Just Another Sibling Spat

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Confused

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

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

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

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

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

Don: "What?"

Later in the meal . . .

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

Me: "We? Who was with you?"

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

Me: "You said, 'we'."

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

By this point, the children began to add comments.

Deanna: "You, yourself, and him?"

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

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

Don: "It must be bedtime."

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

Lots of space

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Appliance Nightmare

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Baseball FINALLY comes to an end

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our Goat Situation

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lawn Care

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whoops . . . did I say that?

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

"He talks constantly," one said.

"Yeah, Mama. He talks nonsense."

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

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

When they paused, Daelyn began talking nonsense again.

I reached over and patted him on the arm.

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


So much for encouraging silence instead of silly talk.

Nothing Like Family

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

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

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

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

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

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

" 'Grandma'," I giggled.

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

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

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

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

A Little More Culture

We were just finished up dinner last night and Don was beginning to take food off the table and return it to the stove. Deanna began humming softly. I immediately recognized the tune, one I've taught her. It was "In the Hall of the Mountain King" by Edvard Grieg from the Peer Gynt Suite.

When I was growing up, my parents loved classical music and played it for us children. My mother had a reel-to-reel tape of "Peter and the Wolf", which our family would sit around and enjoy together quite often. I was always captivated by the way the music told the story.

The Peer Gynt Suite was another of our favorites, my personal favorite piece being, "In the Hall of the Mountain King". I find myself humming it quite often and my children love the way it builds. So I wasn't surprised to hear Deanna's lilting voice softly visiting the same song.

Dane, however, needs yet another touch of culture, it seems.

"Is that 'In the Den of the Lion King', Sissy?"

Tunnel Vision

I know it's the first day of "real" summer vacation for the kids. Daelyn reminded me this morning. This is the first day they would've been in school if it wasn't for Summer Vacation.

I know they want to be doing fun things, although I haven't yet heard any complaints. But we have so much to get done in preparation for our trips this summer, I just can't see beyond "the list".

I have to get shot records from the Vet for a my niece, who's keeping Donovan for us for a few days. I have to get beads and a hair comb for my sister, the mother-of-the-bride, who already did this once, then discovered she had glued the pearls and rhinestones (to match the bride's dress) on the wrong part of the hair comb and they'll now be neatly imbedded in hair. We have to make a new one, but she used all the beads for the first one, so I need to hit the Bridal Store.

I have to pack, which is a daunting task. We'll be gone for 10 days and I'm not sure we'll be able to do wash, so I have to have many, many outfits for the kids.

Then there's the food preparation and freezing, the grocery list for shopping while we're gone, making sure Don has clothes and food here while we're gone . . .

As much as I want to do something fun with the kids today to kick off summer, I have to prepare for their summer right now.

I've gently suggested that this would all go quicker if they helped . . . so far, no response.

Cough, hack, wheeze goes the Patti

I dug through the cabinet this evening and found 5 Cipro I have left from my bout with kidney stones. I'm taking one immediately. I've GOT to do something about this coughing, the headaches, and the exhaustion after 3 p.m. each day.

I did research it on the Internet and found a number of situations where people had written that their doctor's prescribed Cipro for bronchitis. I realize that bronchitis is generally viral, but my doctor had already given me an antibiotic, just an ineffective one for my condition, so he must think there's a bacterial component this junk. So, I'm breaking out the Cipro and hoping for some improvement in time to prepare for my trip to my niece's wedding.

Oh, yes, and I'm praying for sleep tonight - desperately praying. But I'm coughing so much right now that, unless something drastic happens over the next hour, I doubt I'll be sleeping much tonight, either. I may have to move into Don's recliner and sit up to get any rest. I guess I should just be thankful we have a recliner that can be used in an emergency.

Now, Just Where's That Edge?

How long can I go without sleep? That's the question I ponder at 1:47 a.m. as I lay in bed, wide awake, my mind churning and racing.

After Grandma Doughty's death, I went without a good night's sleep for 10 days. As I was beginning to noticeably fray around the edges, a dear friend from church encouraged me to take advantage of my Ambien prescription.

"Just rely on it for a couple of weeks, to get you through this tough spot," she told me. "Take it from me; I've been there. You have to get some sleep, Patti."

