The Beginning of Summer

It's been awhile since I posted - the end-of-school craziness always leaves my head reeling and my feet running.

We've just finished the first full week of summer vacation, and what a fabulous start! Last Monday, the children and I worked hard all morning. Dane and I are making a new garden in the front yard and plan to move his Four O'clock's to it, then put a box garden (for vegetables) in the spot where his Four O'clock's have taken over. Dane has become Gardener Extraordinaire and I want him to have his own garden plot to plan and work.

We spent two hours cleaning up the area behind the swingset - weeding, digging up stuff that had begun to grow, and rooting out the vines with throns that are so plentiful in that area of the yard. It's amazing how much we got done and how much better the backyard looked after just two hours. Then Dane and I began turning over the soil in the area where we want to put the new garden. Daelyn worked on cleaning up under the deck until it was just too hot to do too much more. We left the project in the front for another day.

While we were doing that, Deanna worked inside, doing laundry, cleaning up the kitchen, and beginning to pack us. We spend most of Tuesday packing for our camping trip, which started on Wednesday.

As a reward for hard work, I took the kids out to the local lake Monday afternoon with my friend, Kelly, and her children. We swam, floated, dug in the sand, explored in the woods, and grilled Bubba Burgers and fresh yellow squash from our garden for dinner. It was dark by the time we got home, so the kids got a quick bath and headed straight to bed.

Wednesday dawned beautiful. We packed up the van, cleaned up the kitchen, and headed for a further lake, about 1 1/2 hrs. drive, to meet friends to camp for a few days. We had sent some of our stuff ahead with them, including our tent, and, when we arrived, they had already set it up. The kids helped me unload and we began setting up camp - pumping up air mattresses, putting up our canopy and tablecloth, setting up our work table and getting out my new Coleman stove that Don gave me for Christmas.

Without going into too much detail, we had a wonderful time. We were camped right in front of the boat dock and our friends, Ken and Karen, have a boat, so we swam off the dock and boated until we were exhausted and burned like lobsters fresh out of the pot. My dear friend, Anne, and I spent a lot of time on deck chairs on the dock visiting and watching the children swim and play. Across our inlet was a sandy beachy area (the kids called it "the island") and they spent a lot of time swimming over to it, then playing in the sand. I shelled pecans while Anne and I visited and, after the first day, discovered my knees had sunburned. My chest and my knees. No other part of my leg - just those knees that were poking up.

We skiied, we tubed, we swam and boated to our heart's content. We visited, we told stories, we snacked and read until we were quite satisfied. We enjoyed ourselves to our very core.

Now we're home and have days of work to do to get caught back up, but we're all happy and life is taking on a slower pace. I think I may try to plan camping trips for the very beginning of summer every year to help us adjust to summer rhythm.

Our plan for this summer is to make and wrap all the children's Christmas presents for family and friends (like usual), serve others (we've come up with a specific plan for serving outside the home), and beautify our house and yard. We'll work in the mornings, and do crafts, can, or swim in the afternoons.

Seems like a lot to accomplish, but I really believe we're moving at a much slower pace than during the school year, which we all need. I find it much easier to REST - completely and thoroughly, without the panic I normally feel to "get it all done". The kids are out in the yard now, after having worked yesterday afternoon to help unpack and clean up. The boys are having water gun fights and Deanna's reading on a swing up the backyard. I have dinner in the crockpot and am finishing up the laundry.

I love Summer. Then again, I love Spring with everything budding and beginning to grow. Spring carries with it hope and promise. And Winter contains Christmas, my favorite holiday, and cooler weather with fires and hot cocoa. Then there's Fall, with the smell of coldness, the start of school and order again. In fact, I think I love all seasons equally.

But right now, I love Summer the most.

Commitment takes Many Different Forms

I've been having cramps lately. First, my thumb froze in place, pressed against my palm, not one, but three different times the same evening. I chalked it up to having a cast on the other hand and overusing my right hand. Several days later, my big toe froze poking straight up into the air. Weird! I could feel the muscle stretched across my arch knotting and spasming (Spellcheck doesn't think this is a word, but I KNOW better). Then, around 3 a.m. Wednesday morning, I woke violently to a charliehorse in my left calf. I could feel the muscle knotting, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. I began yelling to Don and reaching for him, aimlessly thrashing my right arm his direction. For some reason, I have this VERY mistaken notion that he will massage my legs when I get cramps and help work them out.

I finally jumped up and began stomping my left foot on the ground, hoping to jolt the muscle back into compliance. It relaxed and I finally, gingerly, climbed back into bed.

"What was THAT all about?" Don asked.

"What do you mean? I had a cramp in my leg!"

"Well, why did you wake ME up?"

"I was hoping (emphasis) that you would get up and massage my leg. I needed HELP, honey!"

"Is THAT why you beat me mercilessly in the head?"

Long pause.

"I was concentrating on my leg. I didn't realize that was your head."

That evening, Don and I were to attend an appreciation function for the church volunteers. I wasn't sure if he would be able to make it or not. He called from work and, before I hung up, I asked,

"Not to put any pressure on you, honey, but do you think you'll be coming to the Party?"

"My plan is to leave work in enough time to get there. However . . . you beat me in the head last night!"

I wonder if anyone's ever written a book on the "true" cost of marriage?

THE Game

Dane's baseball team played the team that all the rest of his classmates are on last night. The team is coached by two of Dane's friend's dads. The other boys began playing together in T-ball and the coaches moved up to each subsequent league with the boys, so they've been together now for many years. They're a very hard team to beat and play well together.

We didn't start Dane in baseball until much later than the other boys began. For various reasons, he didn't ever get on his classmate's team, which has been just fine. Dane loves the team he's played with for the last two years and really respects his coach. T.J. (Dane's coach) has been a constant encourager to Dane and has taught him well, even working with him to make him into a pitcher.

T.J. has told me several times this year that he wants to put Dane on Pitcher's Mound, but it hadn't yet happened. When I discovered we were playing this other team, I called the coach and suggested that this might be a good time. He told me later, at the game, that it was Divine Intervention, because he had been talking to his wife about getting some of the other boys up on the Mound since they'll be moving up to a new league next year and really need the experience. Nine of his players will move up and he had only used 3 as pitchers so far this year; his two regulars that he rotates and, in one game, he used one other boy.

At the start of the 3rd inning, I saw Dane trot out to the Mound and begin warming up with the catcher. I jumped up from where I was sitting right next to home plate and ran to an empty field where Daelyn was playing with some of Deanna's classmates.

"Daelyn," I yelled to him, "Dane is pitching. You need to come and watch!" Daelyn took off on a dead run to join the family. The opposing team's dugout was directly behind me when I yelled to Daelyn and, as I walked back to our side of the field, I heard an excitement growing from it.

"Dane's pitching!" "Dane's pitching?" "Dane?" "Yep! Dane's pitching!" "DANE's pitching!" "Dane IS pitching!" Bz-z-z-z-z-z-z, like a swarm of bees amongst his friends. Apparently, they were very surprised, but seemed pleased, as well.

It's a hard situation to watch. My son, on Pitcher's Mound, pitching against boys that I've known and loved since they were in the womb. Before he got on the Mound, I found myself routing for OUR team unless one of his classmates was up to bat. I couldn't help but yell encouragement to them.

"Hit it over the fence, J.P.!" I hollered. He turned and grinned at me. Later, I called to Ben.

"You can do it, Ben. Whack it good!" And Conor, "Come on, Conor, I know you've got it in you to get a homerun!" Booty, Sam . . . I had to root for these boys. The other moms on my team were scowling at me until one quiet, patient dad explained that these were all Dane's classmates. "OH!" yelled several moms, then turned and smiled at me, understanding in the way only a mother can.

