be in danger!

As promised,

the bizarre spaceship. You just never know what you might see while at the Beach.

Try as I might . . .

. . . I just can't seem to get the picture downloaded that I chose for today's post. It's well worth a second try, so I think I'll go at it again tomorrow.

To wet your appetite, as we were driving down the road in the Outer Banks, we saw a space ship on the side of the road with aliens looking out the windows.

Don't you want to check it out tomorrow? See you then.

Tunnels, Bridges and Puppies

We just returned from a week-long visit to Don's parents in West Virginia. While there, we twice biked the Rail Trail, a 77-mile stretch of land that used to be a railroad line, but the rails have been removed and it's now a wonderful walking or biking path. Above are a few photos. There are several tunnels along the Trail. One day, Don and the kids biked one direction on it for 7 miles and went through 2 tunnels. Later in the week, they biked another direction and went through 3 tunnels, one of which is pictured, while Grandma, Grandpa, Donovan and I walked a couple of the miles.

The boys finished the ride exhausted but happy, as did Donovan. Grandpa helped load the bikes back on the van while all the bikeriders enjoyed a rest and some drink boxes and water.

Hope you enjoy the pictures. The Rail Trail was beautiful and the week with Grandma and Grandpa wonderful. We left Deanna with them for this coming week and will pick her up at a halfway point next Friday. I'll write a little more about our trip on Monday. Have a good weekend.

Top Bunk Snugglers

Daelyn slept in the top bunk with his brother last night. It all started two nights ago when I washed the sheets and Dane decided he wanted his old jersey cowboy sheets on his bed instead of his cotton car sheets. Daelyn wanted the cowboy sheets, too, and cried for a couple of hours. Dane, in an attempt to pacify his brother, suggested that they sleep together in Dane's bed so they could both sleep on the cowboy sheets.

They came to me and asked permission. I quickly said no, scared that the top bunk was way too high for Daelyn. Then Dane began to reason with me.

"But, Mama, I can put him up against the wall and I'll sleep next to the rail. That way, he can't fall off. He'd have to climb over top of me AND the rail."

This made good sense, so I agreed. Daddy questioned my decision, but he finally agreed, also, deferring to me, even though he had his doubts.

So, last night, for the second night in a row, the boys slept together. I went in late to tuck them in and couldn't find Daelyn, so I pulled off my slippers, climbed the ladder and knelt on the top bunk. Dane had put a pillow against the wall to cushion his little brother and the baby was tucked in between the pillow and his brother who, himself, was pretty close to the wall. They had their arms wrapped around each other in an embrace and I almost cried at how sweet the scene was.

My precious babies. They're so good to each other (when they're not hitting and kicking each other). Yesterday, we had my niece to dinner and the boys were telling her about their first night together on the top bunk.

"Daddy said we could do it!" they excitedly told Meme. Hmph! I could have sworn it was my decision and Daddy still wasn't sure about it. But it's okay with me if he gets credit. As long as the boys keep looking out for each other.

The Tongue with Four Legs

Donovan is a snuggler. In the morning, he puts his front paws up on my bed and I pull him up. He curls up next to me on his back with his paws in the air and licks until he falls back asleep. This morning, we dozed for 45 minutes snuggled together before Daelyn decided he needed to be in that position and pushed his way inbetween me and Donovan.

Last weekend, my brother visited from Alabama. He asked to meet Donovan so, before he left town, they stopped over here. We trotted the pup out to meet the relatives. Chuckie seemed suitably impressed, and gave Donovan his new, extremely appropriate nickname. "He's just a big tongue with four legs!"

Down the Hatch

The restaurant where we had dinner Saturday night is called "Dante's Down the Hatch". About 16 years ago, I went to a Dante's in another part of Atlanta and had a wonderful experience, so I suggested it to Don. He looked it up on line and found this one in Buckhead. The entrance was behind a lovely mansion (at first we thought the house was the restaurant, but then noticed a sign that said Dante's was around the back). There was a boardwalk leading around a curvy path, past an old wooden building with wooden barrels out front, past a crocodile grave, and into a dark, wooden room. The restaurant is an 1880's ship anchored in a port. The wharf is teeming with businesses and most had open-air dining and wax period people hanging out the windows and standing on balconies. The entire wharf-area was part of the restaurant. We walked on the wooden wharf through the little village with live crocodiles and turtles swimming in the moat beneath us. At first, we thought they were fake, finding it just too shocking that they would have live crocodiles in the restaurant. Then Don noticed several warming lights over what appeared to be nesting areas with ramps going down to the water and we looked closer, only to have one of the smaller crocs wink at me. A waiter later explained that they're Dante's pets and they have a handler that comes in every morning to feed them fresh meat.