It was wonderful advice and I took an Ambien that very evening. For the next two weeks, I relied on sleep aids. Then I came down with bronchitis and sleep began to elude me again, the congestion in my chest causing me to cough constantly when I laid down.

When I saw the doctor last Monday, I told him I was having trouble sleeping at night because of my cough.

"Take Nyquil," he suggested. "That should knock you out and give you a good night's sleep."

No such luck. I realized that the two plus weeks of Ambien had affected my body's ability to respond to sleep aids, but I was pretty desperate, unable to fight the bronchitis with no sleep. So I began doubling up on Ambien - two 10 mg pills each night.

Last night, I decided enough was enough. I've got to wean my body off of the "help" and begin to teach myself to fall asleep naturally again after a long, exhausting day.

The result? An absolutely sleepless night. But, after enduring a brutal headache from sleeplessness all day and the energy-stripping effects of my bronchitis which seems to remain unchecked by the antibiotics the doctor gave me, I was sure I'd be two sheets to the wind tonight.

So here I sit, now 1:59 a.m. Apparently, my exhaustion isn't enough to still my mind. While I'm determined to do this the natural way, I'm a little concerned about how my immune system is going to battle this bug without the benefit of rest to recharge my batteries.

Weren't there some studies done in the 70's on the need for REM and NREM sleep each night? My recollection is that the test subjects slowly went crazy when robbed of quality sleep over time. I just don't remember how much time it took. I suppose, in my condition, I'm predisposed to topple over the edge more quickly, anyway.

And I feel that edge looming ever closer. Maybe dropping off the sanity index will help me get to sleep - no more worrying over what to do about this situation or that problem. Just blissful craziness.

Do I already sound a little loony? Just wait until I've had another couple of sleepless nights.

Hoses, Hoses Everywhere, but not a Drop of Water

It's been amazingly dry lately, which has caused trouble for the lawn and gardens this early in the season. Our grass was already brown, my bushes beginning to shed leaves, and the vegetable plants struggling to grow.

I've tried to water them, but we seem to be hose-challenged. We had a green hose attached to the faucet which leaked like a sieve, but I couldn't get it OFF the faucet. We also had a black hose attached to one side of a double hose adapter. I figured that, if I could just get that green hose off, I could put the black hose ON.

While we were in West Virginia for Grandma's funeral, my father came down at my request and managed to remove the green hose. The next week, I attached the adapter, closed off the side with no hose attached, made sure the side with the black hose was open, and turned on the water. It poured out the closed side and nothing came out the hose. So, we have two hoses, neither of which work.

Last night, I decided I was going to get to the bottom of this. There were nails poking up on the deck, so I got a wrench and a hammer and headed outside. I hammered in all the nails that keep catching my bare feet when I walk across the deck. Then I took the wrench and began trying to remove the adapter.

It took a good while, and help from Dane, but I finally succeeded. The side that was empty was missing a very important part which didn't allow the valve to close off completely. Then Dane reminded me that Don had sawed it off when the faucet froze this past winter, causing the water to run. When we finally got the adapter removed from the black hose, I reattached it to the faucet and prepared to water.

Dane ran excitedly to the end of the hose (he LOVES watering the plants) and picked up the end, which had a sprayer attached.

"Mom, I forgot to tell you. The sprayer is broken and water won't come out of it!"

Good Grief!! No wonder our poor lawn is so parched.

I got the wrench back out and had Dane help again, attempting to remove the sprayer. It was no use. Then Dane remembered that Don had welded the sprayer onto the end of the hose. No HOPE of getting it off.

In frustration, I began to think. I grabbed the end of the green hose and realized that it leaked because the washer was missing. Then I looked in the end of the black hose that attached to the faucet. TA DA - washer!! I plunged my finger in the end, scooped out the washer, deposited it in the end of the green hose, reattached it to the faucet, and we finally had water coming out of a hose.

It took awhile and a good bit of work, but I finally have a working hose where I need it. I watered all the plants on the deck, my bushes across the front of the deck, my garden on the side of the deck, all the box gardens on the side of the house, my gardens and trees in the front yard, then turned the sprinkler on the backyard. When I finally came in, exhausted, it was 9:00. It took me two solid hours to do the watering necessary before turning on the sprinkler.

