The Tyrant

I've never been one who is terribly organized. For years, I created these wonderfully detailed schedules that were ridiculously impossible to follow. But when I don't at least try, I become a victim to the urgency of the moment. And I miss out on truly important things. I hate that.

Sometimes the urgent things come by way of a phone call, the desire to check something out on the internet, or even a walk to the mailbox. I get caught up in the busyness of those around me and accomplish nothing seemingly worthwhile.

Today I wasn't terribly motivated to do the things that needed to be accomplished. But it wasn't that I was distracted by so many things. I was tired. I didn't go to sleep last night until 5 this morning.

I was on my way to bed around 1 a.m., but Elisabeth came in and was having severe back pain. After chastising her for not taking better care of herself, making her feel worse, I realized her pain was at the point of warranting a trip to the Emergency Room.

Have I mentioned I don't go anywhere without having my hair done and makeup on. Seriously, I don't even walk to the mailbox. But last night I'd already washed my face and was ready for some Zzzz's by the time we decided to go. For the first time that I can remember, I put my clothes on and off we went. Without a drop of makeup. And I survived. (Could my obsession with my hair/makeup routine be a tyrant of sorts?)

The ER at 2 in the morning is an interesting place. The thin curtain separating the beds allows one to peak into the lives of others who have arrived at this same place. The reasons for being there are varied. The language can be crude. I couldn't help but overhear the sordid details of the girl behind the curtain's life, the drugs she used, her injury and the breakup with her loser boyfriend-her words edited. The little lady who came in on a gurney because she was caring for her 91 year old husband when she fell. When she couldn't get up, he managed to drop a phone on her head, and the laceration was bleeding profusely. What was her husband doing with a phone at 3 in the morning?

Okay, I think I'm getting distracted. This is why I need to create more of a schedule to my life. I hate routines, but distraction is a terrible tyrant. I've lost much time to it.

Summer Is Here

I woke up to loud banging this morning. It was expected, but still seemed harsh as it invaded the dream I was happily enjoying.

I don't like having strangers working inside my home. And to have them here, in my kitchen, before I've had one cup of coffee? Horrors! This wouldn't happen during the school year, but it is summer here people. I slept in. I was reading last night until quite late.

Yesterday was demolition day. I'm getting a new kitchen floor, but the old 3 layers of floor had to be ripped out first. The noise and dust made it impossible to blog. I couldn't go to the grocery store as I had no access to my refrigerator. Sigh. What was I supposed to do? Seemed like the perfect opportunity to get my nails painted for the 4th of July. In years past I've enjoyed decorating fingernails on my girls with splashes of fireworks, stripes of red, white, or blue. I'm patriotic like that. I came home with blue, yes blue as in the color on the flag blue.

Oh, and I picked up the new Guitar Hero Game that came out on Sunday. Before I began reading last night, I tried it out. Can you believe my kids were all gone (except the one who doesn't play) and I had to play alone? For 3 hours. Then I sat and read.

(Seriously, I think I should have had at least a half a dozen more children. I get carried away with too much free time.)

8 hours, 27 minutes

Ethan didn't keep the wires attached for the full 48 hours. He was 39 hours, 33 minutes short. I'm not sure how long it will take before we know if the torture we put him and ourselves through was worth it & if significant information was obtained during those long 8 hours.

The rest of the evening he was pretty darn happy.

We finished celebrating Sarabeth's birthday.


Since Ethan couldn't eat the cake, I made him a batch of brownies during his nap. He thought he needed candles too. Twenty-four candles in the box, 19 for Sarabeth and 5 for Ethan. Perfect.

Not sure why, but after getting all 3 pairs of glasses fixed on Wednesday, he refuses to wear any of them. (Can you believe he'd broken all of them before we had a chance to get a replacement?)

P.S. Tammy, I will get back to the Early Years story.

EEG

Today is Sarabeth's birthday. Happy 19th birthday!!!!

But most of my day so far has been spent with this little guy:

Ethan, undergoing a 48 hour EEG.