But once Dane was standing out there, preparing to wind up, all I could think of was, "STRIKE HIM OUT, Son!" I didn't want to discourage these sweet boys that I love so much, so I walked a good ways away and joined Don and Ben's dad, an assistant coach on the other team, where they were standing, evaluating every pitch. I sat right up until J.P. took his batting stance, then I couldn't stand it any longer. It was like watching one brother pitching to his blood brother. These two, while they've strayed from each other over the last two years, have always been very close, like siblings. J.P. is an only child and I have a very close relationship with both his parents. We've been on vacation together and are going camping together right after school gets out. I just couldn't take it. That's when I joined Jimmy and Don. And, boy, was I glad I did.

Jimmy knows a lot about baseball - way more than me or Don. He explained to us that the coach wanted Dane to pitch high and outside on a particular batter, who was one of their best hitters, so he (the coach) had the catcher stand up and put his mitt on the outside. Dane always pitches to a glove. Wherever that glove sits, that's where he's going to aim his pitch. T.J. knew that (because that's how he's taught Dane, of course), so he moved the catcher around to where he wanted Dane to put the pitch. It was so exciting.

Anyway, he struck out the first batter, then walked one. The next hit they got out on base. Dane walked a second. Someone must've gotten a base hit, because the bases were loaded with two outs when this great batter stepped up. Jimmy was talking Don and I through every pitch. Strike, ball, ball, strike, ball . . . FULL COUNT! And with the bases loaded. If this guy got a hit off Dane, they would have gotten home some runs, maybe as many as FOUR! It was absolutely nail-biting.

"I can't take it! I can't watch," I mumbled, terror in my voice.

"Watch, Patti, watch!" Jimmy coaxed. "T.J. knows that with really strong batters, you pitch either low and outside or high and outside so they'll strike for it but miss. This guy tends to hit low, so T.J.'s having Dane pitch high and outside. Dane's doing a fabulous job and has a great delivery. T.J. knows what he's doing. Dane'll do it. Just watch."

Despite my protests, I couldn't peel my eyes away from the game. I think I held my breath for a full three minutes as Dane wound up for the final pitch. What would it be? Would he throw a wild ball with all the pressure, walking the batter and forcing a runner home? Or could he control himself, with as little experience as he has, and throw that pitch just where T.J. wanted, egging the batter to reach for a ball just outside his strike zone and shut down the inning? Could he do it? I really didn't know. Jimmy seemed very certain that Dane could, but I wasn't so sure.

As soon as the ball left Dane's hand, before it even reached home plate, Jimmy said, "That's it! Dane DID it!" Sure enough. High and outside. The batter stuck at it but couldn't quite stretch far enough. THE THIRD OUT!

Dane trotted off the field, a great big smile on his face.

"I'm going to go talk to him," Jimmy said. "He did a GREAT job!"

Isn't it wonderful to have friends that love your children so much. The coach of the opposing team came over to congratulate Dane on a job well-done in the middle of the game. I really love our life.

Matt, the Head Coach of the other team, threw the game ball to Dane with a smile. After the first half of the next inning, the game was called - 4 to 2, but one of their runs was a bad call by the Umpire and the game should have been 3 - 2. We lost, but held our own really well. It was a game played with pride.

In our dugout after the game was over, T.J. gave his usual pep talk. He always highlights all the good plays of the game and talks about plays that should have worked better. Mostly, though, he encourages the boys to have fun and play like a team. He announced that he doesn't believe in giving out Game Balls, because every player is just one on a team and it takes the entire team to win a game, but he wanted to make an exception in this game. He wanted Dane to take the Game Ball, take it into school today, and show his friends.

"There was a lot of trash talk about Dane not being able to pitch from the other team," he said. (I told him that. Dane's been telling me for weeks that the boys in his class have been saying, "You can't pitch." "You're not a pitcher." "I don't believe you pitch!", etc. That's what T.J. was referring to, I believe. I didn't hear any trash talk during the game.) "I think he proved them wrong real well. And I think he deserves this Game Ball. This was his first time pitching, he didn't give up ONE run. Way to go, Dane."

When we got home, Dane had me write the date, "Game Ball" and "Pitched 3rd Inning" on the ball in Sharpie for him. It's quite a treasure. I just wish I could go to school with him today and hear what his friends have to say about his pitching. I'm sure they'll be encouraging. They're all good boys. They just hadn't ever seen him pitch before. That's not the case now!

I don't know if he'll get the chance to pitch anymore this season, but he made himself (and us) proud. And he pitched as well as the two boys T.J. typically uses to pitch, maybe better than one of them. It'll be interesting to see if he gets used again, but there are lots of other boys on the team who want a chance to pitch in a game, too, and deserve that right.

Today, I'll be walking with my head held high and my chest puffed up just a little. I think Dane actually looked a little taller today before school. Or maybe it was an illusion because of the grin and gleam in his eye.

News of my Hand

I'm in a cast. The Orthopod did an X-ray and said he didn't see any broken bones. However, he said, broken bones in the hand frequently don't show up on traditional X-rays and require an MRI to accurately diagnose.

Meanwhile, at the minimum, I have a bruised bone on the outside of my hand (where the lump is) and several bruised muscles underneath the thumb, which he says has many muscles. He believes the only way it will heal is to immobilize it to give my body time to work on the injuries.

He ordered a removable cast. They made it right there in his office, which was quite cool. I just wish the boys had been with me to watch the process. Modern medical science is amazing. They cut it off while it was still wet, cut an opening the length of it, covered all the edges with soft material, then put velcro straps on the opening to hold it together. The technician that made the cast told me that I could wash it in the top shelf of the dishwasher, if necessary.

The doctor told me I should wear it as much as possible.

"Can you give me an idea of how many hours a day I should wear it?" I asked him.

"Just whenever you're doing nothing," he said. "You should wear it every night while you sleep and while driving, and while you're watching T.V. at night."

I laughed.

"While I watch T.V. at night, I'm either doing hand-sewing or shelling pecans or stripping the dog. I seldom just 'sit' to watch T.V." I explained.

"No hand-sewing, pecan-shelling, or dog-stripping for the next two weeks," he responded. "I see you're going to give me trouble."

Yep. Now he's beginning to get the picture.

He explained that the cast would make me feel so much better that soon I'd want to wear it all the time. While I found that doubtful, that has turned out to be the case. I'm to wear the cast as much as possible for two weeks, then I have a return appointment. If I'm not significantly better at that point, he'll send me for an MRI and look for fractures.

The cast hurt for the first couple of days. It was almost a relief to remove it. But my hand really is beginning to feel much better and I find now that I'm reluctant to remove it. Of course, I took it off to get my garden in the ground on Saturday. And I take it off to cook and clean the kitchen and wash the dishes. But I'm trying to learn to do more while wearing it so I'll get the full benefit.

Boy, do people ask a lot of questions. It's very kind that they care, but even the children's friends are all abuzz about it. Within the first 24 hours, I finally decided to just smile and nod when they ask, "How did you break it?" It's easier to let them think it's broken than to have to explain the whole situation to every inquisitive little mind.

The children have been very helpful, as has Don, but I've been a little slower than usual. You should see me trying to get my seatbelt on. The cast immobilizes my thumb to let those muscles heal, so I can bend my four fingers down to the middle knuckle, and that's the most my hand functions. Since the seatbelt is on the left and my cast doesn't fit between the seat and door, I have to open the door and reach around with my right hand to get it and pull it around me. Deanna had to help me dress this morning.

Anyway, life is always an adventure, I've decided. While this is an inconvenience, it's not really too bad and it's given my children a chance to help more around the house. I'm not quite sure why I'm so upbeat these days. Maybe it's the medication my OB/GYN gave me. Perhaps it's because summer is JUST around the corner. Or maybe it's feeling like I'm getting some things accomplished. I don't know. I only know that life is good and I'm happy. I love my husband and children. I have great friends and a wonderful life. I have an amazing extended family that cherishes my family and a church home that nourishes our souls. God is good, and He continues to pour out His love and acceptance on us.

