Who designed a mixer with only 2 beaters? It must have been someone with only 2 children. I think a mixer should have the same number of beaters as a house has children. Anyone with children, who has ever mixed a chocolate cake, knows of the fight that ensues over the coveted beaters.
For years I tried to come up with a way to satisfy all of the chocolate cake batter, licking kids. Two beaters, 1 spatula, and 2 kids to share licking the bowl was how I usually divided the chocolate goo. But no matter how I tried to leave the same amount on the spatula as on the beaters and twice as much stuck to the inside of the bowl, everyone still wanted the beaters. I think it is because they are so much more fun to lick and it takes longer to eat, making it much more savory.
I even tried to bake my cakes while some of the kids were at school. But invariably when the cake was being consumed, someone would ask who had gotten the privilege of licking the beaters. Of couse the recipients would gleefully respond it was them. I'd have some unhappy campers. Try using the mixer when the kids are outside playing. It doesn't matter, they will hear the whir and come running.
Maybe I'll redesign the Mixer. And for my friend with the 13 children, maybe I can make it with mini-beaters or something. To make it perfectly fair, every kid should get one to lick to his heart's content.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Number 44
For six years, #44 was my favorite. This is the number my only son wore on his back during his lacrosse career. Summer days in scorching heat I yelled and cheered for 44 until I was parched. I sweated for that number. Lacrosse games were rarely cancelled because of weather. Only when lightening strikes, anything else and the game went on. I've stood in torrents of rain as Christopher slid up and skidded down a muddy field. 
On bitter cold days, Michael and I huddled close under heavy blankets while the snow refused to give up. But neither would #44. He was tough and played hard in spite of the elements or his opponents. 
I learned to multi-task during lacrosse games. One eye was transfixed on #44 while the other kept track of his younger siblings playing on the sidelines. I'd hand out snacks, videotape the games, carry on a conversation with other lacrosse moms while never missing a single shot or hit. All except for one game.
This game was on the other side of town in an unfamiliar area. For a few moments I was distracted. My littles were out of my sight. I whipped around in order to gain visibility in every direction. I spent a minute in panic before I spied them playing under a tree. Turning back to the field, I noticed the boys "taking a knee." This meant a player was down. Surrounded by a coach, a trainer and some others was a blue jersey and gold helmet. Darn! The injured player was one of ours. I glanced up and down the field. Where was he? While kneeling it was much more difficult to find number 44. During play, I knew his stride even when I couldn't see his back. I recognized his hits, his stick, his swing, even his socks. I saw those familiar legs, from the knees down. It was my boy they were gathered around.
I tried not to be a hovering, overprotective parent, but I scrambled in haste as if I was one. I broke out in a run, but slowed to a jaunt as I neared the center line. I waited anxiously, not daring to sprint onto the field. I heard a voice yell out, "are his parents here?" That was my invitation.
In the middle of the commotion there was a frantic search for something to sling his arm. His jersey was being torn, shoulder pads cut off. I heard words like "broken collar bone, very painful, needs emergency attention." We got him to my car and into the reclined front seat. Shaking, I drove to the only hospital I knew, which was 45 minutes away. Each bump he grimaced and drew in his breath. Silence, groaning, then he'd weakly ask, "are we almost there?" "Yes," I kept lying.
Number 44 was tough. He'd be fine. He's my boy. He's my 44. He did have a fractured clavacle, some bumps and bruises. He missed the rest of that season. But he came back playing stronger and harder than ever before.
Today #44 takes on new meaning. It is my birthday and somehow I've found that same number pinned to me. I'm going to learn to love this number all over again.
On bitter cold days, Michael and I huddled close under heavy blankets while the snow refused to give up. But neither would #44. He was tough and played hard in spite of the elements or his opponents. I learned to multi-task during lacrosse games. One eye was transfixed on #44 while the other kept track of his younger siblings playing on the sidelines. I'd hand out snacks, videotape the games, carry on a conversation with other lacrosse moms while never missing a single shot or hit. All except for one game.
This game was on the other side of town in an unfamiliar area. For a few moments I was distracted. My littles were out of my sight. I whipped around in order to gain visibility in every direction. I spent a minute in panic before I spied them playing under a tree. Turning back to the field, I noticed the boys "taking a knee." This meant a player was down. Surrounded by a coach, a trainer and some others was a blue jersey and gold helmet. Darn! The injured player was one of ours. I glanced up and down the field. Where was he? While kneeling it was much more difficult to find number 44. During play, I knew his stride even when I couldn't see his back. I recognized his hits, his stick, his swing, even his socks. I saw those familiar legs, from the knees down. It was my boy they were gathered around.
I tried not to be a hovering, overprotective parent, but I scrambled in haste as if I was one. I broke out in a run, but slowed to a jaunt as I neared the center line. I waited anxiously, not daring to sprint onto the field. I heard a voice yell out, "are his parents here?" That was my invitation.
In the middle of the commotion there was a frantic search for something to sling his arm. His jersey was being torn, shoulder pads cut off. I heard words like "broken collar bone, very painful, needs emergency attention." We got him to my car and into the reclined front seat. Shaking, I drove to the only hospital I knew, which was 45 minutes away. Each bump he grimaced and drew in his breath. Silence, groaning, then he'd weakly ask, "are we almost there?" "Yes," I kept lying.
Number 44 was tough. He'd be fine. He's my boy. He's my 44. He did have a fractured clavacle, some bumps and bruises. He missed the rest of that season. But he came back playing stronger and harder than ever before.
Today #44 takes on new meaning. It is my birthday and somehow I've found that same number pinned to me. I'm going to learn to love this number all over again.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Another milestone
Yesterday we hit another milestone. I took our 4th child for her driving test. On one hand I was praying madly for her success and the other I was questioning why we were allowing her to operate such heavy machinery. Is she really ready to be all alone on the road? Do I want to turn her loose to brave the treachery of the traffic and aggressive drivers? She is responsible, I tell myself. She is cautious. But it isn't her that I'm most concerned about. She won't be drinking and driving, but she might encounter a drunk driver while on the road.
I waited for her to return. I watched the door. I was hoping I would have an idea if she passed or failed by her countenance and wouldn't have to ask. She came through the door with a skip. Her smile was unmistakable. We have a new fully-licensed driver in our house. Our drivers once again out-number our cars.
And now I wait anxiously again. It is snowing and cold and I'm hoping the roads aren't too slick or icy. Our driver has gone to the library with her younger sister. I thought this was a good thing, that it would make my life a bit easier. Hmmm...sometimes the mental and emotional work of a parent is harder than chauffering your children around town yourself.
I waited for her to return. I watched the door. I was hoping I would have an idea if she passed or failed by her countenance and wouldn't have to ask. She came through the door with a skip. Her smile was unmistakable. We have a new fully-licensed driver in our house. Our drivers once again out-number our cars.