Checking out his new do.

A few seconds before he began ripping the dressing from his head

As we leave the hospital the first time, Ethan stops to watch the balls in the maze. We drive out of the parking lot just long enough to look back and see that Ethan has pulled out 4 wires. This is going to be a long 48 hours.

With his head wrapped more tightly, and carrying new toys, we leave the hospital a second time.

Three hours later, 4 of us have wrestled with him, re-wrapped his head, re-attached multiple wires, and now he is sleeping.

The tech was amazed at Ethan's strength and pain tolerance. He said the glue they use is similar to super glue and a solvent is used to remove the connectors so as not to remove skin with them. He said sometimes kids pull off wires, but Ethan definitely set a record for the fastest.

I doubt we will make it through 24 hours.

Where have I been?

Why is it that when I miss a couple of days it is hard to get back to blogging? Does anyone else suffer from this malady? If I have a lag in posting, I feel like I need to come back with something wonderful, humorous, poignant, meaningful, or just plain spectacular. Then I feel pressure, which makes it take that much longer to post. Oh well, I am back. Sorry this post will be none of the aforementioned.

What have I been up to?

NOT a luxurious vacation, no vacation plans in sight.

I have NOT been involved in sports, swimming, or other kid's activities.

No, I'm NOT leisurely enjoying the fun things that happen in summer.



So what has happened since I last posted?



Last Wednesday morning I had a Sheriff Officer yell at me. Yes, this really did happen. He didn't pull me over. He didn't give me a ticket. What he did do was roll down his window and yell at me as he drove past. Weird. I know. If he thought I did something wrong, which he did, why would he not pull me over. Give me a warning, or worse, a ticket. But to scream at me from his passing car? A bit childish if you ask me.

I proceeded to drive to Progressive Insurance Company. I was taking my car back for the 2nd time AFTER they'd "repaired it." Two days after getting it back the 2nd time, I was hand-washing my baby as I do about once-a-week. I noticed the front grill was not attached. What the...???? How did that happen? Then as I opened the hood to dry the edges I noticed paint overspray. I decided to get picky. The minor things I'd noticed before that I was going to let slide were suddenly no longer acceptable.

To make a long story shorter, I was told at Progressive that I had obviously hit something and scraped the bottom of my car, causing the grill to come loose and they refused to fix it. They also refused to consider my other complaints, claiming the "overspray" was the way my car comes from the Honda factory.

I was not in the best of moods, still feeling low from having a police officer yell at me. I wanted to yell at this man. I did not. We argued back and forth until I realized I was getting no where. I asked where the nearest Honda dealer was, and left. But I promised he would be hearing from me soon.

I'll post pictures tomorrow.

(In case you are wondering why the officer yelled at me. I stopped at the stop sign at the end of our street BEFORE the stop sign like I'm supposed to. But, the bushes and trees on the adjacent property make it impossible to see very far down the street. After stopping, I pulled far enough forward to see it was clear enough to go and kept going. The sheriff screamed, "YOU DIDN'T STOP AT THE STOP SIGN." I clearly did. He just didn't see me.)

Moms Get To Choose

I was reading On The Upside today, and Kellan shared a story about taking her kids to see Kung Fu Panda. She stated she really doesn't like going to kiddie movies. It reminded me of a conversation I had years ago with a friend.

I was at a church potluck, chatting with a her. I noticed our children playing together and having fun, so I decided to invite them to the zoo. I'd planned to take my kids the next day with another friend. I asked her if they'd like to come along.

Her response: "No thanks. I don't like the zoo. I don't like roller-skating either." (She must have heard me talking about a few days earlier.) I stood there for a moment, taking in what had been said.

She doesn't like the zoo??? Did I? I'd never asked myself if 'I' wanted to go to the zoo, or whether or not I liked it. Was she saying moms get to choose activities with their children based on their own likes and dislikes? Dragging my kids to the Natural History Museum was optional??? I had no idea moms like this existed.

