For more Wordless Wednesdays, go here.
(I'm not very good at wordless. The story follows.)
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Thanksgiving Memories
It was my first attempt to make an entire Thanksgiving meal on my own, and my inlaws were coming to visit. I only had 2 children, but I worried how it would all come together. Preparing for houseguests was stressful enough, but compounded by a toddler that loved making messes coupled with Thanksgiving and all of the trimmings, I felt more than overwhelmed. I wanted so much to provide a comfortable, relaxed home for my inlaws, along with a delicious meal enjoyed in the company of well-behaved grandchildren.
They arrived the day before. I stayed up late that night, after everyone had gone to bed, baking pies. I must have been tired, as I didn't hear my children wake before me. How must that look to the grandparents? A mother who doesn't get up and have breakfast waiting for her children? I dressed quickly and went to the kitchen. There stood my little boy.
"Yum, yum! This is good Mommy."
He was covered in orange and was eating the middle of both pumpkin pies. This was before digital cameras, but I doubt I would have grabbed the camera. I started to cry.
Thankfully, I have the best inlaws in the world and should not have worried. In fact they probably cooked more of the dinner than I did. They were such a help and so encouraging. After that I never felt I needed to impress them. They'd had 5 kids and understood little boys enjoyed eating pumpkin pie. Somehow, when you are a grandparent you don't stress over those things. That is why when 18 years later I awoke to find Mr. Ethan eating the middles of the pumpkin pie, I grabbed my camera. I love being a grandparent!
They arrived the day before. I stayed up late that night, after everyone had gone to bed, baking pies. I must have been tired, as I didn't hear my children wake before me. How must that look to the grandparents? A mother who doesn't get up and have breakfast waiting for her children? I dressed quickly and went to the kitchen. There stood my little boy.
"Yum, yum! This is good Mommy."
He was covered in orange and was eating the middle of both pumpkin pies. This was before digital cameras, but I doubt I would have grabbed the camera. I started to cry.
Thankfully, I have the best inlaws in the world and should not have worried. In fact they probably cooked more of the dinner than I did. They were such a help and so encouraging. After that I never felt I needed to impress them. They'd had 5 kids and understood little boys enjoyed eating pumpkin pie. Somehow, when you are a grandparent you don't stress over those things. That is why when 18 years later I awoke to find Mr. Ethan eating the middles of the pumpkin pie, I grabbed my camera. I love being a grandparent!
The Car Story
(Part Two)
After the neighbor confirmed our suspicion that John was indeed spying on and following Elisabeth we weren't sure what to do. Elisabeth tried to reassure us that John wasn't that bad. She said she thought he really cared about her but had some jealousy issues but she could handle it. Because they had so many classes together at school, she felt if they could remain friends at some level the situation would be easier to manage. She spoke with the school counselor.
We didn't hear much about John for awhile, but that was probably due to Elisabeth trying to keep us from worrying. One night she was at a friend's house and John began calling. After 20 or so calls that went unanswered, she turned her phone off. John showed up at the house and said he wouldn't leave until she came out. Her friends convinced him otherwise.
A week later, Elisabeth spent the night with this friend. When she awoke, she found the damage to her car. She phoned us and she phoned a friend at church to say she wasn't going to make it. Within an hour John called. He was at church and had "heard" what happened from Elisabeth's friend. Once again, he seemed to have more information about her car than what she had shared.
After speaking to others, Elisabeth found out that John had been at a party the night before. Mutual friends of theirs admitted John had expressed anger towards Elisabeth at the party. But nothing could be proved or substantiated regarding who damaged the vehicle or at what time John left the party. Others that had been at the party told Elisabeth privately some things, but because they had lied to their own parents about the party and where they'd spent the night, none were willing to come forward with information.
That is pretty much the end of the car story. The car has new tires and a new windshield, but the rest of the damage is still there. I'd like to say that was also the end of the stalking behavior of John, but it wasn't. We were so thankful when after graduation he went to another state to play football. He came home over the summer, which is why we become concerned with circumstances like this. Once the school year began, we relaxed. Elisabeth started back at the local community college. Imagine our shock when after her first day she was walking out of class and John was walking into the same class.
After the neighbor confirmed our suspicion that John was indeed spying on and following Elisabeth we weren't sure what to do. Elisabeth tried to reassure us that John wasn't that bad. She said she thought he really cared about her but had some jealousy issues but she could handle it. Because they had so many classes together at school, she felt if they could remain friends at some level the situation would be easier to manage. She spoke with the school counselor.
We didn't hear much about John for awhile, but that was probably due to Elisabeth trying to keep us from worrying. One night she was at a friend's house and John began calling. After 20 or so calls that went unanswered, she turned her phone off. John showed up at the house and said he wouldn't leave until she came out. Her friends convinced him otherwise.
A week later, Elisabeth spent the night with this friend. When she awoke, she found the damage to her car. She phoned us and she phoned a friend at church to say she wasn't going to make it. Within an hour John called. He was at church and had "heard" what happened from Elisabeth's friend. Once again, he seemed to have more information about her car than what she had shared.
After speaking to others, Elisabeth found out that John had been at a party the night before. Mutual friends of theirs admitted John had expressed anger towards Elisabeth at the party. But nothing could be proved or substantiated regarding who damaged the vehicle or at what time John left the party. Others that had been at the party told Elisabeth privately some things, but because they had lied to their own parents about the party and where they'd spent the night, none were willing to come forward with information.
That is pretty much the end of the car story. The car has new tires and a new windshield, but the rest of the damage is still there. I'd like to say that was also the end of the stalking behavior of John, but it wasn't. We were so thankful when after graduation he went to another state to play football. He came home over the summer, which is why we become concerned with circumstances like this. Once the school year began, we relaxed. Elisabeth started back at the local community college. Imagine our shock when after her first day she was walking out of class and John was walking into the same class.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Update
Quick tooth update: Wednesday morning the dentist said he could put another cap on Ethan's little piece of a tooth. The good news, they could do it right then and did NOT have to put him out to accomplish the task. Forty-five minutes later, he came out crying, but his tooth was fine. (They don't let parents, or grandparents back with the children.) I held him for a few minutes and then he was happy.
Once home he acted like nothing ever happened...well, until about 3 hours later. He had a funny look on his face and we noticed that he was missing his new tooth.
On Friday, we will go to the dentist and try again.
Once home he acted like nothing ever happened...well, until about 3 hours later. He had a funny look on his face and we noticed that he was missing his new tooth.
On Friday, we will go to the dentist and try again.
The Car Story (part 1)
(Part One)
I was waiting in front of the school when she walked out. Hmmm...was that guy walking with her? Elisabeth opened the car door.