I had forgotten how long the watering took, not having done it since last fall. Dane asked me if I'd make the same deal with him that I made last year; if he waters all the gardens 3 times/week, I'll pay him $10/month. I jumped at the chance. It's well worth the money.

And now that we have a hose for him to use, we can get started.

Ice Cream for All

After several devastating baseball losses, Daelyn's team WON tonight. He told us that his hit brought in three runners and his best friend, Kolbe's, hit brought him home. He was very excited. We actually missed the first part of the game because of functions at the same time, but got there about halfway through the game.

In celebration of his first baseball win, we went to McDonald's for an ice cream cone. Then we sat in a parking lot decorating our cones with our tongues, putting curled swirls on them, poking holes in them . . . Dane fashioned a buzzard with a long nose, Deanna came up with a great buck-toothed skeleton, and Daelyn had an awesome iceberg. We all had a great time just sharing ice cream cones.

Then it was home and to bed for the children. Right now we need moments of normalcy like that. Yes, I said 'normalcy'. Having fun together over the littlest things is natural for our family. We all laughed, wasted time together, and enjoyed each other. And at the end of the day, we'll all sleep a little more peacefully tonight.

Dane had a scare tonight which just serves to remind me how raw we all still are over my mother-in-law's death. My mother was in the hospital over night last night with chest pains. It looked like she would be coming home this evening. I called all the children together in one room to discuss our busy night and make sure each of the children understood timing and what was going to happen. As we waited for Deanna to join us, Dane looked at me and quietly asked,

"Did Grandma die?"

"NO, son, she's at home in the bathtub!" After the last month, calling the family all together means some catastrophe to him, and with Grandma being hospitalized, he assumed it was her.

At least he's sharing his fears and we can talk through them. And Grandma's test didn't indicate a heart problem, which was VERY good news.

We just have to keep plugging through this season as we attempt to recover. It certainly doesn't seem to be happening quickly.

Just a Pair of Shoes

The day after we returned from West Virginia, Deanna had her first ever formal event - the Social Spring Formal. It was held at the Civic Center, had a live band, and was quite a "do"!

We bought her dress in February and had it altered to fit perfectly. I ordered elbow-length gloves for her to wear (the girls are all required to wear gloves at Social, but normally wear wrist-length cotton ones), but we couldn't seem to find the right shoes. We looked into buying dyables, but were told they would take longer than we had. Besides, my experience with dyables has not been positive. The dye tends to run and it seems they are only good for a single occasion, and at $25 a pop, plus the cost to dye, I was looking for an alternative.

On Thursday morning, April 22, I felt an overwhelming urgency about Deanna's shoes. Before school, I told Deanna I wanted to take her OUT of school to look for some and asked what classes she could afford to miss. She thought through her schedule and gave me a narrow window in the middle of the day, including her lunch period.

"I don't understand, Mom," she said. "Why are you taking me out of school? We still have this Saturday. We could shop ALL DAY if we needed to. Why take me out of school?"

I couldn't explain it, I just had this feeling - urgency. Get it done THEN. Don't wait.

I was embarrassed when I had to tell the school secretary why I was taking her. But we took off for the Mall, intent on using every free moment. As we looked at the ones I had scouted out the night before via Internet, the urgency in my spirit grew and Deanna missed her science class. We hit every store in the Mall that had shoes, then ended up right back at the first store again. However, we decided to go with white shoes instead of trying to match the color of the dress without having it with us.

To be on the safe side, I had ordered both pale pink (to match the dress) and white gloves. We decided that she could wear the white ones, the white shoes, and pearls, accenting her pale pink with white. As I returned her to school, I sighed with relief.

"I'm glad we got that done, but I still don't quite understand, Mom."

I had no better explanation after the fact. All I could tell her was that I had this feeling and HAD to get it done.

At 4:35 that afternoon, Grandpa called to tell us Grandma had died. On Saturday, we were at the Funeral Home and there was no time for shoe shopping. I wouldn't have even been able to think about Deanna's shoes, quite honestly, but we didn't have to - it was taken care of.

The day before my mother-in-law died, she baked two batches of cookies, something she always did before our visits, though we didn't have a visit planned. After her death, unable to sleep, Grandpa decided one night to prepare his medicines for the next day, something she always did for him. She died on a Thursday, but he discovered she had already done all his medicines for the next week.