I thought of my own mom. We went on many adventures. We picked strawberries, went mining at the Apache Tear mine, explored old Indian Ruins (I know, not a politically correct term now,) went rock climbing, swimming, picnics in the mountains. Dad took us camping, fishing, showed us how criminals were fingerprinted at his office. I wonder how many activities my parents shared with us, that they didn't particularly enjoy, but did just for us? I suspect there were a few, but I never knew it. I only have fond memories of our outings. (Even the ones I didn't want to do at the time.)

I'm thankful my parents weren't selfish parents, doing only things they "wanted" to do. How different my life would have been. Thanks Mom & Dad!

Ethan Update

I haven't given an update on Ethan recently, so thought I would. First, I am giving an award to his physical therapist. I'm calling it the "Thunk Award." Not that I would ever clunk someone in the head, but if I had, I'm sure that this is the sound I would have heard. Plus she really should have "thunk" before she spoke.

The P.T. told Christina she was no longer going to be a physical therapist. She was moving on to another career. (Hallelujah!) Then she went on to say, "But I think it is a waste of time & money to keep Ethan in therapy. He isn't motivated enough. He hasn't made a bit of progress this past year, not one measurable difference. And truthfully, no he can't kick a ball, but does it matter? So he can't jump or hop, he can make it in life without doing that. He isn't able to go down a flight of stairs in typical fashion, but he can make it. So it really isn't a big deal if he gets physical therapy. He can still manage in life." Grrr....she is very deserving of the Thunk Award.

On a positive note, I'd like to offer a Kudos Award. I just don't know who to give it to. Christina received a phone call from the Autistic School telling her someone had anonymously paid for Ethan's schooling this summer. What a huge blessing!!! Meanwhile, she continues to battle the public school over his continued education. Several people in that mix deserve thunk awards too.

 Helping Gramma water

Aunt Sarabeth's Graduation

Clarification

My dad came through again. (If you remember, dad brought clarification in a previous post.) I received this email after mentioning the napkin story:


"I was checking out your blog and saw your remarks about the napkin story. I can only give you my recollection of it. Here it is from the best of my memory.

We were out to eat at the Black Angus on Broadway in Tempe. You were still in high school and so was Laurie. I believe the conversation took place as we were leaving the restaurant as we were in the parking lot. You were fiddling around pulling what looked like wadded up napkins out of your jacket pocket. Apparently, you only wore that Jacket when you went out to eat somewhere. I asked you what all the wadded up paper was about. You told me that you put your napkin in your jacket pocket whenever you ate out, that way you could pull out a napkin, sniff it, and have a recollection of what you ate and of the evening.

Apparently, it was your way of revisiting a pleasant time. It sounded like something a teenager would do, so we laughed and that was it. I am surprised that you don't recall that. I don't know if you made up that answer on the spur of the moment to cover for why you had all these old napkins, or if you really kept them for the stated purpose. Anyway, it was a good story that we thought should be shared with Sarabeth.

Love, Dad "

I have my own ideas about my intentions. This was way before recycling was popular and I was ahead of my time. It was all about the environment. Instead of wasting a new tissue to blow my nose into, I saved my paper napkin to reuse for that purpose. As a bonus, they were pleasantly scented with savory food smells instead of perfumes-the way toilet paper and tissues were. I wonder how many trees I saved.

International Text Messaging

Did I mention my daughter, Sarabeth, is currently traveling in England with my mom and dad? My older sister went along as well. Before they left, I added international calling/text messaging to Sarabeth's phone-for emergencies. Phone calls are very expensive from Europe. Text messages aren't too bad, 35 cents to send, 15 cents to receive. But at this rate, considering her average text usage, she could easily reach the 300 dollar mark. No thank-you.

She flew to Arizona with her brother, where she met up with her grandparents. Christopher had come out for her graduation. He lives with my parents. I received a text message from Christopher a few hours before the plane was scheduled to depart for London.

"Please pray for Gramma. She is sick, and isn't sure she can get on a plane right now."

I began praying. The next message I got was from Sarabeth.