Even in casts.

Squah Blooms

There must be 15 open blooms on my crooked-neck squash plants this morning! It's so exciting! The temperature has dropped, it rained hard yesterday, and today it's only in the 50's (rare for May in Georgia). After dropping the kids at school, I took a toothpick and went outside to try and cross-pollinate my squashies. Most of the blooms were female, with little tiny fruit on the end, but I found about 4 - 5 male blooms and scraped pollen off them, then transferred it into the female blooms. With the weather being cool today, there's very little insect movement and it's the bees that generally handle the pollination of fruit.

I don't think the blooms stay open but two days, anyway, a very short time, so I was concerned. We should know in another couple of days if my efforts worked. Here's hoping!

I finished up my blackberry syrup last night and made 3 jars of blackberry jelly. There was enough left in the pan for a small jar for us to eat. The children had it with breakfast. Between the blueberry jelly I made in April, the strawberry jam I made in April, the mint jelly from earlier in May, and the blackberry from yesterday, I have quite the stock of homemade jams and jellies. Now I'm ready to branch out into green beans, which I'm hoping to can today. My cousin in Canada (Calvin's sister, Kathy), has sent me a recipe and some of her tips. I cleaned and sorted the beans last night to get them all ready.

This is so much fun. And I should know enough by the time my garden is producing to be able to put up my own vegetables this year . . . if we stay in town long enough.

Summer Sunday

As we were leaving Choir Practice Wednesday a week ago, the boys discovered wild blackberries growing in amongst the shrubbery that borders our Christian Ed building. We took the time to pick a few. They were very tart (typical for wild berries) but flavorful. Since our Choir Concert was last Wednesday, we hadn't yet checked in on them again.

Our Church Picnic was today. I don't know exactly why I thought about the berries, but when the picnic was over at a nearby park, I loaded up the boys (Deanna wanted to go home with her Daddy - we had to drive separately because Deanna sang this morning for church and had to be there by 9:15. I didn't need to be there until 10:00), borrowed some gallon-size Ziploc bags, and headed back to the church for berry picking.

We had a wonderful time and found tons of wild blackberries just waiting to be picked. We half-filled both of the gallon bags, then headed home. I cleaned them and cooked them down, then made a batch of blackberry syrup and three jars of blackberry jelly.

This evening, as they munched on dinner, we reminisced about the day. We got to sleep in. Then, before dressing for church, I harvested my basil (for the second time), some dill, and parsley and began cleaning it. Deanna sang beautifully at church and the sermon was particularly short. Then, off to the picnic, which was a blast. We followed that up with berry-picking and jelly-making. What an amazing day.

It already feels like summer. Only 2 more weeks of school to go.

I'm counting down.

A Little Confused

While eating lunch, Deanna and I were talking about how simple and humbly our neighbors live.

"Let's not talk about the neighbors anymore," Daelyn said.

"Why, son?"

"Well, isn't it GOSSIP?" he asked.

"No, dear," I explained. "Gossip is when you are talking about other people in a way that causes the listener to think badly or less of the person. Were we saying anything about Bud and Grace that made you feel bad about them?"

"NO!" Daelyn said very emphatically. Then, after a moment of silence, he added,

"I think bad thoughts about the Bad People off and off."

Deanna and I glanced at each other with raised eyebrows. (By the way, the "Bad People" are a family that live directly behind us, separated by an 8-ft. wooden fence. Their habits are quite questionable, and when I asked the local policeman about them, he said, "Oh. You mean the Crack House!" Thus, the Bad People.) Daelyn saw the look pass between us.

"Okay," he corrected. "Then, on and on."

This time, Deanna and I couldn't help ourselves. We snickered.

"Daelyn," I told him, "the saying is 'off and on', dear."

"Sor -r-r-y!" he responded, sounding irritated. "Sometimes I don't remember Nursery Rhymes!"

That Lump in my Hand

Okay, one more, since I'm a few Posts behind this week. But a short one, for Grandma Doughty, who doesn't like reading my long posts.

The hand that got slammed in my mother's car door last Tuesday . . . I was at the ENT's office yesterday (he gave me a steroid shot in my arm and it ached all day) and showed him my hand. I have a long lump near the outside of my hand where there shouldn't be any. He thinks I've got a broken bone in my hand and recommended that I see an Orthopod immediately. He said that you can chip small bones in your hand very easily and not have any decreased mobility. However, the bones often migrate and can lodge in a nerve or muscle, significantly debilitating my hand.

I called my Orthopedic doctor yesterday and have a 2 p.m. appointment today. I'm hoping it's just a hematoma and not serious. Don, however, is talking about the possibility of them taking me immediately into surgery to remove bone chips.

I think he's thinking a little too far to the extreme, although this is a remote possibility, I admit.

Anyway, I should know something by this evening. Maybe a cast, maybe a splint, or maybe nothing. I'm hoping for the nothing.

More Gardening

I had all but given up on my big garden this year. I still had to dig a trench, bury the soaker hose, cover it, even out the garden with a rake, cover it with newspaper that I then wet, then cover the top of that with black plastic before I could plant.

What's all the hullabaloo about? Well, I've reclaimed this garden from the yard. It's right underneath the only REAL tree in our yard, which offers a lot of shade but, also, a lot of seeds. Because this soil is so rich (actually it's loam from the decayed bark mulch that's been sitting there for 3 years), anything and everything grows in it. While I've been in the process of preparing the garden, things are continuously sprouting and I keep seeing little green leaves poking up their little heads. The only possible way to keep the grass and seeds from taking over this plot again is to starve them of light. And the only way I know to do THAT is with lots of newspaper and black plastic. The newspaper and black plastic make the process of watering much more difficult, though, because it requires a lot more water to penetrate all those layers. Thus, the buried soaker hose. Much more efficient, and conserving water as well.

But this all seemed like a little too much work for me at this point in my life. Plus, most everything I have already planted is doing GREAT. The herbs on the deck are ready to be harvested again - for the second time already this season. And my box garden is doing amazing things. It meant I wouldn't have tomatoes this year, since I haven't yet planted any, but I reasoned that I could live without them for one year. So the garden has sat. Periodically, I'll go out, turn a little more soil, dig up a few more of those little sprouts and roots, but I haven't really progressed much.

This morning, Dane met me when I arrived in the kitchen.

"Mama, before you start breakfast, will you come outside with me and look at the squash?" he asked. Dane and I made an agreement last month to which he has been VERY faithful. If he waters all my outside plants before school on Wednesday, Friday and Sunday mornings (before Church on Sunday, that is), for the entire month of May, I'll pay him $10. He started around the middle of April and never needs to be reminded. Every other day, he gets to check out the progress of our gardens up close while he waters. He loves it and is getting paid and it means I can scratch something off my very full TO DO list. Today was watering day. He had been looking over the plants.

I pulled a coat on over my jammies, and we headed out to my box garden. I had planted 6 yellow squash and 6 zucchini. Then went back and put 5 bell peppers in amongst the squash, reasoning that the squash plants would stay low to the ground and the peppers would get tall, a perfect recipe for existing in the same garden area. One of my zucchinis had died immediately, but I still have 11 plants in this garden. I walked around the corner with Dane and sucked in my breath. The squash is absolutely out of control. There are 3 - 4 layers of leaves from each plant, so large that they billow out like a tropical rain forest. The entire garden is covered. From the top and the sides, you can't see ONE SPOT of soil, just beautiful, fuzzy green leaves. Dane and I dug through the leaves to look below. Each squash plant has several fruit already, with blooms on the end which will open this coming week. One should open today. I counted as many as 12 blooms on some of the plants. The yellow squash is just as prolific as the zucchini. My poor peppers, however, are completely blocked from the sun by several layers of squash leaves. I just waited too late to plant the peppers and they didn't have a chance to establish themselves and grow taller than the squash plants before THEY took off. I fear it's too late now.