And now I wait anxiously again. It is snowing and cold and I'm hoping the roads aren't too slick or icy. Our driver has gone to the library with her younger sister. I thought this was a good thing, that it would make my life a bit easier. Hmmm...sometimes the mental and emotional work of a parent is harder than chauffering your children around town yourself.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Cookies
Ethan and I made cookies! Before Ethan was born I'd imagined baking cookies with him. It just seems like a grandmotherly thing to do. Last week with Christina sick, I was running out of things to do with him. When he doesn't have something to do, he finds things to do. His favorite is putting things in the toilet, or pulling the toilet paper out until it is gone. I caught him with an open bottle of nail polish with the brush end (and some polish) in his mouth. I was ever so thankful it wasn't on the carpet, but it wasn't fun getting it off of his face and chest. (Or off of my hands and arms when I was finished cleaning him up.)
I needed to make cookies for my kids' lunches, so Ethan and I did. While on the phone recently with Christina, she had been making cookies with him, so I thought we'd give it a try.
Ethan loved stirring, but wasn't too happy that I helped. He did a great job pouring in the flour, vanilla, and chocolate chips. It was a proud gramma moment.
I took a bit of dough out, rolled it, and placed it on the pan. He stood over the dough, spoon in hand watching. As I reached to make the second one, he bent over to cover the bowl. I took some dough out. He began protesting immediately. He then curled himself over the bowl trying to hide it from me. He took his spoon and scooped a big blob of dough, all the while hunched over, and began to consume it as quickly as he could. I had to sneak dough out to make the rest of the cookies. At one point he began yelling at me and nothing I could do would convince him it was a good thing to make cookies. I had so much fun and hope Ethan did too. I know he sure did enjoy eating the dough. I don't think anyone noticed anything extra in the cookies, lol. In fact, Hilary said they were the best she'd ever had. Way-to-go Ethan! Here are a couple of pics. I couldn't get him to look up from that bowl for anything.
I needed to make cookies for my kids' lunches, so Ethan and I did. While on the phone recently with Christina, she had been making cookies with him, so I thought we'd give it a try.
Ethan loved stirring, but wasn't too happy that I helped. He did a great job pouring in the flour, vanilla, and chocolate chips. It was a proud gramma moment.
I took a bit of dough out, rolled it, and placed it on the pan. He stood over the dough, spoon in hand watching. As I reached to make the second one, he bent over to cover the bowl. I took some dough out. He began protesting immediately. He then curled himself over the bowl trying to hide it from me. He took his spoon and scooped a big blob of dough, all the while hunched over, and began to consume it as quickly as he could. I had to sneak dough out to make the rest of the cookies. At one point he began yelling at me and nothing I could do would convince him it was a good thing to make cookies. I had so much fun and hope Ethan did too. I know he sure did enjoy eating the dough. I don't think anyone noticed anything extra in the cookies, lol. In fact, Hilary said they were the best she'd ever had. Way-to-go Ethan! Here are a couple of pics. I couldn't get him to look up from that bowl for anything.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Elisabeth's Birth
Nineteen years ago, I was 8 days past my due date and feeling awful. I was in tears that morning and called my Dr.'s office. They told me to come in so they could check and see what was going on with me. I am one of those people who have contractions every 5-10 minutes for days/weeks prior to delivery. Christina was 5 and Christopher was 2 at the time.
I called Michael to tell him about the appointment. While on the phone, Christina informs me that Christopher has opened the bubbles and was carrying them around. He toddled into the room with the soapy liquid splashing. I told him to hand me the bubbles and he tried to turn and run. I caught hold of his arm that didn't have the bubbles and held onto him. (This was the days when the phones were attached by cords and you had to stay right next to the phone.)
In the seconds it took me to say good-bye and hang up the phone, Christopher was pulling to get away from me. As the phone clicked on the receiver, I snatched the bubbles away and Christopher began crying. He wasn't crying over the bubbles. He said his arm hurt. I held him and tried to soothe him, but almost immediately I knew something was wrong. I phoned his Dr. and was able to get an appointment an hour before mine. (It's too bad kids don't realize you don't mess with an overdue, very pregnant mom.) But I felt even more awful.
I phoned a friend asking if she could watch my kids after I took Christopher to the doctor. She said of course, so off we went. It didn't take very long for the doctor to diagnose my son. His elbow was popped out of place. Hot tears stung my eyes. I felt like the world's worst mother. It didn't take much to fix it. She pulled it and twisted a bit and it was all better. I was ever so thankful I had an understanding doctor. She joked with me and told me about when her own sister had this happen, how she called her long distance to try to have her explain how to pop it back into place. She'd given her sister instructions and could hear the child screaming in the background as she attempted to put it back. The sister couldn't do it, so was going to a doctor. Later she called laughing, saying she was trying to fix the wrong arm. I was amused, but still felt bad.
Christopher got a lollipop and was happy, so I dropped him and Christina off at my friend's and went to my appointment. After the usual, my doctor examined me. He asked me if I'd been having contractions. I said yes, the same ones I'd been having all week. "Well, you are dilated to 6cm., so I want you to just go to the hospital." I was shocked. I explained that I needed to pick up my kids, but he insisted I go straight to the hospital.
I arrived at the hospital at 3:30p.m., just a few minutes after Michael did. (Okay, I didn't drive straight there. I stopped at my girlfriend's to explain to make sure she could keep my children. Remember, this was before cell phones.)
I was hooked to the monitors and also to Pitocin. I couldn't tell that anything had changed and I didn't feel like I was in labor. Twice, the nurses "lost" the baby's heartbeat. I wasn't sure what that meant. My doctor showed up around 6:30p.m. He broke my water, said he was going to have dinner, then come back and deliver the baby. Fine.
As soon as he left, the contractions became very painful. (You know, I finally figured out that I like that bag of water intact. It is a very nice cushion for both me and baby and from here on out I was not going to let that be taken away too early.) A half-hour later, I was losing it. They called for the doctor to come back and he very quickly began changing into his scrubs and telling me not to push. It didn't much matter if I pushed, she was going to come anyway. I watched the face of a student doctor, who was standing there ready at the foot of my bed. I could tell he was getting worried that he might have to step in and catch her. My doc turned around just in time to deliver her.
The cord was wrapped around her neck twice, and it also had a knot in it. (Somewhere I have a pic, and if I find it, I'll have to post it.) That was why they lost her heart beat. The remarkable thing was my Dr. announced that she had the longest cord he'd ever seen. God is good!
Elisabeth weighed 6lbs, 13 oz. (I'll see if I can scan a photo in, what is a birth story without a picture?)
Happy Birthday Elisabeth!
(Note: I intended to write this on 2/23, Elisabeth's 19th birthday, but that was the day Michael had his angiogram,and the next week became a blur. So I am doing this now.)
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Living like the Rich and Famous
I have a confession to make. I feel guilty. I feel like I'm living in someone else's shoes where I don't belong.
After Michael's cardiac ordeal, the cardiologist was pretty insistant that he change his dietary needs to the Zone Diet. Some of you may remember my first attempt at this diet back in June. The recipes in the book were for a single serving and I didn't do very well multiplying them by 7. Michael understood the challenges of making a lifestyle change in our family's eating habits, so he kindly took matters into his own hands. I'm not sure why some of us wait until we have a health scare to fully appreciate our need to take better care of ourselves. But we are now more motivated. So this sweet man made a huge investment. He signed us up for the ZoneDietAtHome.