"Mom, can you drive John (not his real name) to the corner of the shopping mall? That is where his grandpa picks him up."
"Sure."
Once inside, Elisabeth introduced us. "This is John. He used to go to our school, but moved away. Now he is back." He was pretty quiet in the car, but then we didn't have very far to drive. After he got out, Elisabeth told me how he and his mother had moved away. She was a single mom and had a boyfriend in another state but it hadn't worked out and John was back. She told me he didn't really have any friends, so she was trying to be nice to him. I was proud of my daughter for reaching out to the new kid. I'd been the new kid at school, so understood how difficult it could be making friends. I hoped it wouldn't be too difficult for him since this was a Christian school.
Over the months, Elisabeth often talked to John on the phone. Because she was a cheerleader and he was a football player I began seeing him often at school events. He and his mom also attended our church. But the more I saw him the more uneasy I felt. There wasn't any one particular thing that stood out as unusual, but there were some little things that I found bothersome. John never seemed to look you7 in the eye when he talked to you. Too often I'd find Elisabeth arguing with someone on the phone. When I'd ask, she was always talking to John.
The following school year Elisabeth ended up with the locker furthest away from classrooms. The school had grown so much, it had begun using what were previously locker room lockers as regular lockers. John offered to let her share his locker and unwisely she agreed.
John asked her to go to the Homecoming Dinner that October and so they went together. Shortly thereafter, although not dating, John began to become very controlling. He would call and harass Elisabeth over who she spent time with, where she'd go and even her phone calls. He figured out her 4 digit password and began retrieving her phone messages. He'd take her phone & read her text messages. She was eating at McDonald's before cheerleading practice one day. He showed up (how did he know she was there?) and began yelling at her because a male classmate was sitting with her.
Michael and I spoke with Elisabeth about how unhealthy this relationship was and that she needed to distance herself from John. She agreed, but found it increasingly more difficult to separate herself from him. Even with not sharing a locker, he still knew her locker combination. They attended the same youth group, she was still a cheerleader and he a football player and they were in many of the same classes at school.
Being a part of the same Christian community, we tried to cut him some slack. But over time, it became apparent that his behavior resembled that of a stalker. Too often he had information about Elisabeth that in order to know certain things meant he was no doubt following her, watching her every move.
One day one of my neighbors came over and asked if I had a minute to talk. She explained that she'd been sitting on her porch one day and saw Elisabeth drive past. Shortly afterwards she saw another car. Instead of driving down the cul-de-sac, it had turned on the street directly in front of her house. After pulling just beyond some bushes, she said she watched as a young man got out of the car. He walked down the street just far enough so that he could see our house from his vantage point without us noticing him. She said he stood there watching for quite some time. She was quite bothered by this, so got up from her chair and began walking towards him. As she got closer, she called out to him. According to her, he turned, saw her coming and ran back to his car, got in and sped off. She described John and his car quite accurately.
(I see I'm going to have to share this story in parts, so "to be continued...")
I was waiting in front of the school when she walked out. Hmmm...was that guy walking with her? Elisabeth opened the car door.
"Mom, can you drive John (not his real name) to the corner of the shopping mall? That is where his grandpa picks him up."
"Sure."
Once inside, Elisabeth introduced us. "This is John. He used to go to our school, but moved away. Now he is back." He was pretty quiet in the car, but then we didn't have very far to drive. After he got out, Elisabeth told me how he and his mother had moved away. She was a single mom and had a boyfriend in another state but it hadn't worked out and John was back. She told me he didn't really have any friends, so she was trying to be nice to him. I was proud of my daughter for reaching out to the new kid. I'd been the new kid at school, so understood how difficult it could be making friends. I hoped it wouldn't be too difficult for him since this was a Christian school.
Over the months, Elisabeth often talked to John on the phone. Because she was a cheerleader and he was a football player I began seeing him often at school events. He and his mom also attended our church. But the more I saw him the more uneasy I felt. There wasn't any one particular thing that stood out as unusual, but there were some little things that I found bothersome. John never seemed to look you7 in the eye when he talked to you. Too often I'd find Elisabeth arguing with someone on the phone. When I'd ask, she was always talking to John.
The following school year Elisabeth ended up with the locker furthest away from classrooms. The school had grown so much, it had begun using what were previously locker room lockers as regular lockers. John offered to let her share his locker and unwisely she agreed.
John asked her to go to the Homecoming Dinner that October and so they went together. Shortly thereafter, although not dating, John began to become very controlling. He would call and harass Elisabeth over who she spent time with, where she'd go and even her phone calls. He figured out her 4 digit password and began retrieving her phone messages. He'd take her phone & read her text messages. She was eating at McDonald's before cheerleading practice one day. He showed up (how did he know she was there?) and began yelling at her because a male classmate was sitting with her.
Michael and I spoke with Elisabeth about how unhealthy this relationship was and that she needed to distance herself from John. She agreed, but found it increasingly more difficult to separate herself from him. Even with not sharing a locker, he still knew her locker combination. They attended the same youth group, she was still a cheerleader and he a football player and they were in many of the same classes at school.
Being a part of the same Christian community, we tried to cut him some slack. But over time, it became apparent that his behavior resembled that of a stalker. Too often he had information about Elisabeth that in order to know certain things meant he was no doubt following her, watching her every move.
One day one of my neighbors came over and asked if I had a minute to talk. She explained that she'd been sitting on her porch one day and saw Elisabeth drive past. Shortly afterwards she saw another car. Instead of driving down the cul-de-sac, it had turned on the street directly in front of her house. After pulling just beyond some bushes, she said she watched as a young man got out of the car. He walked down the street just far enough so that he could see our house from his vantage point without us noticing him. She said he stood there watching for quite some time. She was quite bothered by this, so got up from her chair and began walking towards him. As she got closer, she called out to him. According to her, he turned, saw her coming and ran back to his car, got in and sped off. She described John and his car quite accurately.
(I see I'm going to have to share this story in parts, so "to be continued...")
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Interruption
My unforeseen interruption came last night. I was finishing up the dishes when the phone rang. Christina was on her way to class and noticed Ethan's front tooth was missing. Normally this would be one of those memorable firsts that we grab the camera to capture a photo, but not this one. Like his Gramma, Ethan's two front teeth are not quite real. Although his look pearly white, unlike mine did when I was growing up, the backs of them are the unmistakable shiny silver variety-only one was missing. She'd put a call into the dentist and they could get him in first thing this morning. After class they would drive up and stay with us. She wouldn't have the long drive early in the morning. What I'm saying is: I'm going to the dentist with Ethan this morning, the "story" will have to wait.