The next night, I went downstairs to the basement to tuck Deanna in. I climbed on her airbed with her, put my arms around her, and we began to talk about Grandma.

"Mama," she confided, "I could barely choke down that cookie. I kept thinking it was the last cookie Grandma will ever make for me."

I knew she was struggling, as were we all, so I told her about Grandpa's medicine.

"Do you think Grandma knew she was going to die?" she asked.

"I don't think she knew the way you mean, hon," I tried to explain. "But I do think she had some feeling or sense that encouraged her to do certain things that prepared the way."

"Like you did about my shoes," she added.

Bingo.

"Mom, if the Holy Spirit was giving you a sense of urgency to get certain things done and giving Grandma a sense of urgency, that means it was the Lord's time for her."

Quite a mature young woman.

"Yes, dear, I DO think it was the Lord's time for Grandma. I don't yet understand why, but who knows - there could be many different reasons."

Knowing that God chose the day, that it wasn't some random accident, has given us all peace. Knowing Grandma had a day or two to prepare, even if she didn't understand exactly what she was preparing for, gave us all peace.

One pair of white dress shoes that hold a world of meaning to us - I don't think we'll ever be able to get rid of those shoes.

Hey, we could write a song and a movie; instead of "The Christmas Shoes", we could call it, "The Spring Formal Shoes"!!

Daelyn's Turn

As I was tucking Daelyn into bed, late again, one night last week, he begged me to snuggle him.

"Say 'The Prayer', Mommy," he whined. 'The Prayer' is my goodnight prayer I pray over the children at bedtime. It's very long, and I race through it, taking one deep, long breath nearing the end. It began simply but gained steam over the years and as the children began dealing with different issues in their lives.

It's not magic, just a conglomeration of the things that are important to our family. Daelyn loves to hear 'The Prayer', but sometimes I pray it over Dane and sometimes, I'm just too dang tired to pray it over anyone. Plus, I've found lately that I lose my train of thought in the middle and that really frustrates Daelyn.

"Son, not tonight," I told him. "I'm just too tired." The truth was, I knew I couldn't make it all the way through. I closed the door over top of his complaints and headed into the Den to read.

Fifteen minutes later, Daelyn stood in front of me with tears pouring down his face.

"Mama, I need 'The Prayer'," he said. "I asked you nicely. PLEASE, Mama, please, pray it over me."

I tucked him under my arm on the couch and quietly prayed. He stayed there and, within minutes, I heard even breathing and knew he was asleep. I woke him and ushered him back into bed.

The next night, at bedtime, he appealed to me again.

"Please can I fall asleep in your arms again?"

I'm always a little slow to process things, and even more so since Mom's death, but I agreed. The next day, it finally struck me what was happening. I'm sure it was the Holy Spirit who prodded me gently, but I realized that Daelyn is grieving, too. He needs assurances at bedtime, when his body is still and his mind is racing, that his mommy is still very much alive and loves him. He needs my arms around him, the warmth of by body next to his.

I wish I was quicker to pick up on these things. It would have made Daelyn's grieving process a little easier. But at least now I understand, so I've spent the last few nights snuggling him at bedtime.

Deanna's had her breakdown, Daelyn's now manifesting grief (if you look closely), but I can't tell what's going on with Dane, other than a surly attitude. Maybe that's HIS way of grieving.

I'll need to watch him a little closer. I need to be there for the children, even as I go through the process.

That's what Mom's are for. And I'm sure that thought has gone through Don's mind many times over the last 3 weeks.

Sporting Dilemnas

Had an interesting experience yesterday. Dane's baseball coach left a message on our answering machine reminding us that Dane had practice at 6 p.m. and added,

"Tell Dane to wear his cup."

Dane doesn't have a cup. I didn't think I had actually ever seen one before. I decided that Don, deep in a meeting at work an hour's drive away, was likely going to be very little help, so I picked the kids up at school, dropped Deanna off at home, then stopped by a friend's house and left the boys in the car.

"Can I speak privately with you?" I asked when she answered the door. I noticed a surprised look on her face, but she very graciously ushered me in. I'm sure she probably thought I was coming to tell her some horrible thing had happened that involved our sons (she has a boy in Dane's class that has pitched for several years).