As we walked past the bow of the massive ship around the wharf, I was struck by how authentic the surroundings were. We were seated on the ship which had 3 or 4 stories, cut out in the center, with a grand piano in the middle on the bottom floor. A classical pianist played until 7:00, when the Jazz Combo took over. The music was excellent and the entire restaurant was lit by candles on the tables, track lighting on the wharf and steps, and lighthouses blinking to other ships still out at sea. The ship was complete with rails, sails, tack, men hanging from ropes, a ship's wheel, and other paraphenalia. The tables were small and cozy and each one had its own personality.

The restaurant serves fondue. We began with an appetizer portion of cheese fondue into which we dipped french and honey nut bread and apples. Next our meat and vegetable trays were delivered. Two pots had been placed on our table when our appetizer arrived - one with denatured alcohol for the cheese fondue, another of the same to heat up our cooking oil in the second pot. We ordered chicken and an Oriental mix of battered jumbo shrimp, garlic pork, marinaded beef and ginger chicken. Each order came with mushrooms and squash and 4 types of dipping sauce. Although cooking was a slow process, each person had been given 2 fondue forks and we had as many cooking at a time as we could fit in the pot. Deanna leaned back, tipped her head onto the back on the seat, closed her eyes and enjoyed the music. The boys stayed occupied between bites looking at all the cool stuff in the restaurant.

Before we knew it, two hours had passed and we were having a wonderful time. The only thing that could have made it better would have been a dance floor, although I'm not sure I could have talked Don into dancing. At one point, we went looking for the bathrooms, which were down a flight of stairs off the wharf. At the bottom was an elderly black man in a bow tie and short white jacket (the bathroom attendant). The area in front of the bathrooms was a replica of a 1920's 2-seater barber shop, complete with the pole, tools, and mirrors. There also was an old manual elevator which was turned into a phone booth and contained an old wooden phone. The whole thing was enchanting. Inside the Ladies' Room, there was a wall of glass that was dark. While we were washing our hands, a light came on behind the glass and a wax body began talking to us. It was quite interesting.

On the wall where our quaint little tables was located was an authentic advertisement for an Auction that was held in the 1880's in a small harbor town in England. A ship had been run aground by pirates who tampered with the lighthouse. The ship parts were being auctioned off, one by one. The boys thought this was amazing - pirates!!

Just as we were finishing up dinner, the owner, Dante, visited our table. It seems he makes the rounds each evening. We had a nice chat with a very southern gentleman, then paid the crocs another visit before stumbling out into the daylight for our walk back to the train station.

The train ride alone would have made the evening memorable, but the restaurant is something the older two will never forget. It was a wonderful night and the children were profusely thankful. Over and over again they thanked their father for doing the research, finding the restaurant, and planning this great family adventure.

When Don and I were first married, I was always the one planning adventures. It seems the shoe has shifted now and Daddy is just as interested in making our children's lives memorable and fun. Saturday proved it once again. I'm sure there'll be many more adventures in our lives like Saturday, but this is definately one for the old diary.

Our Weekend Adventure

We sure had a wonderful adventure Saturday night. My parents were leaving for Canada and needed a ride to the airport 3 hours away. Since their flight was leaving on a weekend, it seemed like a good opportunity for Don and I to drive them. Most of the time, when they go on Mission trips, they fly out during the week and it's just not possible for us to drive them. Plus, it gave my siblings, their children and spouses a bit of a break.

The problem, of course, is that 3 hours one way means 6 hours round trip and that's a hefty drive for the children without something fun to do inbetween. We thought this would give us a wonderful opportunity to spend some time with my nephew who lives in Atlanta. We called him and found out he was coming home this weekend - a very rare occurrence. So that flew out the window.

We did all kinds of research on the Internet. We looked over just about every possibility of things to do. We considered the new Georgia Aquarium, Stone Mountain, Six Flags, Olympic Park ... In the end, Don decided we would just drive up, have dinner at a fun restaurant, and drive home. Their flight didn't leave until 5:30, which meant that paying for anything would be somewhat of a waste, since the day would be practically over before we arrived. But Don, who always has a heart to do fun things that will interest the children, did more leg-work than I knew about.