After the phone call, I double-checked the calendar to make sure it was my night to pick up the girls from Poms. Yes, November 14th was my day. While driving that date stuck in my head and I remembered why. Exactly 5 years earlier on November 14th, Christina came to me to tell me the news. I was going to be a Gramma. It was quite a shock at the time, as it was totally unexpected. I don't have time to share that story either, but will direct you to an earlier post that mentions this time. Oh, and maybe I WILL take pictures of the lost tooth.
(For some reason, I cannot get just that one post to come up in the link. It brings up a whole page-maybe something to do with not switching to Beta yet? The story is "UNEXPECTED" partway down that page.) Nevermind. I will just repost it.
UNEXPECTED
Two days ago, I ran into Barnes & Noble for a last minute gift. I was sending out a Christmas package to my parents and it needed to go out that day in order to make it in time for Christmas. But I can never go into the bookstore without stopping in the children's section, or browsing through the clearance books.
I picked up a copy of Billy Crystal's "I Already Know I Love You." I read a page or two, then flipped a few more pages. Without warning, my eyes began to fill with tears. I blinked to hold them back and felt a stinging sensation. The author described the anticipation of waiting for his grandbaby, how he was looking forward to playing peek-a-boo, taking him to his first ballgame. I turned to the last page.
"I'm going to be your grandpa, and I can hardly wait."
I was not prepared for the intense emotion that welled up from within. I turned the book over. The sticker read $16.95. I can't pay that much for a book right now. But I tucked it under my arm and walked to the counter to pay.
I busied myself with watching the people waiting in line. I chuckled to myself when I saw that there was an employee at the front of the line holding a basket. She was offering chocolate candy for all who'd been standing, waiting to pay for their books. (They apparently agree with me, that chocolate should be used as a stress reliever.) As I passed, I accepted her bit of chocolate.
The day was a bit chilly, so I hurried to the car. All the way I was mentally trying to figure out what else I needed to do after going to the post office. I was a bit undone that I always and consistently leave things to the last minute. But while I was pulling out of the parking lot, tears unexpectedly began blurring my vision. I swiped at my eyes with my leather glove. Not very absorbent.
What is wrong with me? I wondered. I do not cry easily. I've never been an overly emotional person. But here I was, still crying on the way home after picking up a children's book. I normally analyze things like this. I like to know what exactly triggers such a strong emotion. When I am very busy, or under stress, I can't say that I am always in tune with feelings. I like to stuff them until a time arises that I can figure out what and why I am feeling. Then I can deal with it and move on. Right then, I didn't have time.
I pulled off my gloves, grabbed a tissue, and dried my eyes again. I tried to focus on all of the things I needed to do, but I couldn't distract myself. And what was I going to do with this book anyway? I was going to give it to my husband to give to our grandson for Christmas. The image of the two of them on Michael's riding lawn mower settled into my thoughts. I cried harder.
When our daughter announced her pregnancy, it wasn't at the best of times. She had made a stand of purity and chosen not to even date through high school. Here she was, at 20, unmarried, telling us the news.
She had friends who told her it wouldn't be convenient to have a child and that she didn't have to. But like I, she values life. We were going to be grandparents.
When I arrived home, I picked up my bag of books and went inside. I tried to put the book aside, while I packed up the box I needed to ship. But I couldn't operate with tears under the surface, still stinging my eyes. So I got the book to present to Michael. I went to him, but found I couldn't speak. I just stood there, holding this book. I opened my mouth, but the only thing that came out was tears. I waited. This was too hard. I finally blurted out, "I got this book for you to give to Ethan for Christmas. I know it was dumb, but I did." I then retreated to my room to finish the package.
Why am I such a wreck? Because I remember when my daughter was pregnant. I remembered that although we hadn't anticpated being grandparents yet, I often imagined spending time with this new little one. I imagined things like baking cookies together, laughing. I bought lots of books to read to him. I thought of the times I'd answer his questions about why, and tell him about God who created him. But I never imagined that Ethan might not understand these things, nor that there would be so many unknowns. I didn't think that at age 3 I'd still be waiting to hear him say, "gramma."
Michael came in the room. He wrapped his arms around me and I cried into his shoulder. I told him I didn't know what I was thinking when I picked up the book and that I would take it back to the store. He said no. We sat in silence. Once again I dried my tears. "Do you think I should just give it to him, or what?" He asked. "Aren't you afraid he will ruin the book?" I told him it would be ok. He could sit and read the book to Ethan. It didn't matter if Ethan didn't understand a word of it. The words were still true. We DID wait with much anticipation for his arrival. We did and still do look forward to spending time with him, teaching him new things, sharing and experiencing moments together. It is just different than what we'd imagined.
After the phone call, I double-checked the calendar to make sure it was my night to pick up the girls from Poms. Yes, November 14th was my day. While driving that date stuck in my head and I remembered why. Exactly 5 years earlier on November 14th, Christina came to me to tell me the news. I was going to be a Gramma. It was quite a shock at the time, as it was totally unexpected. I don't have time to share that story either, but will direct you to an earlier post that mentions this time. Oh, and maybe I WILL take pictures of the lost tooth.
(For some reason, I cannot get just that one post to come up in the link. It brings up a whole page-maybe something to do with not switching to Beta yet? The story is "UNEXPECTED" partway down that page.) Nevermind. I will just repost it.
UNEXPECTED
Two days ago, I ran into Barnes & Noble for a last minute gift. I was sending out a Christmas package to my parents and it needed to go out that day in order to make it in time for Christmas. But I can never go into the bookstore without stopping in the children's section, or browsing through the clearance books.
I picked up a copy of Billy Crystal's "I Already Know I Love You." I read a page or two, then flipped a few more pages. Without warning, my eyes began to fill with tears. I blinked to hold them back and felt a stinging sensation. The author described the anticipation of waiting for his grandbaby, how he was looking forward to playing peek-a-boo, taking him to his first ballgame. I turned to the last page.
"I'm going to be your grandpa, and I can hardly wait."
I was not prepared for the intense emotion that welled up from within. I turned the book over. The sticker read $16.95. I can't pay that much for a book right now. But I tucked it under my arm and walked to the counter to pay.
I busied myself with watching the people waiting in line. I chuckled to myself when I saw that there was an employee at the front of the line holding a basket. She was offering chocolate candy for all who'd been standing, waiting to pay for their books. (They apparently agree with me, that chocolate should be used as a stress reliever.) As I passed, I accepted her bit of chocolate.
The day was a bit chilly, so I hurried to the car. All the way I was mentally trying to figure out what else I needed to do after going to the post office. I was a bit undone that I always and consistently leave things to the last minute. But while I was pulling out of the parking lot, tears unexpectedly began blurring my vision. I swiped at my eyes with my leather glove. Not very absorbent.