"Mama, what are we going to do about our poor peppers?" Dane asked, perplexed. He wasn't the only one. I can't stand the thought of these little plants dying for lack of sunlight. Especially not when they're in so rich a soil. I've tried breaking off some of the squash leaves around the peppers to allow them sunlight. The squash has promptly filled in the area with new, larger leaves.

"I don't know, son, but we've got to do something! Maybe I'll just have to transplant the peppers." To where, though, I thought. Do I want to put out another planter on the deck for the peppers? I think not. And there is that WHOLE big plot in the back of the yard, just waiting to be planted.

Guess what I've been doing this morning? Yep. The soaker hose is now IN!! Yay! And tested and cover up. And I've gotten a lot of the leveling done. I had to stop for a drink break and decided to write my Post. Now I've got to hurry out, finish the leveling, put down my newspaper and plastic, and I can get my little peppers in their own garden. Maybe I'll get to the peppers tomorrow and can put in some tomatoes, as well, now that I'll have some space.

I decided that biting off the whole garden was too much for me this late in the season. I only dug one trench from front to back of the garden, which is 16 feet long. That gives me a row on each side of the hose or 32 linear feet of planting space. That ought to be more than enough for this year, and a good start to my garden. Next year, I'll dig a second trench and, maybe, a third for my soaker hose and spread out a little more. But I decided that something was better than nothing this year, and 32 feet of garden is nothing to sniff at.

I've got to get back at it, though, if those bell peppers are going to survive and thrive. Once that's done, I've got basil, parsley, and dill to harvest.

I love Spring!

Need's Deep

About a month ago, Dane begged me to go on a Field Trip with his class to the Zoo. I don't remember all the details, but it was virtually impossible for me to pull it off. My friend, Kelly, recommended to me that I promise to go with Dane's class on their big, all-day field trip to Charlotte, NC in exchange for the Zoo one which I couldn't pull off. I took her suggestion and made a deal with Dane.

The big Field Trip is this Wednesday. When I contacted the teacher to tell her I wanted to go on it, she told me the date. Wouldn't you know? It was the only date this whole month that had something already scheduled that I couldn't change - our Choir Concert. The class doesn't expect to be back from the Trip until 6:00 p.m. and the concert starts at 6:30, a 1/2 hour drive away. Choir Call is at 5:30 and I direct the Cherub Choir, so I need to be there for Rehearsal, robing, etc. before the Concert.

I was faced with a huge dilemna, but I had promised Dane. I was able to work out the details and, with a little help from the Lord controlling traffic, we should make it with time to spare. The bus will be re-routed through North Augusta, down the road where our church is located, and will drop me and Dane in front. If we are on-schedule, we should be there by 5:40, but if we're even a 1/2 hour late, we should be okay. My parents are keeping the other two children and getting them to the Choir Call on time. Don is coming directly from work and will take us home.

As I was tucking Dane in a few nights ago, we were talking about how badly he wanted me to go with him and how hard I had worked to make it all happen. Suddenly, I remembered something that happened when he was in First Grade.

Kindergarten was only a half-day; he got out at 1:00 each day and we would read books together, do his homework, watch a half-hour show on T.V., or just play together. This was OUR time. Daelyn was napping and Deanna was in school, so that two hours was devoted to Dane. When he started First Grade, he didn't get home until 3:00 and we he had to compete with his sister and baby brother for my attention. About two months into school, he broke down one day on the playground. His teacher called me to tell me that he was sobbing in the middle of the play equipment.

"He just keeps saying, 'I can't take it anymore! I can't take it anymore!'" she told me on the phone.

What WAS it he couldn't take? The answer seemed elusive. That night, I snuggled him when I put him to bed and asked him what the problem was.

"I just can't take it anymore, Mommy," he started.

"I understand, son, but what IS it that you can't take anymore?" I asked him, trying to make some sense out of what was going on with him.

"I can't take being away from you so much!" He cupped his hands around my face and his little face screwed up into a frown as tears began to flow. I was absolutely broken-hearted. The next day, I called his teacher.

"Dane is so tender-hearted," she said. "He just needs more quality time with you. He's doing so well in school, I think you ought to schedule one day each report card period to take him out of school and just spend the day with him. I think that will help." What an understanding teacher.

I never needed to take him out for the day. The next week, they had a day off for something or other, two weeks later, they were out for Thanksgiving, and Christmas was only 3 weeks after that. By January, Dane had pushed through and was doing just fine. But I've never forgotten that and how much he needed time with me.

He's my one child that ALWAYS needs my attention. EVERY night, before bed, he asks me to come and tuck him in. He wants snuggles and kisses everynight so he can fall asleep feeling wrapped in my love. He's just like Don in personality, but so needy of my attention and affection.

It's not that the others don't need me. They have different types of needs. But Dane is the one who craves that contact with me and always wants me with him. If Don and I both have to drive our cars somewhere and we give the children an option of who they can ride home with, Dane always chooses me. I don't know WHY he's so different from the other two, just that he is.

Anyway, I'm going to Charlotte with him on Wednesday for the whole day - 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. And he's thrilled. It was a lot of work, but well worth keeping my promise to him. I keep telling myself that he won't want me with him for forever. There will come a day that he'll feel less of a need for Mommy. But, for now, his need is frequent and obvious, and I pray I will never zone out to it and leave him feeling neglected.

After all, I want him to grow up to be as wonderful a man as his daddy.

Spring Chores

As I was dropping off to sleep last night, I began thinking about my herb garden on the shady side of the house. (Isn't this what everyone does in bed at night?) There are several problems with this garden. First off, as I said, this is the shady side of the house, which means these plants only get late afternoon sun. While my rosemary has done marvelously well (I'm convinced rosemary is impossible to kill), nothing else has really succeeded there. One year, many years ago, I planted basil. It did alright, but nothing like my basil is doing in the planter on the deck filled with moisture control soil and watered regularly.

The second problem with that side of the house is the soil. Most of the ground around our house is red clay below the topsoil. I've dug down a little ways and tilled up the ground, but not very deep and it's been years since I've added any good soil to that little plot.

Thirdly, I always forget to water on that side of the house. I don't know why, but those things fight for their lives every summer. I guess it's because I really never get around to that side of the house. I'm always on the deck and we walk right past my box garden to get to the car, so I see the progress and the plants drooping, if they're dry. But I never seem to wander past my herb garden.

With this in mind, I dropped the kids off at school this morning, then unlocked the shed, pulled out my tools, and got to work. I had decided, in the wee hours of the morning, to transplant my Greek Oregano, which was the only other thing still alive in my herb garden (other than the rosemary bush/tree), into a planter on the deck with the rest of this year's herbs. I already have basil, which I've harvested for the first time, dill that looks better than anything I've ever been able to grow in the fern department and which I've also harvested once already, mint, and parsley. Why not add a little oregano? I had a nice square box planter that I had bought several years ago and put mint in, but it was too shallow-rooted and I left it on the shady side of the house, thus, it never got watered and promptly died. So the nice, square planter (the matching one now holds my parsley and mint) was full of twigs.

I went around to the side of the house, planning on emptying it out, punching holes in the sides for drainage, filling it 1/3 full with drainage rocks, then 2/3 with good soil mixed with fertilizer, and - voila! A perfect recipe for great oregano. But, as I rounded the corner of the shed, I discovered I had already put the square planter to use holding bushes that my neighbor was having replaced. I had already planted 9 of them across the front of the deck to make a hedge, but I had several more in the planter waiting to be put in the ground. I sighed. Can't use the planter until I do something with those bushes.