"Your sister is so funny. This will be a very entertaining trip."


Hmm...she didn't mention my mom at all. My sister, Carolyn, does like to talk. I wonder what sorts of things she will tell my daughter.

Eventually I get a message, not from Sarabeth, but Christopher assuring me that they boarded the plane. Whew!

I'm thinking I will hear from her at some point. A short text message lettin gme know they have arrived. Nope. Ok, I can accept that. She is being very wise with her text messaging privileges. Smart girl. But when 3 days later I hadn't heard anything, I send her a message asking if she'd made it to London. She sends me a picture text message of where she is and that she is having the time of her life. They were on their way to see "Wicked" at the Apollo Victoria. They'd been to Hampton Court, Westminster Abbey, etc. Wow, what an exciting time! Then out of the blue:

"By-the-way, I heard about your napkin thing." I rack my brain trying to figure out what my daughter means by this. It must be a story from the past my sister or parents have told. But I don't remember any napkin story. What sordid tales are being told??? My curiosity gets the best of me. I text her back, mentally figuring out how many messages it will take to understand and how much it will cost. Normallly, I'd ask a simple "what?" But that tranlates to 15 cents a word. Instead I ask several questions just to get my money's worth. I receive a response.

"Gramma said you used to keep used napkins and you would smell them later and know what you ate."

I have no recollection of this. I try to imagine myself with a stash of wadded paper napkins. Sniff. Ah yes, this one is bean tostadas and rice. Sniff. Mmmm...steak and baked potato.

Seriously. Is this for real? I quit sending text messages. That's enough information exchange for now. I will have to think real hard on this one. Was I a teenager when this took place? A little kid? I have no idea.

The following day I receive another message.

"Pray for your parents they are not in good shape. Papa is on his way to the hospital."


Could she not give just a bit more information than this??? The joys of international text messages.

(P.S. My parents are home and doing well. Sarabeth was home for 2 days and is now off on a cruise somewhere in the Carribean.)

Congratulations Sarabeth!

Congratulations Sarabeth! You have finished K-12 well. Gone are the imaginary Velcro strips pinned on by concerned friends and family. In their place are the wings of independence, I never doubted would sprout.

In Kindergarten, your teacher remarked that she had a class with several quiet, respectful, diligent students-and you were one of them. “But,” she said looking me in the eye, “there is so much more to Sarabeth. She isn’t just a quiet, hard-working girl.” She looked at me intently, without saying more. She didn’t have to. I knew exactly what she meant.

Mrs. Rowe saw passion, determination, a glowing ember inside this little girl. When necessary the spark could ignite to rage against the flames of adversity. Once a year, each teacher awarded one student with the Diligence Award Pin. That award went to you. God whispered to you at the tender age of 6, revealing gifts He’s placed within you.

You play by the rules & demand fairness. You go along quietly, completely every task set before you. But you aren’t afraid to stop the train, if you see it traveling down the wrong track. You stand firmly & without hesitation, whether or not you stand alone is inconsequential. You maintain the path of integrity.

It isn’t your nature to shine in the spotlight. But when called upon to lead, you step forward with grace and confidence. Others follow.

My fair-haired, blue-eyed little girl is now a beautiful, talented, wise, educated, young lady. Don’t worry that you don’t have your college major picked yet. You take after your multi-talented grandmother. Like her, I doubt you will be locked into any one vocation in life. You are more like the Virtuous Woman spoken of in Proverbs 31. She accomplished many things, and excelled at them all.

I’m so very proud of you, Sarabeth.

More Jury Duty

So I had this nagging feeling. It gnawed at my stomach. So yesterday, I drove Michael's car to jury duty. He asked me why. I told him I didn't want anything to happen to my car. His car is more than 10 years old. He assured me mine would be fine.

I could see my car from the jury room. I checked on it every chance I could. My fellow jurors laughed.

"Is it still there?"

"Did it drive away without you?"

"Ok, your car must be new." I told him no. But I did ask him to find the cutest car in the parking lot. He immediately picked mine. We all laughed.