What is wrong with me? I wondered. I do not cry easily. I've never been an overly emotional person. But here I was, still crying on the way home after picking up a children's book. I normally analyze things like this. I like to know what exactly triggers such a strong emotion. When I am very busy, or under stress, I can't say that I am always in tune with feelings. I like to stuff them until a time arises that I can figure out what and why I am feeling. Then I can deal with it and move on. Right then, I didn't have time.
I pulled off my gloves, grabbed a tissue, and dried my eyes again. I tried to focus on all of the things I needed to do, but I couldn't distract myself. And what was I going to do with this book anyway? I was going to give it to my husband to give to our grandson for Christmas. The image of the two of them on Michael's riding lawn mower settled into my thoughts. I cried harder.
When our daughter announced her pregnancy, it wasn't at the best of times. She had made a stand of purity and chosen not to even date through high school. Here she was, at 20, unmarried, telling us the news.
She had friends who told her it wouldn't be convenient to have a child and that she didn't have to. But like I, she values life. We were going to be grandparents.
When I arrived home, I picked up my bag of books and went inside. I tried to put the book aside, while I packed up the box I needed to ship. But I couldn't operate with tears under the surface, still stinging my eyes. So I got the book to present to Michael. I went to him, but found I couldn't speak. I just stood there, holding this book. I opened my mouth, but the only thing that came out was tears. I waited. This was too hard. I finally blurted out, "I got this book for you to give to Ethan for Christmas. I know it was dumb, but I did." I then retreated to my room to finish the package.
Why am I such a wreck? Because I remember when my daughter was pregnant. I remembered that although we hadn't anticpated being grandparents yet, I often imagined spending time with this new little one. I imagined things like baking cookies together, laughing. I bought lots of books to read to him. I thought of the times I'd answer his questions about why, and tell him about God who created him. But I never imagined that Ethan might not understand these things, nor that there would be so many unknowns. I didn't think that at age 3 I'd still be waiting to hear him say, "gramma."
Michael came in the room. He wrapped his arms around me and I cried into his shoulder. I told him I didn't know what I was thinking when I picked up the book and that I would take it back to the store. He said no. We sat in silence. Once again I dried my tears. "Do you think I should just give it to him, or what?" He asked. "Aren't you afraid he will ruin the book?" I told him it would be ok. He could sit and read the book to Ethan. It didn't matter if Ethan didn't understand a word of it. The words were still true. We DID wait with much anticipation for his arrival. We did and still do look forward to spending time with him, teaching him new things, sharing and experiencing moments together. It is just different than what we'd imagined.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Slashed A Hole
Do you know the song by Carrie Underwood "Before He Cheats?" You know, the girl who also sings Jesus "Take the Wheel?" The chorus of the song is:
And he don't know...
That I dug my key into the side of his pretty little suped up 4 wheel drive,
carved my name into his leather seat...
I took a Louisville slugger to both head lights,
slashed a hole in all 4 tires...
And maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.
Elisabeth hates this song. I don't blame her. Some of you already know the story, but for those who don't, here are the photos of her car.
The pictures don't show the full damage. Yes, all 4 tires were slashed, those "designs" were scraped into the paint on every door, the hood, roof, trunk, and side panels. Every window was scratched, as were both side mirros. Sadly, we'd removed the insurance on the car that would have covered this type of damage. We never dreamed we could have damage so extensive when there had not been an accident.
It has been just over 2 years since this happened. No one has taken responsibility for the damages. "My" version of this story will follow tomorrow, as long as I have no unforeseen interruptions.
And he don't know...
That I dug my key into the side of his pretty little suped up 4 wheel drive,
carved my name into his leather seat...
I took a Louisville slugger to both head lights,
slashed a hole in all 4 tires...
And maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.
Elisabeth hates this song. I don't blame her. Some of you already know the story, but for those who don't, here are the photos of her car.
The pictures don't show the full damage. Yes, all 4 tires were slashed, those "designs" were scraped into the paint on every door, the hood, roof, trunk, and side panels. Every window was scratched, as were both side mirros. Sadly, we'd removed the insurance on the car that would have covered this type of damage. We never dreamed we could have damage so extensive when there had not been an accident.
It has been just over 2 years since this happened. No one has taken responsibility for the damages. "My" version of this story will follow tomorrow, as long as I have no unforeseen interruptions.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Silver Teeth
Mary, over at Owlhaven, wrote a post about scars. She asked others to post about their own scars. I didn't get it posted right away, so it is long past everyone else's post, but I'm going to post anyway.
Back when I was in the 4th grade, my family moved from one small town to another. We were the new kids on the block. We lived in this rented home with a cool ramp out the back door. I'm sure it was a wheelchair accessible door, but we kids found plenty of other uses for it. That winter, on a very cold night, we found that we could pour water down the ramp and it would freeze as it flowed. This created a spectacular downhill sliding surface.
This night, my parents had guests over for dinner. As soon as the meal ended and the adults were content to sit there and talk, we slipped out the back. We needed more ice on our slope. Bucket after bucket was poured until we had one of the finest ice slides. Then the fun began. We raced one another down the ice wearing the slickest shoes we could find. Only 2 kids could race at a time and my older brother and sister were quite competitive. I wasn't getting too many turns while they practiced and had opportunity to strategize the quickest way down. Finally it was my turn again.
Greg and I poised at the top of the slope. On your mark, get set, go! I was ahead for a split second, then my brother pushed ahead. With that push I found myself falling face first onto the ice. I don't remember much after that. I do recall blood dripping down and my sister trying to keep me from going to my mom so we wouldn't get into trouble. I think my other sister went screaming to my parents and the rest is sort of blurry.
My lip was split open and it hurt pretty bad, but my parents were more concerned with my missing teeth. Our company knew of a dentist who worked emergencies. After a couple of phone calls we were in the car, off to see the dentist. I came home with two new shiny silver teeth and a fat lip. The next day, my brother found my two front teeth stuck in the ice.
Truthfully, this isn't a scar, but I wore those silver teeth like a scar. When I smiled, people were blinded by the reflection off of those two teeth. That Christmas I sang, "All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth." And I sang it until I was 18 years old. I finished my elementary career wearing those tinsel teeth. I went on to junior high and high school, sporting that metalic smile. I endured much teasing and laughter because of this scar. At times I felt like a freak. But somehow, I believe it built compassion and tenderness into my heart. Scars can be character building. They can be a reminder of what once was, or we can embrace them, knowing our Lord also has scars.
(Honestly, it is difficult to post, but I had to include a picture. This was one of my school pictures from 7th grade.)