We took Grandma and Grandpa, got them checked in, said our good-bye's, went to the bathroom, asked directions, then loaded back up in the van and drove a couple of miles to College Park, a suburb of Atlanta. We parked the van at the Marta station in the free daily parking lot, bought tickets, and waited for our train. The train ride took 1/2 an hour and we disembarked at Lenox Mall in Buckhead, a very nice, ritzy part of the city. We walked through the Mall, out the other side, across the street and into the restaurant. On the way home, we walked half a block to a different station and caught our train back to College Park. I had rented a movie from the video store for the children, so we loaded up, I gave them popcorn that I had popped before we left, and put on the old version of "Yours, Mine and Ours" - the one with Henry Fonda and Lucille Ball. Don and I got a chance to talk while the children munched their popcorn and watched a movie. Daelyn fell asleep immediately and Dane didn't make it to the end of the movie.

The kids loved the train ride, the whole experience of the subway system and buying tickets, and watching on the platform for the train. We got so excited when we saw the train coming that we jumped on and forgot to check the destination. Sure enough, we were on the wrong train. Don got off at the next stop and talked to the Train Operator who gave us directions on how to rectify the problem. After he got back on, two young men on the train recommended a different way that seemed to make better sense. I told Don and he said that they road the subway a lot more than us, and we ought to try their way. We felt like a bunch of country-bumpkins, but that didn't even deter our excitement and sense of adventure. We just got to take another train.

I was amazed at how helpful people were. You could sure tell we were in the south and not D.C. or N.Y. I've traveled the subway in big cities before and no one speaks or even makes eye contact. Saturday, we had several experiences of being confused and discussing it with each other when a passer-by would overhear, stop, and offer advice. We were so blessed. It happened with every question we had. And in almost every case, we didn't ask anyone, they just heard us and volunteered the information. After making our return train trip, we got off at the College Park station, exited, and couldn't find our car. In fact, the exit didn't look like where we had entered and the parking lot was totally unfamiliar. We walked back to the exit and checked the name of the station to be sure we were at the right place. Yep, it was College Park. Don said he thought we must have walked out the wrong side of the station, but you couldn't get back through the turnstiles to cross over without purchasing more tickets. We were discussing whether or not there was any other way to cross over the tracks when a gentlemen, some ways away from us, called to us and asked if we had lost our car. We responded affirmatively. He walked over to us and told us that was a frequent problem and we could get the Marta attendant to let us back through so we could exit on the other side. He reassured us that we shouldn't be embarrassed, that it happened to even frequent travelers. You get mixed up and forget where you parked, he explained. We thanked him for his help, then sought out the attendant and got access to the other side. Like he had told us, it was no big deal. And everything on that side looked right. We quickly found our van.

I was amazed at how helpful people were. And everyone who helped us was African-American. There was no race barrier, just friendly southerners helping other southerners in need. It was such a blessing from the Lord and an amazing experience.

Since Deanna's "adventure" where we got lost in the woods returning from a funeral, she's been very reluctant to take adventures. She was a little nervous about the train and commented that it would be just our luck that the train would break down. This trip even restored her excitement about adventures and I think she'll face them in the future with a willing heart.

A Time to Bid Farewell

My parents are leaving tomorrow to go to Canada for a visit. My mother's only brother has been battling some form of cancer for the last couple of months. It's been hard to get details. Between the Socialized medicine and his unwillingness to pass along bad news, the picture changes with each conversation.

A couple of weeks ago, Mom heard from her nephew (himself in his late 50's or early 60's) that he had gone to visit Uncle Stevie. When he asked my Uncle how he was doing, he replied, "Not bad, considering the doctors only gave me 6 - 8 months to live a couple of months ago."

This installment of news was shocking and was the first really clear report we'd gotten. Apparently, he's in much worse shape that he had led us to believe. Couple that with the fact that his wife has terminal cancer and, in addition, is fighting radiation sickness from her attempts at battling the cancer, and things are in a rough spot up there.

My mother called her only surviving sister to discuss the situation. Her sister explained that she had her own hands full - the doctors think she has cancer, as well, but she was on the waiting list for some diagnostic tests to determine whether or not she does. She said until she could get the tests done, which can take months in Canada, she wouldn't know for sure.

Mama is facing the reality that she may outlive her last two remaining siblings. It's unbelieveable to think of losing your entire family, but she already has lost all but these two. They were 7 children and now even the spouses are deceased. She has two remaining brother-in-laws, one who is estranged and the other who we never get to see. Then, her sister-in-law, younger sister, and baby brother. There WERE 14 of them. That number has now dwindled to 7, including both my parents, and 3 of those 7 are fighting cancer.

So Mama goes home to see her only brother for the last time. Home becomes less homey with every visit. Life has been stripped away. There comes a time when it's best to not return to places from our past, to visit them only in our memories. I feel that way when I go to Canada and walk down the street past my Grandmother's house. It held so much life for our family. Now, it belongs to someone else and I'm just a pedestrian on the street, a stranger to these people. The house has forgotten me and the life and love I felt there only exist inside me.