What this means is: for 1 full month, Michael and I will enjoy 3 deliciously prepared meals & 2 snacks each day. And the best part? They will be cooked by chefs, delivered straight to my doorstep each week. It is a complete no-brainer. Each morning I wake up, I take my breakfast out and eat. The same goes for lunch, snack, dinner, snack. All I have to do is eat! (Heating is often suggested, but not always required.) Could a diet get any simpler???
Well, sure, I still have to make meals for my family. I thought this would be a challenge, but so far it has not. In fact, having meals individually packaged has been so convenient I've been inspired. Sunday evening I cooked up a week's worth of omelettes, pancakes, and such for breakfasts. I then individually packaged them. It is only Wednesday but mornings have been so easy. The kids have a choice in what they want for the week and then just have to pull out their meal and eat. What could be easier?
Today is the last day of the first week of this luxury. Sometime this afternoon, another week's worth of meals will arrive. I will arrange them in the refrigerator by days and Michael and I will be set for the week. It has been fun to try new foods and new combinations. (More inspiration for when I have to really cook again.) Because of the investment, neither Michael nor I feel the need to cheat on this diet. I'm excited to see what this next week's menu will be. Now if I can just get past my birthday and Hilary's birthday...
After Michael's cardiac ordeal, the cardiologist was pretty insistant that he change his dietary needs to the Zone Diet. Some of you may remember my first attempt at this diet back in June. The recipes in the book were for a single serving and I didn't do very well multiplying them by 7. Michael understood the challenges of making a lifestyle change in our family's eating habits, so he kindly took matters into his own hands. I'm not sure why some of us wait until we have a health scare to fully appreciate our need to take better care of ourselves. But we are now more motivated. So this sweet man made a huge investment. He signed us up for the ZoneDietAtHome.
What this means is: for 1 full month, Michael and I will enjoy 3 deliciously prepared meals & 2 snacks each day. And the best part? They will be cooked by chefs, delivered straight to my doorstep each week. It is a complete no-brainer. Each morning I wake up, I take my breakfast out and eat. The same goes for lunch, snack, dinner, snack. All I have to do is eat! (Heating is often suggested, but not always required.) Could a diet get any simpler???
Well, sure, I still have to make meals for my family. I thought this would be a challenge, but so far it has not. In fact, having meals individually packaged has been so convenient I've been inspired. Sunday evening I cooked up a week's worth of omelettes, pancakes, and such for breakfasts. I then individually packaged them. It is only Wednesday but mornings have been so easy. The kids have a choice in what they want for the week and then just have to pull out their meal and eat. What could be easier?
Today is the last day of the first week of this luxury. Sometime this afternoon, another week's worth of meals will arrive. I will arrange them in the refrigerator by days and Michael and I will be set for the week. It has been fun to try new foods and new combinations. (More inspiration for when I have to really cook again.) Because of the investment, neither Michael nor I feel the need to cheat on this diet. I'm excited to see what this next week's menu will be. Now if I can just get past my birthday and Hilary's birthday...
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
I Wonder
I've been thinking a lot today. For a very long time now, I have believed that when we try to limit our family size what we are really saying is, "I don't believe God knows what is best for me, so I'll take care of this myself, thank-you-very-much." I think the reason we stop at 1, 2, 6, or 10 is for purely selfish reasons. Oh, we are good at disguising our true feelings. We say things like, "we can't afford to have more, we wouldn't be able to spend enough quality time with our children if we had another, blah, blah, blah."
I am of the mindset that God DOES know what He is doing. Little by little, even science (I believe) proves God right. What if you had 2 children, 1 boy and 1 girl. You and your spouse decided that you had the perfect little family. Snip, snip! You ended your physical ability to have more children saying you could always adopt later if you changed your mind, afterall, aren't there plenty of children out there just waiting to be adopted?
But what if God had designed for you to have 4 children. Because God is Omniscient, He knows just exactly what you need. What if in that perfect design for you to have 4 children, He had built in a safe guard so that you would not get breast cancer. Suppose your body needed just the exact hormone variance of having 4 children in order to ensure your health and avoid breast cancer. If you knew this ahead of time and could choose just 2 children and later get breast cancer, or choose to raise 4 children (complete with all of the sacrifices this requires), what would you choose?
Sadly, too often when we make life-altering choices we don't give God enough credit. We don't believe He is looking out for our best interest, or that He truly cares about the details of our lives. We think just because we had 4 children in 4 1/2 years that we will continue to have children this quickly/easily. (My mom had her first child at 19 and had her 4th before she turned 24.) My mom didn't plan to have that many children that soon. In fact, the doctor had told her she would probably never have children. She also didn't know that she would have a complete hysterectomy at age 24. She did not have 20+ children, as some might have guessed at the rate she was going. Had she decided after having her first daughter and first son and quit, I wouldn't be here. I am so thankful that she allowed God to choose her family size.
I also wonder how a man would feel if after deciding to stop his family size at say 3 children, and then later found out this increased his wife's chance of cancer.
What if she did develop cancer and died? Would he see the connection? Would he wonder if he directly or indirectly opened the door for his wife's cancer? And if he tried to warn other, younger men and fathers of the dangers of not allowing God to choose their family size, would these men pay attention?
And what about the wife who twisted her husband's arm to quit having children because she just didn't think she could handle anymore? Would she question if her decision had anything to do with her illness? Would she wish to go back and do it over again so her children would not only have more siblings to enjoy but also a longer time with their mom? Her husband, instead of enjoying his family, is left with the full responsibility of raising his children because of his wife's selfishness, how would she feel?
I'm just thinking out loud today. This is not meant to criticize anyone for their choices in family size. Just wondering what if...
I am of the mindset that God DOES know what He is doing. Little by little, even science (I believe) proves God right. What if you had 2 children, 1 boy and 1 girl. You and your spouse decided that you had the perfect little family. Snip, snip! You ended your physical ability to have more children saying you could always adopt later if you changed your mind, afterall, aren't there plenty of children out there just waiting to be adopted?
But what if God had designed for you to have 4 children. Because God is Omniscient, He knows just exactly what you need. What if in that perfect design for you to have 4 children, He had built in a safe guard so that you would not get breast cancer. Suppose your body needed just the exact hormone variance of having 4 children in order to ensure your health and avoid breast cancer. If you knew this ahead of time and could choose just 2 children and later get breast cancer, or choose to raise 4 children (complete with all of the sacrifices this requires), what would you choose?
Sadly, too often when we make life-altering choices we don't give God enough credit. We don't believe He is looking out for our best interest, or that He truly cares about the details of our lives. We think just because we had 4 children in 4 1/2 years that we will continue to have children this quickly/easily. (My mom had her first child at 19 and had her 4th before she turned 24.) My mom didn't plan to have that many children that soon. In fact, the doctor had told her she would probably never have children. She also didn't know that she would have a complete hysterectomy at age 24. She did not have 20+ children, as some might have guessed at the rate she was going. Had she decided after having her first daughter and first son and quit, I wouldn't be here. I am so thankful that she allowed God to choose her family size.