Back when I was in the 4th grade, my family moved from one small town to another. We were the new kids on the block. We lived in this rented home with a cool ramp out the back door. I'm sure it was a wheelchair accessible door, but we kids found plenty of other uses for it. That winter, on a very cold night, we found that we could pour water down the ramp and it would freeze as it flowed. This created a spectacular downhill sliding surface.
This night, my parents had guests over for dinner. As soon as the meal ended and the adults were content to sit there and talk, we slipped out the back. We needed more ice on our slope. Bucket after bucket was poured until we had one of the finest ice slides. Then the fun began. We raced one another down the ice wearing the slickest shoes we could find. Only 2 kids could race at a time and my older brother and sister were quite competitive. I wasn't getting too many turns while they practiced and had opportunity to strategize the quickest way down. Finally it was my turn again.
Greg and I poised at the top of the slope. On your mark, get set, go! I was ahead for a split second, then my brother pushed ahead. With that push I found myself falling face first onto the ice. I don't remember much after that. I do recall blood dripping down and my sister trying to keep me from going to my mom so we wouldn't get into trouble. I think my other sister went screaming to my parents and the rest is sort of blurry.
My lip was split open and it hurt pretty bad, but my parents were more concerned with my missing teeth. Our company knew of a dentist who worked emergencies. After a couple of phone calls we were in the car, off to see the dentist. I came home with two new shiny silver teeth and a fat lip. The next day, my brother found my two front teeth stuck in the ice.
Truthfully, this isn't a scar, but I wore those silver teeth like a scar. When I smiled, people were blinded by the reflection off of those two teeth. That Christmas I sang, "All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth." And I sang it until I was 18 years old. I finished my elementary career wearing those tinsel teeth. I went on to junior high and high school, sporting that metalic smile. I endured much teasing and laughter because of this scar. At times I felt like a freak. But somehow, I believe it built compassion and tenderness into my heart. Scars can be character building. They can be a reminder of what once was, or we can embrace them, knowing our Lord also has scars.
(Honestly, it is difficult to post, but I had to include a picture. This was one of my school pictures from 7th grade.)
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Tense
I am feeling tense this morning, and this is not normal for me. I do not like getting phone calls at unusual times and am wondering if this is the source of some anxiety.
It is 7:20a.m. and at this time yesterday I received one of those phone calls. Caller ID showed that it was one of my girls who'd left for school. What did she forget now, I wondered. (But for a second, there is always that fear that there has been an accident.)
"Mom, we ran out of gas on the highway. But don't worry, it was close to the exit and we walked to the gas station and got a gas can. Just thought I'd let you know."
My first thought was why is the 14 year old calling and not the 17 year old. The second was disbelief. You mean the car died, they coasted down the off ramp, walked to a gas station, bought a gas can with gas all BEFORE calling home for help?
Michael walked in as I hung up the phone. He felt bad about the girls running out of gas. He is notorious for telling Sarabeth "oh you have plenty of gas, you could go another 50 or 60 miles on that tank of gas." And she probably could have, if we hadn't drove it 50 miles on Saturday. Oh, and I was the one who filled the tank last, and forgot to reset the mileage for about 10 miles making it inaccurate. Guilt.
That's not to excuse the person driving the car, as if she doesn't know how to look at the gas guage. And she had intended to get gas on the way home from school. Instead, she had an unexpected adventure on the way to school.
I am proud of them for being able to handle the situation, but maybe that is why I am feeling tense. What if they were in an accident? Would they wait to call until after the police came, after they'd gone to the hospital? Can I know longer look at the clock and rest easy that they are already safely at school based on the time alone? Even though I was happy they handled it, I'm concerned that one of them might be afraid to call home when something happens that they perceive was irresponsible on their part. So they try to take care of it on their own to make us proud. I am left to wonder if they are sitting safely in school, or on the side of the road somewhere dealing with who knows what. Ugh! It isn't easy being a parent and knowing the right thing to do.
It is 7:20a.m. and at this time yesterday I received one of those phone calls. Caller ID showed that it was one of my girls who'd left for school. What did she forget now, I wondered. (But for a second, there is always that fear that there has been an accident.)
"Mom, we ran out of gas on the highway. But don't worry, it was close to the exit and we walked to the gas station and got a gas can. Just thought I'd let you know."
My first thought was why is the 14 year old calling and not the 17 year old. The second was disbelief. You mean the car died, they coasted down the off ramp, walked to a gas station, bought a gas can with gas all BEFORE calling home for help?
Michael walked in as I hung up the phone. He felt bad about the girls running out of gas. He is notorious for telling Sarabeth "oh you have plenty of gas, you could go another 50 or 60 miles on that tank of gas." And she probably could have, if we hadn't drove it 50 miles on Saturday. Oh, and I was the one who filled the tank last, and forgot to reset the mileage for about 10 miles making it inaccurate. Guilt.
That's not to excuse the person driving the car, as if she doesn't know how to look at the gas guage. And she had intended to get gas on the way home from school. Instead, she had an unexpected adventure on the way to school.
I am proud of them for being able to handle the situation, but maybe that is why I am feeling tense. What if they were in an accident? Would they wait to call until after the police came, after they'd gone to the hospital? Can I know longer look at the clock and rest easy that they are already safely at school based on the time alone? Even though I was happy they handled it, I'm concerned that one of them might be afraid to call home when something happens that they perceive was irresponsible on their part. So they try to take care of it on their own to make us proud. I am left to wonder if they are sitting safely in school, or on the side of the road somewhere dealing with who knows what. Ugh! It isn't easy being a parent and knowing the right thing to do.
Friday, November 03, 2006
What Matters Today
This is what I woke up to this morning. After we'd gone to bed last night, Elisabeth went up to the store, bought flowers and a card. She'd written a lovely note thanking us for being there for her, especially during the tough times of high school and for loving her through them. (Have I mentioned how much fun teenagers are?) Sure there are bumps along the way, but you also begin to see their character taking shape. As you turn them loose, watch them struggle through mistakes, do the right thing, it is pure joy to a parent's heart. (And even more so as they move beyond those years and they make you ever so proud as you watch them become adults.) Thank-you Elisabeth.
But this got me to thinking, what am I doing that counts? Did I do anything today that made a difference? So, I wanted to put out a challenge to anyone who reads this. Today go above and beyond in some small (or big) way to make a difference in someone else's life.
That might mean sending a text message to remind someone you love them. Or when that kid spills her milk for the 3rd time instead of yelling like you want to, you lean over, kiss her forehead and tell her it's ok and that you are so thankful you get to be her mommy. Maybe you are standing in line at the grocery store and get in the absolute slowest line. The person behind you is muttering unkind things under their breath so you let them go ahead of you and say something kind to them-or to the checker who is going as fast as humanly possible (or maybe is just taking their time.) While you are going about your day, whether it is planned or something that happens spontaneously that you think of because of this challenge do something that counts. Then come back and leave a comment about what you did. (Or put it on your own blog and leave the link.)