But where to put the bushes? I had originally asked my neighbor and friend, Jane, if I could have them because we want to put in a patio at the back of the yard and surround it with a nice hedge, leaving a large opening to walk in and out of. But it occurred to me that if I planted the bushes, it would make building the patio much more difficult because we'd have to work in a confined space, taking care not to trample the bushes. I finally settled on planting them down one side of where I would like the patio - the beginnings of my hedge. Maybe that will also help get us moving on actually doing it.

I dug several holed, which turned out to be a bigger job than I realized. That area is underneath the only shade tree we have in our yard, which is why it's the perfect place for a patio. But there were so many roots, I had to take after them with a pick-ax. I finally got my holes dug, filled them most of the way with good soil and mulch, then picked out the nicest bushes. Once they were planted, I put dirt back on top of the soil/mulch mixture, tapping with my foot to secure them. After a good watering, I was finally ready to get started on my planned project, the replanting of the oregano. It had only taken me two hours or so to get ready.

The oregano is now on the deck in the square box planter. And I built a little platform out of bricks around the pot that contains my dill. Part of the reason I believe my dill is doing so well is that I've covered it with a deck chair (sounds crazy, I know) which creates a terrarium atmosphere for it. I mist it with cool water, then place the chair over top of it so as the day heats up, the water will condense on the underside of the chair and drop back down on the dill. A guy at Lowe's suggested this to me (not the chair part, just covering the dill somehow to create a misting field). The chair's perfect because it doesn't conduct heat and it has a hole in the back, which I've strategically placed over the dill, so rainwater will drain down onto the plant. But the chair was too low and the dill was being forced to grow sideways, out past the chair. My new platform raises the chair just enough to still keep the terrarium-effect while giving the plant a little more room to grow.

I'm exhausted, but still have a few more chores I want to do in the yard. And I NEED to get at least some of my new garden planted.

Maybe . . .

The Home Stretch

We're already into the end-of-school rush: last minute field trips, Teacher's gifts, baseball games, Choir Concert, and plans for the summer.

I keep telling the children to just hang on, we're almost there. Only 17 more days of school . . . and counting!

I can't wait for the summer. I can't wait to put the lunch boxes up in the cabinet and not have to deal with them for 3 months! I just want to sleep in, hit the pool, and spend lazy days lolling around with my children.

We're trying to plan a trip to Washington, D.C. and have already scheduled a camping trip with friends for the week after the children get out of school. We also have a short, 4-day vacation in Hilton Head planned and visits to Grandma and Grandpa's. Last year was a little too busy for me, so this year I'd like to slow down a little and enjoy the summer. But I sure am ready to get it started.

I just have to get through the next 3 1/2 weeks!!!

Accidents by the Vanload

I got rear-ended yesterday. Deanna agreed to walk Daelyn across the street to his soccer practice. Kelly said she'd be willing to be the responsible adult for him and would keep him after practice if I wasn't back yet. Deanna had lots of homework, so I gave her the spare key so she could get back into the house and get started. Then Dane and I loaded up to run and get our allergy shots.

On the way home, in the rain, a young woman, driving her friend's mother's car, hit me from behind when I had to stop in traffic. She was probably going far too fast for the amount of traffic and the rain and couldn't stop in time. I watched her in my rearview mirror as she plowed into me. Dane and I weren't hurt, but we both walked away with bad headaches and my tailbone began to ache. It worsened as the evening wore on.

It took an hour to exchange insurance info and fill out the Incident Report. The policeman who helped us was wonderful and a dear friend and neighbor, who was driving by, stopped to check on me and Dane and stuck around through the whole thing, which was a HUGE relief for me. I worked for him my first job out of college and having him there was the next best thing to Don or my father.

By the time I got to Kelly's to pick up Daelyn, then home, I was sore and rattled. Nicki was coming to dinner, so we packed up and went out for Mexican food. On the way, my arm was itching terribly. Nicki (who's an oncology nurse) checked it out and told me I was having a reaction to my shot and that I needed to take some Benadryl and go to bed. She also gave me Ibuprofen to take the edge off my headache and soreness. Before heading to bed, I measured the welt on my arm. It was 4 cm long and 2 1/2 cm wide. My arm still itched and ached this morning and my tailbone pain was back.

But today is another day and was my day with my mother. We took off to run errands, then she treated me to lunch. As I was getting out of her car, trying to open the umbrella in the open doorway, the door swung shut on my hand, hitting the outside of my palm and slamming the soft tissue underneath the thumb against the hood of the car. Blood vessels popped in both spots and they immediately began swelling. I couldn't use my hand. A girl at the counter at the fast food place took pity on me and got me a bag of ice, which helped, but I have to keep my hand above the level of my heart or it throbs.

To sum all this up - my two-day injuries amount to: pain in my tailbone whenever I sit or move a particular way, a headache, a welt with pain and itching on my left arm, and a swollen, unusable left hand.

I'm not sure if I should look forward to tomorrow or dread it.

Got Any Empty Jars, anyone?

About two years ago, I felt like the Lord told me I needed to learn to can. We have a friend (actually, the mother of the family with whom Don lived when single and who helped us tremendously through our courtship) who is an expert canner and I felt like I should call her and ask if she would teach me. I never did it.

When the economy turned south and the government began to deal with bail-out propositions, I realized that I should have done what the Holy Spirit prompted me to do. If I had, I'd be sitting pretty now with jars of canned goods on the shelf.

"It's not too late," I reminded myself. Good thing God gives us second chances. So I called Vicki and put in my request.

"I'd love to teach you," she said. "But you mostly can during the spring and summer months, when produce is plentiful."

In the meanwhile, I haven't sat idly by for the last two years. I HAVE learned to dry foods and have done a good bit of freezing. Actually, it was the freezing that led me into drying. Freezing berries and fresh tomatoes are wonderful ways to use up the plenty God provides, but the finished goods take up a lot of space in the freezer.

I've tried my hand at drying just about everything. I've made jerky, croutons, and sun-dried tomatoes, which I've mentioned before. But I've also tried my hand at drying berries (blackberries and strawberries do the best), pineapple, peaches, apples, oranges, peas, potatoes, carrots, green beans, celery, squash . . . just about any fresh produce can also be dried. I like the carrots. They dry real sweet. And the dried pineapple makes a wonderful snack. The dried oranges are really good, too - very tart and flavorful. My favorite part about drying is that the nicest flavors in the vegetables or fruit become much more intense.

So, I'm scheduled to begin learning to can sometime this summer. In the meantime, my mother was defrosting her freezer and pulled out bags and bags of frozen blueberries. My father showed up at my back door with them.

"Mama was going to throw these out. Would you like them?" he asked. I wasn't sure what I'd do with them but, like my father, I just couldn't bear the thought of them being thrown away.

I refrigerated them for several days. Then I poured off all the juice and made two batches of syrup - one for us with a little lemon juice for tartness, and a low-sugar syrup for my parents.

But what to do with the huge pile of remaining berries? I decided to make jam. Unfortunately, I haven't made jam since I was a young girl living in Belgium and I didn't remember the basics.

Several months ago, I had seen some boxes of Certo marked down on Clearance at Wal-Mart. I bought them, anticipating canning over the summer. Now seemed like the time to open them. I did, and found a long insert full of directions for jam and jelly-making.

Over the years, my Aunt Faye, who is a Master Canner, has sent home with me from visits to Canada tons of jars of jam and jelly from all the Northern berries. I've noticed that she uses just plain jars, not canning jars. Obviously, this can be done, but I had no idea how. I poured over my cookbooks, which gave detailed instructions on canning, but only with using canning jars. That was right about the time my Aunt Faye arrived for the wedding. I told her that I wanted to make jam and asked her if she could help me one evening. She was in the middle of making Hot Cross Buns for Easter but said she'd try and come back over later and help. I went ahead and got started.