At the end of the day, I went to the parking lot. Here is what I found:

The whole front bumper will need to be replaced and probably the side panel too. And you know what? I didn't cry one tear. But I wanted to.

Back to jury duty tomorrow.

Juror Number 13

So, that's me. Number 13! Since I can't actually talk about the trial, I wanted to share that I was prepared for this. Almost as soon as I received the jury summons, I was fairly certain I would be picked. Don't ask me how I knew, I just did. I sensed God was speaking something to me, I just didn't know what.

I suppose that is one of the reasons I went shopping last week. Attire for jury duty is casual business wear. Not knowing exactly what that meant, I did read the words "no jeans." Basically, my wardrobe is nothing but jeans with an occasional dress thrown in for church or other event. I managed to put together several outfits.

I had moments where I thought "how silly this is. I am going to get dressed up, drive downtown, only to be coming home a couple of hours later. No trial, nothing." Nevertheless, something deeper inside of me continued to make plans. I pulled a pot roast from the freezer, to put in the crock pot, so if I didn't arrive home until after 5:00p.m., dinner would be ready.

As I, and 61 other prospective jurors sat in the room and were given the instructions for the day, I kept thinking I was going to be the 13th juror. As far as I knew, there were only 12. But as the woman in charge continued her explanations, she announced there would be 12 jurors and 1 alternate. I thought, yep, that's me!

At lunch, when all 62 of us left, I found myself wondering what to do. I am not an overly social person and am quite content to sit alone to eat. I had a book. But again, there was a nagging not to. Both the person ahead and behind me in line at the sandwich shop in the building across the street were potential jurors. We'd been given strict instructions not to mention anything about the trial, even though we were not yet jurors. What were we to talk about? After getting my food, somehow these two had already sat together, so I asked if I could join them. I had a feeling the three of us would somehow end up on the jury, even though I hadn't noticed either of them before in the courtroom. I only knew they were potential jurors because of the bright yellow buttons we were required to wear.

A couple of hours later, 31 potential jurors were seated. I was number 18. As the process continued, people allowed to go home, others dismissed, until we were down to the remaining 31 with only a handful of others left on the benches. The Attorneys were then allowed their peremptory challenge. As this process began, jurors were no longer pulled from the bench to take the empty seats. Instead those jurors with higher numbers were called by name to fill the vacant spots. I realized that those who ended up in the 1-13 spots would be those on the jury. I waited for them to choose to dismiss juror 13. When they finally did, I waited for my name to be called. Only it wasn't. Someone else took that spot. But she was also the next one eliminated. Then my name was called.

Have I mentioned 13 is my favorite number? Ok, it's no doubt because I was born on the 13th. But look at the 12 disciples and Jesus. Thirteen. It's as if whenever 13 shows up, so does He. I like that.

As it turns out, I'm not the alternate juror. Well, maybe I am. The Judge said it will be kept a secret to ensure all jurors pay close attention to the trial-which is supposed to last 3 days. I believe God is speaking something to me, but I don't feel that I'm to share it. He HAS to be. Oh, my fellow lunchmates? Yep, they made it on the jury too.

To some this all may sound silly. But it is a reminder to me, that if we will listen, God has a way of preparing us, speaking to us, guiding us. Everything won't be so specific, but at times it will. That is an aha moment for me, when I see He is trying to get my attention and I really need to listen.

Ketchup or Catchup

I have a lot of catching up to do.

I believe I mentioned I don't multi-task, and I'm not even sure I can call it that. I am single-focused. That means if I'm busy with one thing I can't even think about the next event until the first is over. Christopher asked me last week how the Rehearsal Dinner planning was coming along. I said, "I don't know." Ask me next week when graduation is over.

I'm not thinking about it today either. I am at the U.S. District Court House. As a prospective Juror, I have to be downtown by 7:00a.m. I am not normally even dressed at 7. Sarabeth is off to London, so I'm supposed to be taking Hilary to school at 7:00. But instead, I have left at 6:30a.m.