I also wonder how a man would feel if after deciding to stop his family size at say 3 children, and then later found out this increased his wife's chance of cancer.
What if she did develop cancer and died? Would he see the connection? Would he wonder if he directly or indirectly opened the door for his wife's cancer? And if he tried to warn other, younger men and fathers of the dangers of not allowing God to choose their family size, would these men pay attention?
And what about the wife who twisted her husband's arm to quit having children because she just didn't think she could handle anymore? Would she question if her decision had anything to do with her illness? Would she wish to go back and do it over again so her children would not only have more siblings to enjoy but also a longer time with their mom? Her husband, instead of enjoying his family, is left with the full responsibility of raising his children because of his wife's selfishness, how would she feel?
I'm just thinking out loud today. This is not meant to criticize anyone for their choices in family size. Just wondering what if...
Monday, March 06, 2006
Ultrasound
I went for an ultrasound today. No, I'm not pregnant. They aren't much fun when there isn't a little person you get to see, no tiny hands or feet. I went because my uterus was enlarged the size of a 12 week pregnancy. In the back of my mind I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to go in and have the tech say, "well no wonder your uterus is swollen, there's a baby in there." Now that would have been a delightful surprise.
While lying on the table I thought about the whole procedure and how it affects one's life. How many times does a woman lie on this table hoping beyond hope to see a fluttering heart beat? The elation that comes when life is confirmed. What about the excited mother-to-be who is waiting to find out if she is having a boy or girl? She comes in and in a moment of time her dreams are shattered when it becomes apparent that something is wrong with this new little life. This machine has the power of alleviating fears, or creating new ones. Your life can change in a dramatic way.
For me it did neither. They found a mass. I was told I'd need to come back for further tests and a different ultrasound. Fine.
The part that stirred emotion was when the tech found my ovary. She turned the screen towards me and exclaimed, "Look! This is your left ovary. You are about to ovulate. See that little circle? That is the follicle about to release the egg." She exuded excitement. It was as if she was witnessing the beginning of life. (Truthfully, this is the potential beginning of life, it should be something that brings more than a yawn.) She never found the right ovary, but said it didn't matter since I would be back for another exam.
There's a desire in my heart to hope beyond hope that my little potential beginning of life would become a reality. My home is full, but inside my heart lurks an emptiness. Will that desire disappear, once these little potentials quit bursting forth? Will acceptance of no more babies ever find a place in my heart? I think not.
While lying on the table I thought about the whole procedure and how it affects one's life. How many times does a woman lie on this table hoping beyond hope to see a fluttering heart beat? The elation that comes when life is confirmed. What about the excited mother-to-be who is waiting to find out if she is having a boy or girl? She comes in and in a moment of time her dreams are shattered when it becomes apparent that something is wrong with this new little life. This machine has the power of alleviating fears, or creating new ones. Your life can change in a dramatic way.
For me it did neither. They found a mass. I was told I'd need to come back for further tests and a different ultrasound. Fine.
The part that stirred emotion was when the tech found my ovary. She turned the screen towards me and exclaimed, "Look! This is your left ovary. You are about to ovulate. See that little circle? That is the follicle about to release the egg." She exuded excitement. It was as if she was witnessing the beginning of life. (Truthfully, this is the potential beginning of life, it should be something that brings more than a yawn.) She never found the right ovary, but said it didn't matter since I would be back for another exam.
There's a desire in my heart to hope beyond hope that my little potential beginning of life would become a reality. My home is full, but inside my heart lurks an emptiness. Will that desire disappear, once these little potentials quit bursting forth? Will acceptance of no more babies ever find a place in my heart? I think not.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Playdough vs. Poop
Playdough-soft, squishy in hands
Poop-soft, squishy in hands
Playdough-sticky
Poop-sticky
Playdough-sticks to carpet, hard to clean
Poop-sticks to carpet, hard to clean
Playdough-molds nicely into shapes
Poop-keeps falling apart
Playdough-doesn't smell too bad.
Poop-smells very bad.
What would make a kid think one was the other, or at least play with it, rub it in the carpet in the same way, and basically smear it all over????
(Sorry for the grossness, but it's worse in real life. I won't humor you with photos.)
Playdough-soft, squishy in hands
Poop-soft, squishy in hands
Playdough-sticky
Poop-sticky
Playdough-sticks to carpet, hard to clean
Poop-sticks to carpet, hard to clean
Playdough-molds nicely into shapes
Poop-keeps falling apart
Playdough-doesn't smell too bad.
Poop-smells very bad.
What would make a kid think one was the other, or at least play with it, rub it in the carpet in the same way, and basically smear it all over????
(Sorry for the grossness, but it's worse in real life. I won't humor you with photos.)
Monday, February 27, 2006
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Happy Thoughts
Happy thoughts...can we just have happy thoughts today? I need a day of humor, a few amusing anecdotes. I woke up at 3:30a.m. with the worst sore throat I've had that I can remember. Could Ethan have shared his strep with me? I have a too much to do to pause for a Dr. appointment. No, a pause I can afford, an appointment with the waiting room is way to big of a block. Blocks should be reserved for naps or shopping for my birthday girl. (Why do I wait until the day before to get something for her birthday?) I wait because I am not a good hider, but my kids are good seekers. They would find anything that might resemble a present.
That reminds me of one year at Christmas. My 3 siblings and I snuck into our parent's bedroom and peeked at all of the Christmas presents. We knew which ones belonged to us, as we all had different and distinct tastes. Imagine our shock when Christmas morning came and my wise parents mixed them all up. My sister was now the owner of the doll I so much wanted. She hated dolls. I wonder if my parents thought we'd be smart enough to trade gifts with one another. Can you just imagine a bartering session on Christmas morning? That might have been fun and amusing, but none of us thought of this option. So instead we were sorely disappointed.
I've never been brave enough to try this method of stopping peekers and seekers. So I am resigned to shop the day before birthdays, and yes right before Christmas too.
Happy thoughts...can we just have happy thoughts today? I need a day of humor, a few amusing anecdotes. I woke up at 3:30a.m. with the worst sore throat I've had that I can remember. Could Ethan have shared his strep with me? I have a too much to do to pause for a Dr. appointment. No, a pause I can afford, an appointment with the waiting room is way to big of a block. Blocks should be reserved for naps or shopping for my birthday girl. (Why do I wait until the day before to get something for her birthday?) I wait because I am not a good hider, but my kids are good seekers. They would find anything that might resemble a present.
That reminds me of one year at Christmas. My 3 siblings and I snuck into our parent's bedroom and peeked at all of the Christmas presents. We knew which ones belonged to us, as we all had different and distinct tastes. Imagine our shock when Christmas morning came and my wise parents mixed them all up. My sister was now the owner of the doll I so much wanted. She hated dolls. I wonder if my parents thought we'd be smart enough to trade gifts with one another. Can you just imagine a bartering session on Christmas morning? That might have been fun and amusing, but none of us thought of this option. So instead we were sorely disappointed.