As I was cooking down the berries and squeezing out the juice, Calvin walked through the kitchen and asked what I was doing. I explained that his mother always used plain jars and I wanted to learn to do that, too.

"It's real easy," he said. "The key is that your liquid has to be very hot and your jars have to be real hot. Then, as the liquid cools, it creates a vacuum and seals your jars. Would you like some help?"

I was ecstatic. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing. I scooted over at the stove and he worked with the jars, showing me how to pop them in boiling water for a few minutes, then turning them upside down on a drying rack to drain. We made 3 jars of blueberry jam - a small one for my parents and two larger ones for us. One of the two for us didn't seal.

"No problem," Calvin said. "That just means that you refrigerate that jar and eat it first."

The next day, I was telling Auntie about it. She explained that if she has jars that don't seal, sometimes she'll reheat the liquid from just that jar and attempt to re-seal it. Usually it works the second time around.

"I had forgotten Calvin knew how to can," she told me. "You know, now that I think about it, Calvin is a much better canner than me. He used to can chicken. He'd buy them by the cases and can them. They're the most difficult of anything to can, because it's so easy to mess them up and poison yourself."

I had gotten help from the expert after all.

Shortly after they left, I tried strawberry jelly. I was wanting to try my hand at not being quite so careful to follow a recipe, so I put way more strawberries in the kettle than I should have. Every jar sealed nicely, but they didn't gel - not enough Certo for the amount of strawberries I had.

I left them out on the counter. They were safe, just not very good. This morning, I uncapped my jars, dumped the ungelled strawberry jam into a large saucepan, and started the process all over again. I have five jars sitting on the cooling rack and I can't wait to see if they seal and gel. I can take up to 24 hours to know for sure.

It's exciting to see the work of your hands in jars in front of you and know that you're providing for your family for the future. I have a feeling my children are going to get very spoiled with fresh jams and jellies and not want store-bought ones anymore. We haven't even cracked open a jar from the store in weeks. The children request my blueberry jam when they need something sweet for their toast.

I feel like I'm beginning to get the hang of this. I'm certain there's much more I can learn from Vicki, but I also put up stewed squash this morning and both jars of it sealed nicely.

So much produce, so little time. And so few empty jars on hand!

Train, teach, help - isn't that what we Moms do?

So far, so good with the boys' rooms. Daelyn is taking great pride in keeping his spotlessly clean. This morning, after breakfast, he had to hurry back to his room to put away his box of Lord of the Rings trading cards (which he left out on his game table) before I "inspected".

Lest you think I'm way more OCD than I am, both boys are demanding that I inspect their rooms daily. They're so proud of the care they're taking with them, "inspection" is a way of showing it off and getting that much-desired pat on the back.

I took the railing off Dane's top bunkbed (we moved him to the bottom, which is much easier to make) and removed the ladder, which is stored neatly between his closet door and his bin shelf for when we need it. His Rubbermaid bin full of balls and his laundry hamper are in his closet. The ONLY furniture in his room, other than his bunkbeds, are his dresser, his air purifier (a MUST with Dane's asthma), and his bin shelf. Last night, he told me that he wants to clean out all his bins after school today, which would be great. We use these for books, small toys, and miscellaneous "stuff". They need to be cleaned out at least once a month.

I'm re-teaching both boys how to make their beds. It seems they've forgotten. And I'm working with both of them to train them to stand at the door of their room, look around, and notice anything out of place. If they can train their eyes to pick up on the little things, we'll have won a huge victory and two women will thank me in future years.

They're both very pleased with their new rooms and I'm pleased with the condition of the two rooms. My nephew felt very strongly that we needed to put the boys together back when we rebuilt, which was part of the reason we took Daelyn out of the spare room to begin with. But their relationship seems to be in better shape now that they're not under each other's feet constantly. Perhaps, in a couple of years, once they've both learned to take better care of their things and be responsible about their rooms, we'll be able to put them back in the same room for their teen years, when they'll need each other the most.

In the meanwhile, much training is needed . . . and happening!

Flipping

We moved Daelyn into the spare bedroom today. When we first rebuilt our house, this room was the Nursery, Daelyn's room. So he's back in his own room again.

He's thrilled. I stripped both boys' beds, washed sheets and comforters, and remade the bed in the spare room with Daelyn's bed set. I moved all his clothes into the dresser in the spare room and moved most of his hanging clothes. I decided not to tell him and to wait to see how long it took for him to put two and two together.

Not long. He wandered into the room, looking for me, and saw his bedset.

"Who's room is this?" he asked.

"Yours." He immediately began moving his "things", humming sweetly to himself. Throughout the afternoon, I'd find him in there, with the door closed, lying on his bed reading.

Dane got a little frustrated.

"I wanted that room," he told me, then stomped into Daelyn's new room and kicked the dresser. "My room isn't at all the way I wanted it. I only want one bed in there. Take the top bunkbed down."

That just wasn't happening. We'll need that bed in the future, and I'm not going to store it in the attic where it'll deteriorate. Dane will have a spare bed in his room for spend-the-night guests or Daelyn when we have an adult visitor who needs Daelyn's bed.

Anyway, it took some discussing before he began to see the light. I did, however, offer to measure and, if possible, move the beds to a different wall to give the room a different look. They fit, so I moved them, then the dresser and the rest of the furniture. The room looks very different. It has a totally different feel from when the boys shared the room.

Dane was tickled with how it turned out. We want both boys to keep their rooms CLEAN now and dust-free. Daelyn has a spare drawer in his dresser for his extra "stuff" so it won't be left lying about to gather dust. Dane has lots of room in his closet, which we're putting to good use. Both rooms look WAY better already.

They both seem to understand that their rooms MUST be kept clean. We'll see how long that lasts.

More Dribbles

Now I'm dealing with a different kind of dribble. My throat and ears got itchy yesterday and my nose started to run. I had a women's meeting/potluck last night. After dinner, there were some short talks. My nose began to run. With no warning, it would suddenly just pour. The only thing I had close by was a napkin, which my mother tried to take from me to throw away. I nearly screamed at her. The woman sitting across the table, who had been watching me grab furiously for it each time the downpour began again, smiled knowingly. (Thanks, Barbara.) Mom was just trying to clean off the table, but it would have been nice if she asked before she took my much-needed napkin.

Deanna had a similar situation, on another front. A very helpful woman took her plate and fork for her. However, she wasn't finished eating and wanted some more of the yummy sausage and cheese dip a friend had brought.

"Was there any more of that sausage dip left when you were up at the table, Mommy?" she asked.

"Lots," I responded.

"Do you think it would be okay for me to get some more?" The talks had already started and Deanna was a little embarrassed to be moving around while someone was speaking.

"It'd be fine, honey. Go ahead and get some." We were at the very last table, nearest the food, and other people were moving around. I'm sure the speaker didn't intend for us to leave hungry.

"Can I borrow your plate?" I glanced over and realize hers had already been "cleared off". I handed her mine.

A couple of minutes later, she sat back down next to me. I glanced at her plate. She had about a spoonful of the dip and a few chips - a very respectable serving. I smiled at her. She smiled back, then leaned close.

"Can I borrow your fork, too?" she asked. I rolled my eyes, but bailed the fork out of the other napkin in which I had wrapped it. She carefully cleaned it, then began to eat her chips and dip. The woman across the table smiled at us. (Yes, Barbara again.)

We Moms try to be helpful - the right kind of helpful, that is, even if it's just an encouraging smile.

The Dribbles

I threw on a shirt with my pajama pants this morning to run the kids to school. I was busy getting dinner in the crockpot right up until time to walk out the door. I figured I could get my bath after getting home.