After the energy I am putting forth and the sacrifices I am making, I hope I get to sit in on a trial. If I come home after all of this without performing my civic duty of being a juror, I will be sorely disappointed. Or maybe just sleeping.

Finish Well

Sunday was the Baccalaureate.

Monday-Tuesday are Finals

Wednesday is the Senior Banquet

Thursday the Senior Picnic

Friday Graduation Rehearsal

Saturday-Graduation

Sunday-Sarabeth flies to Phoenix

Monday-Sarabeth is off to London

My 4th child is graduating from high school. This week will be filled with nostalgic moments. Tomorrow I will pack Sarabeth's lunch for the last time. I will say good-bye to lunch boxes forever. (Hilary will only use a sack for lunch.) I always knew she'd carry one through her senior year. She chooses to walk her own path. Today she wore the same outfit to school that she wore the first day of her senior year.

Sarabeth, you have finished well!

Last Saturday I was supposed to fly to North Carolina with my mom-in-law to visit her oldest daughter. MaryAnn's husband had phoned late one night after she'd gone to bed. His wife was to receive a prestigious award at church. What a sweet man to invite her mother to come be a part of this event. MaryAnn would be surprised and I'd get to be there all of the fun.

Instead, I learned what Atrial Fibrillation is. No, not personally, my via mom-in-law. We had to cancel the trip.

A funny thing happened though. On Thursday my mother-in-law called to thank us for the beautiful fruit arrangement they'd received. Only we didn't. She said but they'd received a card and it had all of our names on it, even our soon to be daughter-in-law and Christina and Ethan.

What a fun idea! Send gifts bearing the name of someone else.

We received another call. A mistake had been made. With all of those names on the card, she'd just assumed Michael and I were on it. We weren't. My kids had gotten together and sent it just to brighten her day. And they hadn't even mentioned it to me.

I do like the idea of sending gifts under an assumed name.

Some Days Are Just Sad

Tomorrow will be a happier day. I think it is ok to have a down day once in awhile. After a sunny day in the 70's yesterday, it is a bit gloomy here. It began raining, snowed a bit and it gray, cold, and damp. Certainly a good day to get some things accomplished inside.

I need to put my scrapbooking supplies away. I'd been searching for a photo of my mom and me. I wanted to post one for Mother's Day. I found 3 or 4 from the past 25 years. It seems it is usually my mom or I that takes the pictures. I vowed to get more soon. Here is the most recent one with my mom and dad:



Ethan was here for a few hours on Mother's Day. He had a rough week. I noticed he found my photos. Thankfully, I noticed 40 or so that he'd thrown in the garbage. He also found my fancy scissors and pens. One photo I found of both my mom and dad was ripped in half, as were a number of other pictures. I don't blame him. These things happen. I don't feel very motivated to reorganize and put things away though. I'm afraid of what else I might find.

Remember when I posted how excited I was for Ethan to attend the Autistic school? That was in December and he didn't actually start until April? I posted about how the school wouldn't pay for the the summer and if Christina couldn't come up with the difference they wouldn't accept him? Did I tell you that thanks to the tax stimulus rebate and such the money was available? Yesterday she found out it didn't really matter. The school has "changed their mind" and won't pay for him to go in the Fall, even though they had verbally said he was approved beginning last November for at least a year. Instead, he gets to attend school for a mere 3 months.

I don't understand how they can deny him. Why open the door to watch him blossom for a few weeks, then slam it shut in his face? What a crushing blow!

I'm sorry. Sometimes it is just that kind of day. But if any of you happens to win the lottery and begin feeling very generous, I know a little boy who would love to keep going to school.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

Who was that crazy lady riding down the middle of the street in a homemade go-cart? Built with her 9 year old son, it sure was fast. She crashed and burned at the bottom of a hill, grinding gravel into her knees. Walking home, the enthusiastic boy raved about how cool it was, while his mom limped along, blood running down her legs, dragging the cart behind her.

That was my mom.