Let the count begin!
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Brian
Elisabeth met Brian at work when he began coming by the house. He seemed like a nice enough kid. It was difficult to get to know him because he usually didn’t arrive until after 10 o'clock at night. I know teenagers often keep late schedules but I became increasingly annoyed that he came over so late. Elisabeth was 18 and she had graduated from high school, so I chose not to say anything.
We didn't see Brian for a while. He took a job at a ski resort for the winter. Occasionally Elisabeth would mention his name, but nothing significant. Sometime in May Brian came over again. He had moved back. I asked her what he was doing now. Would he be going to go to school in the fall? Did he have a job? Elisabeth wasn't sure. His late night visits began again. I found myself getting irritated that he rarely came over during the day, just at night.
One night as I headed to bed, I stopped to preset the coffee and layout the lunches for the next morning. Brian had just arrived and he was sitting at the kitchen table with Elisabeth. I overheard their conversation.
"Your eyes are red. Have you been crying?" She asked.
"It is just wrong that a kid has to put his father to bed every night." Brian put his hand to his face and rubbed his eyes to keep the tears from falling.
Brian's dad has Lou Gehrig's disease or ALS. Brian's mom and dad are divorced and much of his father's care falls to Brian. His dad is wheelchair bound and requires help getting into bed. Brian isn't free to leave his home until his father is safely tucked in at night.
Yes, it does seem wrong for a kid, or teenager to have to put his father in bed at night. Not every teen that stays up late does so by choice.
We didn't see Brian for a while. He took a job at a ski resort for the winter. Occasionally Elisabeth would mention his name, but nothing significant. Sometime in May Brian came over again. He had moved back. I asked her what he was doing now. Would he be going to go to school in the fall? Did he have a job? Elisabeth wasn't sure. His late night visits began again. I found myself getting irritated that he rarely came over during the day, just at night.
One night as I headed to bed, I stopped to preset the coffee and layout the lunches for the next morning. Brian had just arrived and he was sitting at the kitchen table with Elisabeth. I overheard their conversation.
"Your eyes are red. Have you been crying?" She asked.
"It is just wrong that a kid has to put his father to bed every night." Brian put his hand to his face and rubbed his eyes to keep the tears from falling.
Brian's dad has Lou Gehrig's disease or ALS. Brian's mom and dad are divorced and much of his father's care falls to Brian. His dad is wheelchair bound and requires help getting into bed. Brian isn't free to leave his home until his father is safely tucked in at night.
Yes, it does seem wrong for a kid, or teenager to have to put his father in bed at night. Not every teen that stays up late does so by choice.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Halloween Memories
My mom was so cool about making costumes. I was blessed with creative, imaginative, homemade costumes every year. Somewhere there are pictures to prove this, I just wish I had them.
When I was in second grade, my mom decided my younger sister and I would be martians. I loved the idea. Nobody in my class was ever dressed the same as me. I was unique. My sister, on the other hand, wanted to be like everybody else. I think she wanted to be a ballerina. There were probably 7 ballerinas in my class that year. (All of the lucky girls who took dance classes, and whose parents were not as creative.) I,unlike anyone else but my sister, had this pointy-hat, green polka-dotted, space kind of outfit. It was cool. Mine was green. Laurie's was pink. Somewhere there is a picture of us together. There I am in all my glory, and there my sister is, arms in the air, toes pointed with one leg up in her most ballerina kind of way while wearing this martian space suit.
Makes me wonder if she remembers this. Could have been one of those childhood traumatic experiences for her, while I have nothing but fond memories.
When I was in second grade, my mom decided my younger sister and I would be martians. I loved the idea. Nobody in my class was ever dressed the same as me. I was unique. My sister, on the other hand, wanted to be like everybody else. I think she wanted to be a ballerina. There were probably 7 ballerinas in my class that year. (All of the lucky girls who took dance classes, and whose parents were not as creative.) I,unlike anyone else but my sister, had this pointy-hat, green polka-dotted, space kind of outfit. It was cool. Mine was green. Laurie's was pink. Somewhere there is a picture of us together. There I am in all my glory, and there my sister is, arms in the air, toes pointed with one leg up in her most ballerina kind of way while wearing this martian space suit.
Makes me wonder if she remembers this. Could have been one of those childhood traumatic experiences for her, while I have nothing but fond memories.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Batteries
I walked in the room to see Michael pulling my cell phone from my purse.
"You caught me," he said matter-of-fact. Then proceeded to remove my battery.
"So what are you doing?"
"My battery is dead, so I'm swapping it for yours."
Ah, since he was golfing he needed a freshly charged battery and I have no where to be so I can stay home and charge mine. But today I had a lot of errands to run...sigh. I have no life.
A few days ago I plugged my phone into the charger and it didn't work. "What the...my charger won't work."
"Oh yes it does." (This response from my daughter Elisabeth.) "You just have to hold it just right, and move the cord like this until it starts charging."
"And you know this why?"
"I swapped chargers with you."
Oh, I see. The charger works perfectly fine for someone who has no life and can sit and play with the cord until it is working. But for someone who has places to be and doesn't have time....sigh. I have no life.
So what was I doing this morning with my freshly charged battery? I was swapping it out for Hilary's dead one. She, in her most generous way, loaned her charger to a friend who'd left hers at someone's house. She assumed since we have 5 of the same phones and chargers here, it wasn't a big deal. She's right. The mom volunteered her battery without even being asked, since she has no life.
(A P.S. For those who are curious, no I did NOT make the game Friday night. It was one of those fierce debates that goes on in my head and when I finally decided to go I began to second guess whether I'd REALLY make it in time. By the time that wrestling match was decided, I knew I would be late. To make up for it, I stayed at the performance on Saturday for 5 hours, even though the girls dance was only 3 minutes long.)
"You caught me," he said matter-of-fact. Then proceeded to remove my battery.
"So what are you doing?"
"My battery is dead, so I'm swapping it for yours."
Ah, since he was golfing he needed a freshly charged battery and I have no where to be so I can stay home and charge mine. But today I had a lot of errands to run...sigh. I have no life.
A few days ago I plugged my phone into the charger and it didn't work. "What the...my charger won't work."
"Oh yes it does." (This response from my daughter Elisabeth.) "You just have to hold it just right, and move the cord like this until it starts charging."
"And you know this why?"
"I swapped chargers with you."