I've never been brave enough to try this method of stopping peekers and seekers. So I am resigned to shop the day before birthdays, and yes right before Christmas too.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Sad
I am trying to remember the anger, but it escapes me. I reach for the positives of the decision, but they seem so insignificant.
Seven years ago, my fifth child entered 1st grade. I'd had kids underfoot for 18 straight years and I found myself feeling a bit lonely. No more babies to cuddle, no company for hours every day, 5 days a week. I began wanting a puppy. I wanted a lap dog, one that would follow me around as I went about my day. If I sat down at a task, I wanted him underfoot-just like one of the kids. I browsed the pet shops, talked to other people, researched. Then I found him.
He was a pathetic looking puppy in a pet store. I hated the thought of spending the money, and even worse buying from a pet shop that perpetuated puppy mills. But this baby, errr...puppy, needed a home. I visited him on several occasions and every chance I got would tell my husband of this longing. It all looked very unlikely, that is, until Mother's Day.
Michael came to me and asked me what I wanted. I told him all I wanted was that puppy at the pet store. He argued with me all of the reasons we should NOT get a dog and asked me again what I would like for Mother's Day. That puppy. Guess what I got for Mother's Day? That puppy.
I named him Dakota, because Dakota means "friend." He was my buddy, my pal, my constant companion. Unfortunately, he did not remain the little lap dog he was supposed to be. Instead of the 9-12 lbs typical for a Bichon Frise, he grew to 23 lbs. He still thought he was a lap dog and I had to quit bathing him in the sink, but he remained my little buddy during the day and friend to everyone.
Dakota learned tricks fast. The favorite was dancing or at the command "bang" he'd play dead. He'd fetch a ball and actually bring it back to you. The funniest game was hide and seek. You had to be quick to play. You'd throw his ball down the stairs and run like the dickens. He'd race down, grab his ball, then be back up the stairs in seconds. He then proceeded to find whoever threw the ball. Of course no matter where you hid, he'd always find you then be ready to play again.
Dakota left us today. No, he didn't die. After 7 years we made the decision to give him up. Like I said, the positives of this decision escape me now. I found myself praying that his new home would love him even more than we did. (Is that possible?) Hoping beyond all hope that someone would be more patient with him, spend more time with him, let him be their constant companion (and maybe even let him sleep on the bed.) Of course the nagging thoughts are, what if they don't? What if he doesn't go to a better home?
I can only imagine how difficult it is when some gives up a child for adoption. The anguish and guilt must be overwhelming. Maybe, just maybe, Dakota will be the sparkle in someone else's eyes, the joy that only and adoptive parent would know.
I am trying to remember the anger, but it escapes me. I reach for the positives of the decision, but they seem so insignificant.
Seven years ago, my fifth child entered 1st grade. I'd had kids underfoot for 18 straight years and I found myself feeling a bit lonely. No more babies to cuddle, no company for hours every day, 5 days a week. I began wanting a puppy. I wanted a lap dog, one that would follow me around as I went about my day. If I sat down at a task, I wanted him underfoot-just like one of the kids. I browsed the pet shops, talked to other people, researched. Then I found him.
He was a pathetic looking puppy in a pet store. I hated the thought of spending the money, and even worse buying from a pet shop that perpetuated puppy mills. But this baby, errr...puppy, needed a home. I visited him on several occasions and every chance I got would tell my husband of this longing. It all looked very unlikely, that is, until Mother's Day.
Michael came to me and asked me what I wanted. I told him all I wanted was that puppy at the pet store. He argued with me all of the reasons we should NOT get a dog and asked me again what I would like for Mother's Day. That puppy. Guess what I got for Mother's Day? That puppy.
I named him Dakota, because Dakota means "friend." He was my buddy, my pal, my constant companion. Unfortunately, he did not remain the little lap dog he was supposed to be. Instead of the 9-12 lbs typical for a Bichon Frise, he grew to 23 lbs. He still thought he was a lap dog and I had to quit bathing him in the sink, but he remained my little buddy during the day and friend to everyone.
Dakota learned tricks fast. The favorite was dancing or at the command "bang" he'd play dead. He'd fetch a ball and actually bring it back to you. The funniest game was hide and seek. You had to be quick to play. You'd throw his ball down the stairs and run like the dickens. He'd race down, grab his ball, then be back up the stairs in seconds. He then proceeded to find whoever threw the ball. Of course no matter where you hid, he'd always find you then be ready to play again.
Dakota left us today. No, he didn't die. After 7 years we made the decision to give him up. Like I said, the positives of this decision escape me now. I found myself praying that his new home would love him even more than we did. (Is that possible?) Hoping beyond all hope that someone would be more patient with him, spend more time with him, let him be their constant companion (and maybe even let him sleep on the bed.) Of course the nagging thoughts are, what if they don't? What if he doesn't go to a better home?
I can only imagine how difficult it is when some gives up a child for adoption. The anguish and guilt must be overwhelming. Maybe, just maybe, Dakota will be the sparkle in someone else's eyes, the joy that only and adoptive parent would know.
A New Stroller
Ethan finally has his new stroller. Technically it is called a Push Chair. It is similar to a wheelchair except that it can't be pushed by the rider. The wheels aren't big enough for that. No more carrying him from the car or trying to drag him into the store. Here is a not-so-good picture of him in it:
My teens were not as excited about it. They think it looks too much like a wheelchair, which shouts "Special Needs" or "Disabled." They want people to know him as Ethan, not a kid with labels. It will be interesting to see if people react to him differently than when he was in a typical stroller. Will others be more patient with him when he is playing in the mall play area and doesn't interact or respond like the other children? Will they look past his meltdowns and not comment how tragic it is that his parents haven't taught him how to behave? Or will they merely view him as different and look away, not acknowledging him at all? In dealing with our own inadequacies of not knowing what to do, we often do nothing. We're afraid of offending someone so we say nothing at all. I posted about my own shortcomings. My hope is others can learn and grow the same way we are-by being confronted with different, causing us to step out of our comfort zone.
UPDATE Christina took Ethan to the mall today. When she got home, she said she was shocked at how people reacted to her pushing Ethan in his new chair. She said instead of people smiling at him, talking to him, or commenting that he had cute, curly hair, she said they would turn their heads and look away when they saw him coming. Sad.
Ethan finally has his new stroller. Technically it is called a Push Chair. It is similar to a wheelchair except that it can't be pushed by the rider. The wheels aren't big enough for that. No more carrying him from the car or trying to drag him into the store. Here is a not-so-good picture of him in it:
My teens were not as excited about it. They think it looks too much like a wheelchair, which shouts "Special Needs" or "Disabled." They want people to know him as Ethan, not a kid with labels. It will be interesting to see if people react to him differently than when he was in a typical stroller. Will others be more patient with him when he is playing in the mall play area and doesn't interact or respond like the other children? Will they look past his meltdowns and not comment how tragic it is that his parents haven't taught him how to behave? Or will they merely view him as different and look away, not acknowledging him at all? In dealing with our own inadequacies of not knowing what to do, we often do nothing. We're afraid of offending someone so we say nothing at all. I posted about my own shortcomings. My hope is others can learn and grow the same way we are-by being confronted with different, causing us to step out of our comfort zone.