A sorrowful day today.

Late Spring Cleaning

I'm taking a break from the toy room. I'm determined to bring some order and peace to our home this summer. I'm sorting every cabinet, every closet, every space and getting RID of things. So far I've filled two tall garbage bags with trash from the toy room, another to donate to Good Will, another for the Salvation Army and one to go in the attic for our yard sale. I still have lots more to accomplish, but the floor is totally cleaned off as are the wire mesh shelves. I've started going through all the bins and am cleaning them out, but don't think I'll finish it all today. I've decided that if I get rid of even 1/3 of their toys now, I can go back through a stream-lined version after school starts and get rid of more. By then, I'll have a good idea what of the items left the children really play with.

Truth is, there's plenty of things they won't play with that I can't bring myself to get rid of. Either they're toys that they've spent many hours with in the past or they're items like Geomags that I invested lots of money in and want the children to get interested in, even if they aren't just yet. I'm hoping that if I get the room sufficiently neatened, there will be space in there for the children to play with the toys they have. I talked with Dane today about getting rid of his train set and train table (which he never even touches). He said he'd like to hang onto the table so he can use it to do puzzles and play games on. Makes good sense to me. We'll see if it actually happens.

At this point in Dane and Deanna's life, they never really play with toys. Dane does like puzzles, so I'm keeping those, but the majority of the toys I'm keeping for Daelyn's benefit. And how many things can one little 4-yr. old play with at one time?

It felt great today to throw away a big bag of toys that were broken or cheap. It'll feel even better to drop off several big bags at the Salvation Army.

Once I finish the toy room, I have to tackle the clothes the children have outgrown that are accumulating on the counter in the laundry room. Order. Peace. Simplicity. Hope. The stuff of dreams!

My Little Horsewoman

Today was the first day of Horse Camp. I had trouble sleeping last night. I was very concerned for Deanna.

She's only nine, after all. And she's never been involved in any activity other than church-related or school-related. She's NEVER gone into a group environment where she knows no one (other than Vacation Bible School at Grandma and Grandpa Doughty's). Here, she was a newcomer, never having done Horse Camp before. She's an extreme novice rider, only having been on a horse twice before. I was concerned that she'd either get left out or overhear inappropriate talk or witness inappropriate behavior.

She had trouble sleeping, as well. Before I put her to bed last night, we talked about how important it was that she turn to the Lord if she encountered difficulties today. We talked about the importance of not being like everyone else, working hard at being who God wanted her to be. At 2:00 a.m., she was out of bed going to the bathroom.

That wasn't our first interruption last night, nor our last. Daelyn climbed into bed between Don and me at 1:00, having had a nightmare. It took some talking to calm him down and get him back in his own bed. Then, Deanna at 2:00. At 3:00, Donovan began to whine. He needed to go out - pretty unusual during the night for him, but he's not been feeling well, eating poorly, and his body's a little off schedule. Then he had trouble settling back down again and wanted in the bed with me. He succeeded at keeping we awake for an hour. At 6:00, my alarm went off and it was time to start the day.

I called Don at work after dropping her off and signing her in. I hung around for a few minutes until the morning briefing began and she seemed peaceful. Then we had some errands to run. I dialed Don's number on my cell phone and reported that she was there.

"Please pray, honey," I begged. "I'm so worried about her."

"I have been, all morning. But I'll continue to," he answered.

It was pins and needles all afternoon until we finally went to pick her up. Camp starts at 7:30 and ends at 4:30 - a very long day. When we arrived, she was outside playing a game but ran to me once she spotted us and told me to sign her out. It was hard to judge from her countenance what had happened. I couldn't wait to get to the privacy of the van.

"So - - - what happened? Did you have fun? Did you make any friends? Did you have a good day? Did you get to ride George?"

The short of it is that she DID get to ride the horse she wanted, George, and will have him for the rest of the week. He acted up a little for her and refused to weave through the barrels like he was supposed to. But she plans on setting him straight. She found two Christian girls in her class, but there is one girl who pretend cries a lot whenever she wants something and doesn't think she's going to get her way and another older girl that was mean to the girl that whines. Deanna defended her and told the older girl that she should be looking out for the younger ones, not being mean to them. Go, Deanna!


I asked if she wants to go back tomorrow. She tipped her chin down and looked up at me with a slight grin.

"Mama, what do you think?"

When asked if she wants to return next year, the answer was affirmative. She better start saving for it now.