Oh, I see. The charger works perfectly fine for someone who has no life and can sit and play with the cord until it is working. But for someone who has places to be and doesn't have time....sigh. I have no life.
So what was I doing this morning with my freshly charged battery? I was swapping it out for Hilary's dead one. She, in her most generous way, loaned her charger to a friend who'd left hers at someone's house. She assumed since we have 5 of the same phones and chargers here, it wasn't a big deal. She's right. The mom volunteered her battery without even being asked, since she has no life.
(A P.S. For those who are curious, no I did NOT make the game Friday night. It was one of those fierce debates that goes on in my head and when I finally decided to go I began to second guess whether I'd REALLY make it in time. By the time that wrestling match was decided, I knew I would be late. To make up for it, I stayed at the performance on Saturday for 5 hours, even though the girls dance was only 3 minutes long.)
Friday, October 27, 2006
Sigh
I'm sitting here, listening to Christmas music and feeling incredibly guilty. Christmas music???? Yes. Two days ago I saw my neighbors Christmas lights going up, so I figured if they could put their lights up, then I could listen to music. No, they aren't for Halloween. These are CHRISTMAS lights. They have this sweet deal. A company comes out and puts them all up for them. Then sometime after Christmas they bring their trucks and ladders and take them all down. They even store them during the rest of the year. I have no idea how much it costs, but sounds pretty sweet if you ask me. So, as I said before, if they can have their Christmas lights up, I can listen to Christmas music.
Oh, you want to know why I'm sitting her feeling guilty? No, no, it isn't because I don't have my lights up, or because I'm listening to Christmas music before Halloween. No, not anything like that. It is Friday afternoon. Hilary is at a football game and I am not there. I try not to ever miss my kids games. (No, she doesn't play football.) But she is on the Pom line and they perform during half time.
So why am I not there? Well, I could say that it is because I still am not feeling well, but when does that ever stop me? Maybe it is because they've been doing "mini-poms" all week. That is where younger girls come and the Poms teach them a dance over several days. They then perform at the football game. So technically, Hilary isn't really performing. She is dancing with them, but it is a simple dance and really for the younger girls and their parents to come watch. (We went to many "mini-cheerleading" performances when my girls were in elementary school.)
I know, I should be more supportive. But tomorrow Hilary has an all day competition that I will be at for her. Doesn't that count? Can't that count for a football game too? Shoot! If I leave right now, I can still make half-time and see her perform. I better get off the computer and get my shoes on. I don't like feeling guilty.
Oh, you want to know why I'm sitting her feeling guilty? No, no, it isn't because I don't have my lights up, or because I'm listening to Christmas music before Halloween. No, not anything like that. It is Friday afternoon. Hilary is at a football game and I am not there. I try not to ever miss my kids games. (No, she doesn't play football.) But she is on the Pom line and they perform during half time.
So why am I not there? Well, I could say that it is because I still am not feeling well, but when does that ever stop me? Maybe it is because they've been doing "mini-poms" all week. That is where younger girls come and the Poms teach them a dance over several days. They then perform at the football game. So technically, Hilary isn't really performing. She is dancing with them, but it is a simple dance and really for the younger girls and their parents to come watch. (We went to many "mini-cheerleading" performances when my girls were in elementary school.)
I know, I should be more supportive. But tomorrow Hilary has an all day competition that I will be at for her. Doesn't that count? Can't that count for a football game too? Shoot! If I leave right now, I can still make half-time and see her perform. I better get off the computer and get my shoes on. I don't like feeling guilty.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Behind
Well as you can tell, I've been behind in blogland once again. I was getting so tired of myself, I finally broke down and went to the doctor yesterday to get treated for this sinus infection. I am hoping in the next couple of days I will feel "normal" once again. I have several posts begun and saved that I WILL get to. For now, you have to enjoy Colorado with me. The first photo was taken this morning. The second this afternoon. Notice the sunshine (it is the same tree and hedge.)
Did I mention that I LOVE Colorado???
Did I mention that I LOVE Colorado???
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Yum
Mmmmm...Delicious
I didn't get to sleep in this morning, but as the sun began to come up the freshly fallen snow glistened in the light. Every tree was covered in sparkling white-just beautiful.
The carpool didn't show up, so I had to quickly dress and make the 40 minute roundtrip drive. But when I arrived home, I met the Fed-Ex man bearing gifts. I quickly opened the package to find some of these:
Six huge mouthwatering brownies and a bag of coffee beautifully wrapped with a note reading,
"A Surprise Treat! Take a well deserved break. Love, Mom & Dad"
Now is that a delicious morning or what? Brownies and coffee for breakfast in the peace and beauty of newly fallen snow. Just had to share.
P.S. Thanks Mom and Dad! And if anyone is interested in these delicious brownie gifts they come from Fairytale Brownies Mom has sent these before and they also have coffee, hot chocolate and everything is scrumptious. They come beautifully wrapped; makes you feel like royalty. I should have taken a picture of them. Try them out if you want to surprise someone with an exquisite chocolate treat.
I didn't get to sleep in this morning, but as the sun began to come up the freshly fallen snow glistened in the light. Every tree was covered in sparkling white-just beautiful.
The carpool didn't show up, so I had to quickly dress and make the 40 minute roundtrip drive. But when I arrived home, I met the Fed-Ex man bearing gifts. I quickly opened the package to find some of these:
Six huge mouthwatering brownies and a bag of coffee beautifully wrapped with a note reading,
"A Surprise Treat! Take a well deserved break. Love, Mom & Dad"
Now is that a delicious morning or what? Brownies and coffee for breakfast in the peace and beauty of newly fallen snow. Just had to share.
P.S. Thanks Mom and Dad! And if anyone is interested in these delicious brownie gifts they come from Fairytale Brownies Mom has sent these before and they also have coffee, hot chocolate and everything is scrumptious. They come beautifully wrapped; makes you feel like royalty. I should have taken a picture of them. Try them out if you want to surprise someone with an exquisite chocolate treat.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Wake Up
Beep! Beep! Beep! This is my alarm clock so rudely interrupting tranquility of the early morning. I despise being awakened by anything other than the sweet whimpering cry of a newborn babe, soft caress or warm embrace. Several years back, when I was no longer awakened by gentle, child noises, I set out to find a kinder alarm clock.
A clock radio. I do love music, so I could awaken to the soothing sounds of jazz, a melodic country jig, a powerful praise to the Father-any radio station I pleased. Unfortunately, this did not prove to be a peaceful move. We live near a beautiful mountain. It makes for a lovely view, but blocks out many radio stations. Too often I awakened to white noise or "snow," or those old enough to remember. It was was produced when television stations would sign off at night. (Yes, for you young ones, there was a time in the wee hours of the night that one could turn on the idiot box to find nothing but fuzz on their screens-signaling a time for activity to cease.) This static noise was not the wake up call I desired, so I returned to the beep.