UPDATE Christina took Ethan to the mall today. When she got home, she said she was shocked at how people reacted to her pushing Ethan in his new chair. She said instead of people smiling at him, talking to him, or commenting that he had cute, curly hair, she said they would turn their heads and look away when they saw him coming. Sad.
Valentine's Day Part 3 (Hopefully the Last One)
As Valentine's Day approached, I just did not feel very creative. I have been distracted by a lot of things. I mentioned I try to remind my kids how much they are loved so they aren't hurt on this day. But as they get older, it gets harder and harder to do something special (without spending LOTS of money.) Almost gone are the days of love notes, stuffed animals, and candy. I don't think they will ever outgrow the love notes. The hard part is trying not to say the same thing every year. Also, I've always thought it important to NOT say the same thing to each child or it minimizes the meaning and thought. So how do you say "I love you, you're important/special to me, I appreciate you, 5 different ways, year-after-year, without repeating yourself???
While out shopping, I noticed these cute little stuffed animals. My 16 year old has always had a fondness of dogs. (Her room is still decorated in the 101 Dalmation theme.) These were small little dogs so I picked up 2. One for her and one for her younger sister. I figured the oldest 3 would definately not appreciate a stuffed animal, at least not from me. Of course I got Ethan one too.
As I packed Sarabeth and Hilary's lunches Valentine's morning, along with a note and candy, I stuffed these dogs in their lunch pails.
When it came time to pick them up from the bus stop, I grabbed some chocolate Valentine candy. Chocolate makes you feel good, right? I saw Sarabeth get off the bus carrying a rose and her stuffed dog. She was smiling. Hilary approached the car looking not so happy. Of the two girls who ride with us, one carried a rose too. Once inside the car, I passed out the bags of candy declaring, "we all need chocolate on Valentine's Day." Three of the kids excitedly thanked me, opened the candy and began eating. The fourth, Hilary, didn't respond. As I was pulling the car away from the school she finally blurted out, "is this all I get for Valentine's Day?" She then tossed the candy to the floor with "are you trying to make me fat?"
My first thought was to immediately address this ungrateful, snotty attitude. I am still learning as a parent, but one of my goals is to respond appropriately in a situation-not react emotionally. I am sure the other kids in the car were aghast at Hilary's rudeness, along with no reaction from me. I knew her day had obviously not gone well. It is no excuse to take it out on others, but at that point correcting the behavior of someone who is hurt and lashing out is wasting my effort.
Later we were finally able to talk. She had sent a singing telegram to a fellow student with her own money. Most of her friends had received flowers or telegrams. She hadn't received anything. (Last year I'd had each of the girls "secretly" send something to the other. I had decided not to repeat that. Should have done it anyway.) And to make matters worse, when she opened her lunch box, she said all of the kids laughed and made fun of her. She said the dog was ugly and it humiliated her. Ouch! (I am now nominated for the "Bad Mother Of The Year Award.") But, Grrrr...junior high kids make me mad. Why do they laugh and make fun of one another. And why does my child worry so much about what other people think? Could she not have ignored them and instead gushed that it was sweet and pretended like she enjoyed this? No, I guess that would be asking too much.
Sigh. Next year I am cancelling Valentine's Day at my house.
As Valentine's Day approached, I just did not feel very creative. I have been distracted by a lot of things. I mentioned I try to remind my kids how much they are loved so they aren't hurt on this day. But as they get older, it gets harder and harder to do something special (without spending LOTS of money.) Almost gone are the days of love notes, stuffed animals, and candy. I don't think they will ever outgrow the love notes. The hard part is trying not to say the same thing every year. Also, I've always thought it important to NOT say the same thing to each child or it minimizes the meaning and thought. So how do you say "I love you, you're important/special to me, I appreciate you, 5 different ways, year-after-year, without repeating yourself???
While out shopping, I noticed these cute little stuffed animals. My 16 year old has always had a fondness of dogs. (Her room is still decorated in the 101 Dalmation theme.) These were small little dogs so I picked up 2. One for her and one for her younger sister. I figured the oldest 3 would definately not appreciate a stuffed animal, at least not from me. Of course I got Ethan one too.
As I packed Sarabeth and Hilary's lunches Valentine's morning, along with a note and candy, I stuffed these dogs in their lunch pails.
When it came time to pick them up from the bus stop, I grabbed some chocolate Valentine candy. Chocolate makes you feel good, right? I saw Sarabeth get off the bus carrying a rose and her stuffed dog. She was smiling. Hilary approached the car looking not so happy. Of the two girls who ride with us, one carried a rose too. Once inside the car, I passed out the bags of candy declaring, "we all need chocolate on Valentine's Day." Three of the kids excitedly thanked me, opened the candy and began eating. The fourth, Hilary, didn't respond. As I was pulling the car away from the school she finally blurted out, "is this all I get for Valentine's Day?" She then tossed the candy to the floor with "are you trying to make me fat?"
My first thought was to immediately address this ungrateful, snotty attitude. I am still learning as a parent, but one of my goals is to respond appropriately in a situation-not react emotionally. I am sure the other kids in the car were aghast at Hilary's rudeness, along with no reaction from me. I knew her day had obviously not gone well. It is no excuse to take it out on others, but at that point correcting the behavior of someone who is hurt and lashing out is wasting my effort.
Later we were finally able to talk. She had sent a singing telegram to a fellow student with her own money. Most of her friends had received flowers or telegrams. She hadn't received anything. (Last year I'd had each of the girls "secretly" send something to the other. I had decided not to repeat that. Should have done it anyway.) And to make matters worse, when she opened her lunch box, she said all of the kids laughed and made fun of her. She said the dog was ugly and it humiliated her. Ouch! (I am now nominated for the "Bad Mother Of The Year Award.") But, Grrrr...junior high kids make me mad. Why do they laugh and make fun of one another. And why does my child worry so much about what other people think? Could she not have ignored them and instead gushed that it was sweet and pretended like she enjoyed this? No, I guess that would be asking too much.
Sigh. Next year I am cancelling Valentine's Day at my house.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Valentine's Day Part 2
Sorry I didn't return yesterday. Ethan's dental work took much longer than anticipated. He did not come out of the anesthesia well. (Or else he was in a lot of pain-he was unconsolable.) I have more to say about dentists and the likes but will save that for another post.
Another quick Valentine's Story.
When my oldest, Christina, went to junior high life certainly changed. This is the year that there are no more classroom parties, no mandatory giving of Valentine's Day cards to every student. Instead, the parties are replaced with the option of "buying your sweetie" something. Two weeks prior to the Lovefest Day, students have the option of purchasing items such as candy, flowers, singing telegrams, etc. from their student council. These items are then delivered only to those students who are very loved by fellow students.