I quickly explained my predicament. She laughed.

"Don't worry, Patti," she said, "you should have seen ME the first time I bought one. I took every one out of the box, shook it all out, held it up, and looked it over. The people at the store probably thought I was crazy."

If they did, craziness in this area must run rampant amongst mothers. Thankfully, she gave me some tips, and we headed to the Sporting Goods store.

Dane now has an awesome pair of slider shorts with all the necessary safety parts and a spare pair of just the essentials that could pass as bikini underwear on his younger brother. Unfortunately, I don't think they let you return those items. The sad part is the one that doesn't fit cost $15 and a store employee helped us pick it out, promising it would fit perfectly.

Maybe HE ought to spend some time opening packages and examining the product.

The New Me?

I keep wondering if I'll ever be the same again, ever feel "right" again. There's a quietness in my spirit that I haven't often felt in my life, a lack of zeal for life, having to "work up" enthusiasm. I didn't even yell at Dane's baseball game last night, even though they won by several runs and played great. I sat quietly, visiting with friends or watching silently.

Maybe I'll always be this way from now on. Maybe this is the new me.

Just Put One Foot in Front of the Other

Grief is an interesting thing. It seems to have a life all its own, uncontrolled by your thoughts, emotions, needs . . . Grief does what grief needs. It's like being possessed by something other than yourself that seems to be able to take hold of your actions and force you to do things that you would never choose.

Many years ago, when I lost my first grandparent, I remember being at work in the days that followed, reading a newspaper, not even thinking about my Grandpa, when tears began to flow, unchecked, down my cheeks. We all know that we can force emotion or tearful sentiment by dwelling on sad thoughts. But I wasn't even thinking about him. It was as if grief was in no way connected to MY brain - it just DID things that seemed to be beyond my control.

Losing my mother-in-law has been different, but no less mind-boggling. I'm much older now, have a husband and children who need my support, and HAVE to stay focused to be a responsible parent. But I find myself zoning out and have difficulty completing tasks, getting "fuzzy-headed" and forgetting what I'm in the middle of doing, being unbelievably tired and disinterested in just about everything, and just wanting to curl up in a ball and sleep, yet unable to make my mind stop long enough to catch even a few winks. Again, I feel like my body is being controlled by someone else, that I'm a marionette at the beck and call of this thing we call "grief".

While we were in West Virginia, I shifted into high gear. I felt an overwhelming need to take care of my father-in-law; to leave him with a freezer full of home-cooked meals portioned out, a clean house that won't need touching up for quite some time, and organized cabinets that will be easy for him to use. I spent hours, working from fairly early in the day until late at night reorganizing and cooking. I got massive amounts of work accomplished and was very focused. I kept telling myself there would be time to grieve when I got home. I'm home now and, like it or now, the process has begun. I've tried to push it aside and focus on a very busy life and schedule, but it won't be denied.

People keep asking me how Don is doing; after all, it was HIS mother that died. I tell them I have no idea. Don is normally quiet and I seldom know what he's thinking, but his usual quietness has been mild in comparison to the man I'm living with right now. We went out to the Lake with friends today, celebrating Daelyn and his buddy, Kolbe's, First Communion. Don sat away from everyone else, didn't join in the conversation, and spent awhile off walking by himself. On the way to the Lake, in the van, I told him that people were asking how he's doing and explained that I don't know what to say.

"I don't know what to tell you to tell our friends," he said. "I don't know how I'm doing."

"Are you just numb still?" I asked him.

"I think that's what's happening," he responded. Then, a few minutes later, added quietly, "And Mother's Day is next weekend . . ."

Grief takes many different shapes. Deanna chewed me out yesterday when I was gone for an hour and she didn't know where I was. I had told Dane where I was going, just walking across the street to talk to a friend, but he forgot. After I got a little tired of Deanna fussing at me and told her to stop, she welled up with tears.

"You could have dropped dead somewhere from a heart attack and I wouldn't have even known," she blurted out, then ran from the room crying. I hadn't realized that her grief was causing her to fear suddenly losing someone else she loves. It looks different from my zoning out and lack of concentration. It even looks different from Don's detached quietness.

We're all dealing as best we can. The good news is that we're dealing. The bad news is that I have no idea how long it will take us. Grief is a strange bedfellow.