I was well aware that I could purchase a CD clock radio. The problem is I was too cheap to do that. I figured I would wait for the price to drop. Eventually, it did. I began looking at them in various stores. But one day I happened across a clock with nature sounds. Ah, now this might work. It was actually cheaper than any of the CD alarm clocks, so I went for it. Chirping birds, singing crickets, bubbling water. It worked for a couple of days. But my grandson was fascinated by this new electronic device with big buttons and regularly changed my preferences. He also liked the big off button and I enjoyed a few times of sleeping in later than I should have. It found its way into the trash can beside the bed. (It didn't hold up well to the abuse it sustained.)
I'd waited long enough for pleasant early mornings. I bought a CD clock. Excitedly, I placed my current favorite disc into the slot. I then spent quite a long time figuring out how to work the blasted thing. There were 2 alarm options-his and hers I can only assume. Totally unnecessary. Michael has never used an alarm clock in the 23 years we've been married. Where was the snooze button? Ooops, that turns on the radio. That is the selection for which song on the disc I want to hear. Nap feature-when accidently set, the alarm goes off 20 minutes after laying down. I can adjust the snooze from 9 minutes to 20. Shoot! I just picked 6 p.m. to awaken. Grrr...the format was nothing like any of the others I'd had. How was I going to adjust this one in the dark if the need should arise? Could I tell late Friday night whether or not I'd turned it off so my one day to sleep in wouldn't be disturbed? Ugh!
It was not a wise thing to use my favorite CD. Too often I would play it during the day with the volume turned up so I could hear it better, only to find it blast me out of bed the next morning. Or I would swipe the disc for my listening pleasure while driving my car. Then there would be lovely white noise, or worse-silence. I began to believe there was a conspiracy. Possibly, someone was trying to tell me I really shouldn't awaken so early in the morning. Really, I must need my sleep.
But then, something funny happened. One morning I awakened to the rousing anthem of the Star Spangled Banner. I'd pulled my CD the day before and in its place was a new radio station that was tuned. Wow, now I could get used to this patriotic nostalgia. Guess what? They played it every morning. I still fumbled for the snooze button, didn't remember which buttons did what, but life was good.
This morning I hit the snooze as usual. When I heard talk coming from the radio, I hit snooze again and fell back asleep. The third time music was playing. I could not believe I had hit snooze more than once. What was I thinking? I do not allow myself enough time to snooze more than once. I hastily swung my arm over the edge of the bed to turn the noise off before Michael's sleep was too disturbed. What in the...??? The numbers were blurry but that first digit looked much more like a 4 than a 6. I began pushing buttons trying to figure out if the second alarm had somehow been set for this earlier time, or if mine had been changed. I inadvertantly turned on the CD, then the radio. I could not make any of it out, but as I became more awake, I realized that my alarm had not gone off at all. I had not snoozed 3 times, only in a dream. Ok, maybe it was a nightmare, but who dreams about their alarm clock waking them up? Apparently I do. This whole thing must be more stressful than even I realized.
A clock radio. I do love music, so I could awaken to the soothing sounds of jazz, a melodic country jig, a powerful praise to the Father-any radio station I pleased. Unfortunately, this did not prove to be a peaceful move. We live near a beautiful mountain. It makes for a lovely view, but blocks out many radio stations. Too often I awakened to white noise or "snow," or those old enough to remember. It was was produced when television stations would sign off at night. (Yes, for you young ones, there was a time in the wee hours of the night that one could turn on the idiot box to find nothing but fuzz on their screens-signaling a time for activity to cease.) This static noise was not the wake up call I desired, so I returned to the beep.
I was well aware that I could purchase a CD clock radio. The problem is I was too cheap to do that. I figured I would wait for the price to drop. Eventually, it did. I began looking at them in various stores. But one day I happened across a clock with nature sounds. Ah, now this might work. It was actually cheaper than any of the CD alarm clocks, so I went for it. Chirping birds, singing crickets, bubbling water. It worked for a couple of days. But my grandson was fascinated by this new electronic device with big buttons and regularly changed my preferences. He also liked the big off button and I enjoyed a few times of sleeping in later than I should have. It found its way into the trash can beside the bed. (It didn't hold up well to the abuse it sustained.)
I'd waited long enough for pleasant early mornings. I bought a CD clock. Excitedly, I placed my current favorite disc into the slot. I then spent quite a long time figuring out how to work the blasted thing. There were 2 alarm options-his and hers I can only assume. Totally unnecessary. Michael has never used an alarm clock in the 23 years we've been married. Where was the snooze button? Ooops, that turns on the radio. That is the selection for which song on the disc I want to hear. Nap feature-when accidently set, the alarm goes off 20 minutes after laying down. I can adjust the snooze from 9 minutes to 20. Shoot! I just picked 6 p.m. to awaken. Grrr...the format was nothing like any of the others I'd had. How was I going to adjust this one in the dark if the need should arise? Could I tell late Friday night whether or not I'd turned it off so my one day to sleep in wouldn't be disturbed? Ugh!
It was not a wise thing to use my favorite CD. Too often I would play it during the day with the volume turned up so I could hear it better, only to find it blast me out of bed the next morning. Or I would swipe the disc for my listening pleasure while driving my car. Then there would be lovely white noise, or worse-silence. I began to believe there was a conspiracy. Possibly, someone was trying to tell me I really shouldn't awaken so early in the morning. Really, I must need my sleep.
But then, something funny happened. One morning I awakened to the rousing anthem of the Star Spangled Banner. I'd pulled my CD the day before and in its place was a new radio station that was tuned. Wow, now I could get used to this patriotic nostalgia. Guess what? They played it every morning. I still fumbled for the snooze button, didn't remember which buttons did what, but life was good.
This morning I hit the snooze as usual. When I heard talk coming from the radio, I hit snooze again and fell back asleep. The third time music was playing. I could not believe I had hit snooze more than once. What was I thinking? I do not allow myself enough time to snooze more than once. I hastily swung my arm over the edge of the bed to turn the noise off before Michael's sleep was too disturbed. What in the...??? The numbers were blurry but that first digit looked much more like a 4 than a 6. I began pushing buttons trying to figure out if the second alarm had somehow been set for this earlier time, or if mine had been changed. I inadvertantly turned on the CD, then the radio. I could not make any of it out, but as I became more awake, I realized that my alarm had not gone off at all. I had not snoozed 3 times, only in a dream. Ok, maybe it was a nightmare, but who dreams about their alarm clock waking them up? Apparently I do. This whole thing must be more stressful than even I realized.
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