As a side note. The Christian school some my kids attended had a different policy. It started in elementary school. The option that made it better was that parents could purchase a teddy bear, candy, flowers, etc. and have them delivered to their child. This option gave the greatest possibility that every child could feel loved and special.
But this was not an option for Christina that fateful Valentine's Day. When she arrived home her head hung down, her backpack looked like it must have weighed a ton the way she dragged herself in the door. This was my first clue she did not feel loved at school. Her little sister, Elisabeth, was happily singing at the kitchen table. She was carefully opening each of her Valentine's. She would read it in a sing-song voice and talk lovingly about each sender. Sitting beside the notes was a growing pile of candy.
"Look at this one!" She cried out. "Jonathon said he thinks I'm cute and he gave me TWO pieces of candy."
She turned towards Christina as she entered the room. "Look at all of my Valentine's! I got 25 and 2 from my teachers! How many Valentine's did you get????"
Christina stopped to get a drink of water without even looking. But Elisabeth was persistent.
"Well, how many Valentine's did you get? Look at all of my candy, did you get lots of candy?"
"No. I didn't get anything."
"Oh, I guess you don't have any friends." Elisabeth turned and went back to her singsong Valentine's, completely oblivious to what had just transpired.
We actually laugh about this now. Christina is 24. But I think Elisabeth is still mortified that at age 7, she just blurted out whatever she was thinking without a thought.
Sorry I didn't return yesterday. Ethan's dental work took much longer than anticipated. He did not come out of the anesthesia well. (Or else he was in a lot of pain-he was unconsolable.) I have more to say about dentists and the likes but will save that for another post.
Another quick Valentine's Story.
When my oldest, Christina, went to junior high life certainly changed. This is the year that there are no more classroom parties, no mandatory giving of Valentine's Day cards to every student. Instead, the parties are replaced with the option of "buying your sweetie" something. Two weeks prior to the Lovefest Day, students have the option of purchasing items such as candy, flowers, singing telegrams, etc. from their student council. These items are then delivered only to those students who are very loved by fellow students.
As a side note. The Christian school some my kids attended had a different policy. It started in elementary school. The option that made it better was that parents could purchase a teddy bear, candy, flowers, etc. and have them delivered to their child. This option gave the greatest possibility that every child could feel loved and special.
But this was not an option for Christina that fateful Valentine's Day. When she arrived home her head hung down, her backpack looked like it must have weighed a ton the way she dragged herself in the door. This was my first clue she did not feel loved at school. Her little sister, Elisabeth, was happily singing at the kitchen table. She was carefully opening each of her Valentine's. She would read it in a sing-song voice and talk lovingly about each sender. Sitting beside the notes was a growing pile of candy.
"Look at this one!" She cried out. "Jonathon said he thinks I'm cute and he gave me TWO pieces of candy."
She turned towards Christina as she entered the room. "Look at all of my Valentine's! I got 25 and 2 from my teachers! How many Valentine's did you get????"
Christina stopped to get a drink of water without even looking. But Elisabeth was persistent.
"Well, how many Valentine's did you get? Look at all of my candy, did you get lots of candy?"
"No. I didn't get anything."
"Oh, I guess you don't have any friends." Elisabeth turned and went back to her singsong Valentine's, completely oblivious to what had just transpired.
We actually laugh about this now. Christina is 24. But I think Elisabeth is still mortified that at age 7, she just blurted out whatever she was thinking without a thought.
These questions were on WonderWoman's blog, and I just had to answer them for her.
1. Can you use chopsticks?
No
2. How many times have you ever been stung by a bee-type creature?
Just once. That was enough. Got stung on my toe and the swelling went up my ankle.
3. Do you know what SNAFU stands for?
You mean, other than a ridiculous, blundering chaos? Like: Something Not Actually Funny/Unusual?
4. Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?
Hmm...Sponge Bob?
5. Free groceries for a year, or free gas?
Groceries for sure.
6. Where is the worst place to have a zit?
When you sit down and you are sitting on it.
7. Can you wiggle your ears without wiggling any other part of your face?
Of course I can.
8. If you had $5000 that you HAD to spend on plastic surgery, what would you have done?
Tummy Tuck.
9. How much guilt would you suffer over spending $5000 on plastic surgery?
Plenty.
10. Which is worse: a low droning noise that goes on and on or a piercing shriek that happens once?
Piercing shriek
11. What is a suitable punishment for someone who is the source of a low droning noise that goes on and on?
To have to continue to make that noise 24/7, until they are so tired of doing it they never want to do it again.
12. What is your response to a piercing shriek?
Send offender outside to shriek to their hearts delight, until they are hoarse and can no longer shriek.
13. What is generally your first clue that someone is a moron?
Hmmm...when they feel the need to comment on anything that is none of their business.
14. Is one loaf of bread enough to feed 11 hungry children?
Definately not.
15. Can I borrow a loaf of bread?
Anytime.
16. What is one holiday that you would like to see invented, and how much time off from work should we receive for this holiday?
Mother's Week. Every mom would get a week away to do as she wanted-no questions asked and come home to a clean home and happy family.
17. If you could give every person in the world a present, what would it be?
God's Love
18. What is the most charitable act you have done recently?
Does letting the dog out front count? He LOVES to not be penned up, (and if he ran away and never came back, dh would be oh so happy.)
19. Did you have to think far too long for a response to #18?
Nah, just thought about the last thing I did.
20. Which is cuter, a 4 week old puppy or a 5 month old human?
Uh, after the above response, you need to ask???? A 5 month old human for sure. (And when I'm finally free of pets, and if my home is not full of grandkids do NOT under any circumstances bring a cute little 4 week old puppy to my house. I might forget momentarily what it is like being a dog owner.)
1. Can you use chopsticks?
No
2. How many times have you ever been stung by a bee-type creature?
Just once. That was enough. Got stung on my toe and the swelling went up my ankle.
3. Do you know what SNAFU stands for?
You mean, other than a ridiculous, blundering chaos? Like: Something Not Actually Funny/Unusual?
4. Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?
Hmm...Sponge Bob?
5. Free groceries for a year, or free gas?
Groceries for sure.
6. Where is the worst place to have a zit?
When you sit down and you are sitting on it.
7. Can you wiggle your ears without wiggling any other part of your face?
Of course I can.
8. If you had $5000 that you HAD to spend on plastic surgery, what would you have done?
Tummy Tuck.
9. How much guilt would you suffer over spending $5000 on plastic surgery?
Plenty.
10. Which is worse: a low droning noise that goes on and on or a piercing shriek that happens once?
Piercing shriek
11. What is a suitable punishment for someone who is the source of a low droning noise that goes on and on?
To have to continue to make that noise 24/7, until they are so tired of doing it they never want to do it again.
12. What is your response to a piercing shriek?
Send offender outside to shriek to their hearts delight, until they are hoarse and can no longer shriek.
13. What is generally your first clue that someone is a moron?
Hmmm...when they feel the need to comment on anything that is none of their business.
14. Is one loaf of bread enough to feed 11 hungry children?
Definately not.
15. Can I borrow a loaf of bread?
Anytime.