I chose the outfit I wanted to wear today and slipped into the pink shirt before running out the door. When I got home from drop-off, I finished up my crockpot meal preparations, made my morning oatmeal and coffee, and headed to the computer to type up a recipe I need for a meeting tonight.

As I sat down at the computer, I happened to glance down. I ALREADY have two orange spots on my shirt.

How come this always happens to me these days? I didn't used to be like this. When I worked, I always looked neat and clean. Now, if I go out to eat, I ALWAYS dribble something on myself. Deanna thinks it's hilarious and frequently comments that she can't take me anywhere.

For several years, I've blamed it on the children. "Yep," I'd say, "those kids sure do get me dirty!" But the gig's up! I can't hide behind the "kid" excuse any longer. None of the children were even around when these orange spots jumped onto my shirt.

Do they make large bibs for adults? Do ya think anyone would notice if I walked around with a bib perpetually tied to my front? It'd be cheaper than replacing stained clothes annually!

Value

My friend, Kelly, told me a couple of weeks ago that her 1-yr. old, John, who is my darling, was sitting on the couch and talking quietly to himself:

"Mama, Daddy, Aunt Patti . . . Mama, Daddy, Aunt Patti . . . Mama, Daddy, Aunt Patti . . ."

She called me to tell me.

"I think he's listing his favorite people," she said.

I RATE! I'm one of his favorite people.

It's amazing how two little words can mean so much - "Aunt Patti"!

Many a Gate

They're home now. I took my Canadian relatives to the Columbia airport Thursday afternoon and stood outside security while their bags were checked to make sure they were on their way.

I hate that you can no longer go the the Gates with friends and family. I understand, of course, the security concerns, but I long for the old days of sitting with beloved family until the last possible moment, then tearfully saying goodbye as the Stewardess beckoned to them to board the plane.

When I was in college, I was returning from a trip to the Holy Land with my father and several other family friends. We had a lay-over in Rome. We noticed armed guards, with machine guns, posted very prominently in the airport and wondered what the hulabaloo was all about. Turns out, the President of Italy was coming to the airport by motorcade and the security was for him. The airport was almost empty as most people were clamoring to see the President. We certainly had no interest in seeing him, so we took a long walk to stretch our legs and waste some time. At another gate in the same terminal as us, one of the people in our group spotted Mother Theresa of Calcutta with several of her sisters. She was returning home to India after a private audience with the Pope. The news quickly spread through our group and we took guitars and a large delegation down to her gate. The gates at the airport in Rome were glassed in with security posted at the entrance to each gate. We couldn't get inside to see her, but we stood outside the windows and sang to her, then prayed for her through the glass. She was most appreciative and expressed her gratitude to us, telling us she would pray for us. One elderly woman in our group, who died shortly afterward (Evelyn Galey), somehow managed to stumble, obliviously, past the security guard. We're still not sure how, but believe the Lord blinded him for a few minutes to allow her to pass. She knelt at Mother Theresa's feet and received a blessing from the godly woman. Then Mother Theresa insisted she stand and helped her to her feet, telling her not to kneel before anyone but Our Lord. While we watched and sang, the Boarding Call was made and Mother Theresa prayed over each and every one of her companions. It was amazing watching her go about her daily life with these humble, young sisters. Amazing things happen at airport gates.

Anyway, I saw them off, then drove home alone, thinking over the time I had with Calvin and all the long talks into the wee hours of the morning. He has come to know the Lord since our last visit together and I believe he sees our relationship in a very different light now. I've always felt very close to him, but now we have even more in common.

I can't wait for the next opportunity we have to see each other. I think this brief contact has reminded us all of the importance of family relationships and I believe we're all more committed to working hard to build them amongst the next generation.

Calvin's Made His Mark

My cousin, Calvin, has owned a furniture store, which he bought from his parents, for 15 years. For several years before that, he managed it for his parents. So, he's actually been IN the furniture business for 18 years. The last time Don and I visited Canada, we went by his store (I had been there before, during the years my Aunt and Uncle owned it) and looked it over. However, I was pregnant with Dane the last time I was in Canada, and he'll be 10 this June, so it's been awhile. I hadn't really thought much about Callie (as family calls him) being in the furniture business.

The night he arrived, I gave him a short tour of the house, mainly so he would know his way around in the morning or if he needed a drink or a bathroom during the night. He quietly moved from room to room, then announced,

"I hope you won't be offended, Cuz, but I'd like to do some re-decorating. Just promise me that you'll leave things the way I put them until after I'm gone, eh. Maybe you'll get used to them and decide to leave them like that."

It's nice to see you again, too, dear Cousin. From the living room, we moved into the kitchen and sat down at the table to catch up a little before bed.

"This is a nice piece," he said, fondly rubbing the table.

"It's pine," I responded, smiling. I LOVE my kitchen table. It was perfect for my kitchen and exactly what I wanted and, since buying it, we've spent many a happy hour around it.

"No, it's not pine," Calvin stated bluntly. "It's rubberwood, which is actually harder than pine. Your hutch over there" he said as he pointed to my pine hutch across the kitchen, "is pine, but it's Japanese pine, not Mexican pine. The Mexicans design these beautiful pieces of furniture that are solid and heavy. The Japanese try to knock them off, but can't quite seem to replicate the workmanship. Their pieces are always a little less sturdy and a little smaller than the Mexican originals."

As I said, I had forgotten he's been in the furniture business for 18 years. I was shocked. He knew more about furniture at a quick glance than I could ever hope to know in a hundred years.

And thus began our furniture saga.

The next day, we were headed to the Mall to pick up some things for the wedding. I was on a backroad when Calvin pointed out a store with a few pieces of used furniture sitting in front and announced,

"I want to go THERE."

"Okay," I answered, and kept driving, assuming he meant . . . sometime. I was wrong.

"I mean, NOW," he clarified. "I need to stop there NOW." I turned around and headed back to what appeared to be a real dive.

I parked and we walked inside. Turns out, the store was the remaining warehouse for a very upscale furniture store that was going out of business. I'm still not sure what the used pieces sitting out front were all about. The showroom, which had been in a very ritzy part of town, had already closed and the owner decided to sell the warehouse items directly out of their storage area so he wouldn't have any overhead. This was the first day of his final week of business and prices were slashed drastically. He was also willing to bargain, and the pieces were quite posh. Calvin was in his element.

As we walked through the warehouse, Calvin quickly scoped out the best deal in the store - a black mahogany enclosed bookshelf. Just two weeks before, I had commented to my friend, Laura, that I needed to buy an enclosed bookshelf to cut down on the dust on our books. She and I had discussed where to buy these and talked about trying to track down an attorney that was going out of business and buying his law bookshelf. And HERE one was, right now, right in front of me, and at prices too reasonable to deny.

I ended up putting a down payment on the bookshelf, then began trying to figure out how to get it from the warehouse into my living room. The owner explained that the piece weighed between 500 and 600 pounds and the four doors across the front were made up of small panes of glass.

Don suggested hiring some of the Senior boys from our school who are trying to earn money for their class trip. I worked on the arrangements, then Calvin and I made our way back to the store on Wednesday to pay the balance owed on the bookshelf and for Calvin to see what deals he could work to ship home and resell in his store. We walked away that afternoon having paid for the bookshelf AND having purchased a queen-sized platform bed for Deanna. When we first moved back into our refurbished home (6 years ago this October), I gave Deanna the largest of the 3 children's rooms. My plan was to, one day, buy her a full-size bed. Then that room would be used for company when we have visitors. Deanna could bunk with the boys or sleep in our room or the spare room. But somewhere in the house, we needed a double bed for couples, like Grandma and Grandpa Doughty, and Deanna's room was the only feasible option. However, beds are expensive. And it's not just the bed. You also have to consider the dust ruffle, sheets, comforter, extra pillows, etc. A larger bed for Deanna's room was put on the long-term furniture needs list and there it has sat - for almost six years . . . until Calvin came to visit! But the deal was impossible to pass up - a queen-size platform bed with innerspring mattress, futon cover, and four rolling drawers to go under it (Calvin says the drawers alone sell for $70 to $100 each) for a meer $150. I couldn't have even bought a decent mattress for that price.