All told, my daughter handled herself quite maturely and had a wonderful time. When our friend, Ken, came for dinner tonight and asked Deanna about Camp, I explained that she's decided to start GIVING lessons next week, now that she's an expert and all. Deanna smiled from ear to ear.

It's still only the first day of a long, hot week, but the rest promises to be even more fun. Wednesday they start trail rides and Thursday they get to wash the horses.

I asked her if she had to muck out the stables today, something I was very concerned about. I wasn't wild about paying a fortune so my daughter could perform slave labor. She laughed and said that mucking out the stables consisted of standing around while the paid employees did the work, watching so they could learn the concept. She didn't seem too concerned that she may be mucking tomorrow.

All part of a horsewoman's life.

Daelyn Acting Out

This morning, while the children were eating breakfast, Dane started crying and told me that Daelyn had punched him in the chest three times. For a season, we seemed to have Daelyn's violent tendencies and his hitting, punching, kicking, biting ... under control. But things have gotten worse again so it was time to clamp back down on the discipline.

When we were spanking for each hitting offense, I began to get an uneasiness in my spirit. Somehow, it didn't seem right to discipline hitting with spanking. Don and I decided to try time-out's. We have two high stools in the kitchen, so I'd pull one out into the middle of the kitchen floor, away from anything that possibly could become a toy, and Daelyn would have to sit silently for the number of minutes of his age.

This morning, the time-out stool came back out. Daelyn started shrieking as soon as he saw me pull the stool out.

"Not the time-out stool!!!" he screamed. "I'm not sitting on that!! Not the time-out stool, Mama."

You would have thought I had just opened the door to a torture chamber. As he shrieked and grabbed the back of the stool, shaking it in anger and frustration, I set the timer for 4 minutes - one more than the last time he experienced a time-out. I finally told him that if he didn't stop mistreating the furniture, he would be spanked. He settled down to his 4 minute punishment.

But, oh, can he find things to complain about. He's supposed to be silent - the real challenge to time-out stool - but he needed a Kleenex because the crying got the nose started running. Then he needed the trash can for the soiled Kleenex. Pretty soon, Sissy was silently wandering around the kitchen bringing him the big kitchen trash can and placing a box of Kleenex on his stool. She put her finger to her lips, cautioning him not to speak, but smiled at him in reassurance.

The timer went off. Daelyn started to climb down and hit his ribs on the seat. He began wailing again. Dane ran to him and cuddled him, then walked him back to the breakfast table, Daelyn still crying.

"Do you want me to give you a Noogey?" Dane asked Daelyn. Daelyn frowned at his brother and yelled, "No!"

"Then how about I give myself a Noogey?" Dane proceeded to rub the top of his head hard with his fist. Daelyn started to laugh.

I watched all of this from my seat at the table. You sure can tell Daelyn is the baby of the family. He punched his brother in the chest, not once or twice, but three times and now Dane is giving himself noogeys to cheer up the little culprit. True love.

Love sure is patient and kind. And children seem to be able to express it in its purest sense.

The Limits of my Creativity

Did my Post from yesterday throw you a little for a loop? Everyday, Daelyn drives me crazy at naptime. He insists on a made-up story. For a while, I read him a story each day, but he prefers the ones I tell him "with your mouth". My brain is a little fuzzy from trying to come up with a new and interesting story.

I've developed somewhat of a formula. The characters are always named after my children and the storyline usually involves one of them getting into some kind of trouble, then being saved by another. Usually the characters are critters of one kind of another.

There was the one where Deanna was a Princess who was an only child and lonesome for a sibling. Turns out, the son of the Tutor who comes to live with them is her real blood brother who was kidnapped as an infant and found later, abandoned, by the kindly old tutor. Her brother and the tutor find a permanent home in the Palace and the castle is forever after filled with life.

Once, it was about a magic horse. Then there was the time that the runt of a litter of puppies, who was always being laughed at and told he couldn't do anything worthwhile because he was too small, saves the farmer's son who falls into a hole in the woods. The only animal small enough, he climbs into the hole and consoles the young child after finding him and going for help. He stays with the frightened child until the Search Party is able to dig the boy out.

Sometimes, I think it's impossible for me to think up one more story. We've been ants, beavers, horses, mice, puppies, ladybugs ... Yesterday, I had reached the end of my rope. I told Daelyn there were no more stories in me, but he insisted, and started it for me - "There once was a monkey named Daelyn who didn't want to take his nap ..." I picked it up from there.

So the stories continue. And I desperately look for new material. Hope you enjoyed the meanderings of my crazy, 4-yr. old influenced mind. I won't too often bother you with my stories, but that was what was on my mind at the time.

"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.