16. What is one holiday that you would like to see invented, and how much time off from work should we receive for this holiday?
Mother's Week. Every mom would get a week away to do as she wanted-no questions asked and come home to a clean home and happy family.
17. If you could give every person in the world a present, what would it be?
God's Love
18. What is the most charitable act you have done recently?
Does letting the dog out front count? He LOVES to not be penned up, (and if he ran away and never came back, dh would be oh so happy.)
19. Did you have to think far too long for a response to #18?
Nah, just thought about the last thing I did.
20. Which is cuter, a 4 week old puppy or a 5 month old human?
Uh, after the above response, you need to ask???? A 5 month old human for sure. (And when I'm finally free of pets, and if my home is not full of grandkids do NOT under any circumstances bring a cute little 4 week old puppy to my house. I might forget momentarily what it is like being a dog owner.)
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Valentine's Part One
For a week I've wrestled with what to write for "Valentine's Day." Do I honor my dear sweetie in all his glorious romance? There are so many thoughts and emotions associated with this celebration. I've cursed it, romantically dreamt about it, planned for it, and anticipated with great excitement all this day might hold. I have much to say about this whole affair, far too much for one day's post.
A heads up for the men: Don't invite your sweetheart to lunch at the mall on Valentine's Day. It doesn't matter that you had your heart set on a gyro sandwich that you can't get anywhere else. If you do this, on the way home your sweetie will not be thanking you for the thoughtfulness in taking her to lunch. She will be distracted. She will be confused. When you mentioned the mall, she thought somehow all of her subtle and not-so-subtle hints about those cute earings penetrated your thoughts. She will imagine that you have decided to be totally out of character extravagant. (Yes, she did say that "she" would never spend that much on a pair of earrings, but has no problem with "you" spending that much.) When you exit right after eating something will be amiss. You will no longer look like the loving husband taking his darling out for lunch. You are now that guy who still believes his wife when she says things she really doesn't mean. (If you are really confused, you need to read this post by WonderWoman entitled "I heart you."
That's what I mean about Valentine's Day. Too often it can set a heart up for hurt and disappointment.
The school is a place that notoriously sets up the beginnings of Valentine heartbreaks. In Elementary school notes are sent home that if a child brings Valentine cards they must bring one for each student. But does anyone really check? Did you ever get a "Teacher" card from another student and realize he or she didn't actually hand-pick a valentine for you? Or did you receive a Valentine with someone else's name on it? Have another child walk by sneering, "I didn't get one for you," or worse, "I gave candy to everyone but you."
I have tried to be sensitive to my children on this day. I've spent time, money, emotion, prayers, and tears in trying to do something to make them feel lavishly loved. If they go to school after feeling extravagantly loved, any ill-shot cupid arrows won't penetrate their little puffed up hearts. Sadly, I haven't always been successful.
(Continued tomorrow, after Ethan's dental work which he will have to be put under general anesthesia.)
For a week I've wrestled with what to write for "Valentine's Day." Do I honor my dear sweetie in all his glorious romance? There are so many thoughts and emotions associated with this celebration. I've cursed it, romantically dreamt about it, planned for it, and anticipated with great excitement all this day might hold. I have much to say about this whole affair, far too much for one day's post.
A heads up for the men: Don't invite your sweetheart to lunch at the mall on Valentine's Day. It doesn't matter that you had your heart set on a gyro sandwich that you can't get anywhere else. If you do this, on the way home your sweetie will not be thanking you for the thoughtfulness in taking her to lunch. She will be distracted. She will be confused. When you mentioned the mall, she thought somehow all of her subtle and not-so-subtle hints about those cute earings penetrated your thoughts. She will imagine that you have decided to be totally out of character extravagant. (Yes, she did say that "she" would never spend that much on a pair of earrings, but has no problem with "you" spending that much.) When you exit right after eating something will be amiss. You will no longer look like the loving husband taking his darling out for lunch. You are now that guy who still believes his wife when she says things she really doesn't mean. (If you are really confused, you need to read this post by WonderWoman entitled "I heart you."
That's what I mean about Valentine's Day. Too often it can set a heart up for hurt and disappointment.
The school is a place that notoriously sets up the beginnings of Valentine heartbreaks. In Elementary school notes are sent home that if a child brings Valentine cards they must bring one for each student. But does anyone really check? Did you ever get a "Teacher" card from another student and realize he or she didn't actually hand-pick a valentine for you? Or did you receive a Valentine with someone else's name on it? Have another child walk by sneering, "I didn't get one for you," or worse, "I gave candy to everyone but you."
I have tried to be sensitive to my children on this day. I've spent time, money, emotion, prayers, and tears in trying to do something to make them feel lavishly loved. If they go to school after feeling extravagantly loved, any ill-shot cupid arrows won't penetrate their little puffed up hearts. Sadly, I haven't always been successful.
(Continued tomorrow, after Ethan's dental work which he will have to be put under general anesthesia.)
Saturday, February 11, 2006
My favorite 3 year old is here.
He was finally well this week after his bout with pneumonia. On Wednesday at preschool, his teacher said he was the only one in his class. Everyone, including his bus driver, had strep throat. Christina called his Dr. on Thursday because he'd hold his neck while playing. She didn't notice a fever, but the seizure meds he's on seem to lower his body temp. The Dr.'s office said she'd have to call Friday. They couldn't get him in Friday and said to call on Saturday. Today he got in. He has strep and an ear infection. The dr. said his throat looked like it REALLY was sore. Poor thing. So as soon as he is up from his nap, I'll spend the afternoon snuggling on the couch with him.
He was finally well this week after his bout with pneumonia. On Wednesday at preschool, his teacher said he was the only one in his class. Everyone, including his bus driver, had strep throat. Christina called his Dr. on Thursday because he'd hold his neck while playing. She didn't notice a fever, but the seizure meds he's on seem to lower his body temp. The Dr.'s office said she'd have to call Friday. They couldn't get him in Friday and said to call on Saturday. Today he got in. He has strep and an ear infection. The dr. said his throat looked like it REALLY was sore. Poor thing. So as soon as he is up from his nap, I'll spend the afternoon snuggling on the couch with him.
Hair Update
Paula asked how I was wearing my hair now. When she asked I was in the middle of wishing for that makeover. So here I am that day.
Yesterday I broke down and got someone else to touch up the color and cut it. (And for those who remember me posting about the waiter, who in reality was my hairdresser, no I wasn't up for the confrontation, so went to someone else.)
So here I am today.
Not sure if I'm going to wear it curly or straight. This is in between. The girl said she was only going to take an inch off, lol. Hairdressers. To think I used to be one.
Paula asked how I was wearing my hair now. When she asked I was in the middle of wishing for that makeover. So here I am that day.
Yesterday I broke down and got someone else to touch up the color and cut it. (And for those who remember me posting about the waiter, who in reality was my hairdresser, no I wasn't up for the confrontation, so went to someone else.)
So here I am today.
Not sure if I'm going to wear it curly or straight. This is in between. The girl said she was only going to take an inch off, lol. Hairdressers. To think I used to be one.
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