That evening, I began moving books into my massive new bookshelf. I was about half done with the job when we had to leave to celebrate Daelyn's birthday. I came home from Chuck E. Cheese and choir practice later to discover that Calvin had taken everything out of my microwave stand.

"Oh, by the way, I hope you don't mind," he said, "but I traded your microwave cart and your bar stools to your sister for HER microwave."

Only an idiot or a blind man could have missed the shocked look on my face.

"You were telling me the other night that you didn't like the bar stools and that they don't work for your kitchen. Your sister desperately needed stools for her bar counter, which is taller than yours, and you needed her microwave cart which goes much better with your woodwork and kitchen furniture. So, I made a trade."

The next day, I began setting up my new, used microwave stand. The following day, we put together Deanna's platform bed, only to discover that we were missing one slat.

A week after Calvin's arrival, I surveyed the damage to the house. The kitchen looked like a tornado had swooped through, the contents of the microwave cart scattered everywhere, waiting for me to have 30 minutes to replace them in their new home. From there, I walked past the dining room and into the living room. Again, devastation surrounded the new bookshelf - all the books that wouldn't fit and the ones I was sorting through, trying to rid ourselves of quite so many dust collectors, were strewn all over the room. As I wandered down the hallway, the headboard of Deanna's old bed was poking out into the thoroughfare. Around the corner in the far end of the living room were the two small bookshelves that I'm reorganizing. The next hallway held the large bookshelf that we no longer need and I can't wait to "lose". Around the corner and Don's electric guitar, which used to be under Deanna's bed, is pushed against the back corner of the hallway. Deanna's room looks amazingly put together, although her comforter, which was made for a twin bed, doesn't quite cover her new queen. And, if you sit on it wrong, you fall through the missing slat.

The boy can really leave a mess in his wake. But he leaves on Thursday and I'm sure I'll spend this weekend trying to put the house back in order through my tears because I'll miss him so much.

Thankfully, I've loved everything he's done. And most of these projects were things that were desperately needed - he was the catalyst to get it done quicker.

I suppose I can suffer through a little reorganizing and temporary messiness for the greater good of a nicer home with more attractive, useful furniture. It's a small price to pay and has certainly made my 3 weeks with a much-loved cousin, my dear Calvin, memorable.

Dry Time

It's an odd thing. For the last several weeks, I've had very little on my mind, except for the wedding and preparing for Easter. I've not really had anything about which I wanted to Post. Or, maybe, I was just too doggone busy. In any case, Posts were few and far between. I would sit at the computer and nothing would pop in my head. Absolutely NO inspiration.

Suddenly, we're through the wedding, and I can't stop thinking of things about which I want to Post. I just finished my Saturday Blog entry and already have several ideas that I can't wait to write about.

I guess the old Morton's salt adage is true: "When it rains, it pours!" Nothing for two weeks, now a smorgasbord of ideas.

Doesn't it make you want to come back and visit again?

Foil on Eggs - true beauty!

We dyed our Easter eggs today - 2 dozen, to be exact.

I'm the last stronghold of Easter egg-dying in the family, yet everyone looks forward to the dyed eggs. My mother has a special basket for them and is counting on them as part of the table decoration.

Truth is, I dyed eggs when I was single. The dying isn't just a product of having young children. I LOVE dying eggs. Each year, I buy a different type of kit and we try something new. This year, we used a kit that requires you to put a thin layer of glue over the egg, then, when it's tacky, you stick silver, gold, blue, green, pink or purple shiny paper against it. The color sticks and pulls off the sheets in random patterns. They're beautiful and probably the most fun Deanna's ever had with eggs.

This is quite an art. Deanna's experimenting with dying the egg one color, then pressing the shiny paper to it in a contrasting color. She has one that she dyed a robin's egg blue, then used green shiny foil on it. I tried one, my first, dying the egg a bright orangey-pink. Then I put gold, silver and purple foil on it. It's pretty but not as stunning as Deanna's. I don't think I have the technique down quite as well as her.

The boys and their dad have gone on a hike with the Cub Scouts. I'm trying to get the kitchen cleaned up and finish my Easter cards while making dessert for tonight's dinner. (And, no, the computer's not in the kitchen. I took a break to Post while I was eating a salad - my first meal of the day.) Deanna is back at the table, doctoring up any eggs that don't look magnificent yet.

I'll be hard to top this year's eggs next year. But maybe everyone will have forgotten how beautiful these are by the time next Easter rolls around. Except, of course, for Deanna. I'm sure she'll remember and we'll spend weeks next year looking for this same type of Decorating Kit.

Word Play

Deanna has been asking me repeatedly:

"Why do we DRIVE on a Parkway and PARK on a driveway?"

If that's the only question you have about the English language, dear, you're not paying attention.

Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder

We married off my nephew this weekend. Whew! A lot of work and a tremendous amount of stress, but he's married and off on his honeymoon. Now I can begin to get my house clean again.

Yesterday, we all (the family plus all our guests from Canada) loaded up in vehicles and went out to visit my niece's boyfriend's farm. He has a working Grist mill that he operates. They raise black angus cattle, have donkeys, chickens, etc. It's 200 acres of hard work and fun.

On the way, my cousin, Calvin, was riding with me. He's been trying to develop a new hairdo since he's been here and has tried several different products in an effort to make it do what he wants. He pulled his baseball cap off and the front of his hair was flat.

"Shoot!" he hollered, and furiously began trying to spike the front of his hair up again.

"Calvin, you're wearing a hat. Nobody's gonna see your hair. Besides, we're going to a farm. There's no one there to see you."

"I have to look good for the COWS!"

Contented Exhaustion

It's been a slow news week. Or, perhaps, it's been such a good news week that there was no time to write the news, only live it.

My uncle, two aunts, and cousin arrived from Canada on Sunday night. I drove my father to the airport in a neighboring town to pick them up. My cousin is staying with us and the furor of activity to prepare for his arrival and reclaim a bedroom out of the devastation that was, once again, a Toy Room just flowed smoothly into the frenetic pace of wedding preparations. With only two days remaining and tons of work still to be done, we're all working at break-neck speed and are experiencing far more stress than any of us should.

I'm planning to spend the day tomorrow at my sister's, helping to make food and finish up the decorations for the Rehearsal Dinner. I think they finished the Programs for the wedding today. Then there's the Bridesmaids Luncheon and decorating the Reception Hall on Friday. Lots, lots to do, but at least we're doing it with our family. My sister from California is arriving tomorrow night.

So, as I breath a deep sigh of exhaustion and head to the kitchen to work on lunches and the Flower Girl's basket, which I'm decorating, it is with a deep happiness in my heart. While I'm tired and having trouble focusing, the fun part is just around the corner . . . and I get to have all that fun with people who matter so much to me.

Sorting, sorting

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn't happen often,

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

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

"I'll check it," I promised.

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

"I said 'I'll check'!"

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

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

A few minutes later, Don appeared.

"You called?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tackling the Linen Closet

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

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

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

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

Happy St. Patti's Day Birthday!

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

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

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

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

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

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

Disdogbedience

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Bard Off the Top

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

"Fie! Fie on you!"

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

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

Deanna, quick-witted as usual, responded.

"Is this a bedtime I see before me?"

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

Stocking the Pantry My Own Way

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brothers-At-Arms

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

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

"STOP!" I shrieked.

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

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

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

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

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

Police Presence in Our Backyard

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

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

Deanna appeared at my elbow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sitting Exercise

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

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

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

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

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

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

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