Many times I've waited to hear an important speaker. But their introduction gets in the way. By the time the announcer has rattled off her many titles, education, accomplishments, & virtues, my mind has wandered. I lose the awe with which I've come to hear this person. A list can't capture the essence of the person. I want to tell the announcer to stop and let the person speak so I can decide this person's greatness for myself.

As I try to share about my own mom, very quickly I see the same pattern. She is multi-talented and the list grows the longer I write. Each time I stop. I don't want others to quit reading because she sounds way beyond everyone else, a superior being. But I want to share that she is Mom to 4 kids, 14 grandkids, 2 great grandkids, to share er adventures in life, education, accomplishments, generosity, intelligence...but I become that announcer.

To simplify, as I read about the Virtuous Woman, I see my mom.

A good woman is hard to find, and worth far more than diamonds.

A wife of noble character who can find?
She is worth far more than rubies.

Her husband has full confidence in her
and lacks nothing of value.

She brings him good, not harm,
all the days of her life.

She selects wool and flax
and works with eager hands.

She sees that her trading is profitable,
and her lamp does not go out at night.

She opens her arms to the poor
and extends her hands to the needy.

She is clothed with strength and dignity;
she can laugh at the days to come.

She speaks with wisdom,
and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

She watches over the affairs of her household
and does not eat the bread of idleness.

Her children arise and call her blessed;
her husband also, and he praises her:

"Many women do noble things,
but you surpass them all."

Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.

Honor her for all that her hands have done,
and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I love you!

A Little Something I Found

I ran across a Christmas letter I sent out in 1999. Every year when my children were young, we'd take the obligatory family photo. I'd try to write a little something about each person and send it off with the photo and Christmas greeting. Somewhere along the way, it became too much. I missed a few years, didn't even get cards out, let alone a photo taken. I tried again in '99. We'd celebrated my inlaws 50th anniversary so we did have a photo. But what was I thinking???

I wrote this post about a Christmas letter from 1970 that my dad found. After sharing it Gretchen had commented "Any chance you'll try to write some new poetry?" This is why I don't:

Twas a few nights before Christmas and all through the house
No one was quiet, Eeek! The cat's got a mouse!
Michael's been working the computer with care
Building a web page for sports everwhere.
The house is a bustle with children and dog,
Two cats, six gerbils, a fish, and a frog.
Christopher's off with lacrosse stick and ball,
This year in high school he played football.
Christina graduated and went to CSU
She's home now, recovering from Mono and flu.
Elisabeth's homeschooled, but still goes to choir,
She's also involved in the youth group, "On Fire."
Sarabeth just finished her part in a play, and
Represented her school in a speech meet one day.
Hilary's in Brownies and loves to run,
Ran the mile in P.E. and won just for fun.
Joanne has to shop and doesn't have time
To be real clever and keep trying to rhyme.
So we send these greetings to all we hold dear,
May your home be filled with holiday cheer.
And may you be blessed by the Father above
Who sent His Son Jesus to show you His Love.


What was I thinking? And why did we take pictures at the very end of the day when nobody looked their best? Oh well, maybe I didn't really send this out. Maybe it was like so many of my other started but never finished projects.

So instead I embarrass myself and post it here.


It's fun to look back. And this my friends, is why you don't read poetry on my blog. So there you have it Gretchen. I guess I did try to write some poetry in my adult years.

School Project

Hilary had a Spanish project she needed to work on over the weekend. It was one of those group efforts that all parents dread. (Ok, maybe just me.) It requires having the bunch at my house with me supervising, which I don't do well. This often results in one or more kids lingering around because their ride doesn't show. I end up feeding them dinner, then driving them home. Or, as was the case this day, I drive 20 minutes one way to drop my daughter off at another kid's house. She stays a couple of hours, then I pick her up. I lose over an hour and a half out of my weekend driving her around. I should get an 'A for effort.

As I drove Hilary to meet with her 4 male partners, I encouraged her to keep the guys on task. It isn't that I think teen boys goof off...well, yes I do. "Don't let them get distracted by other things. If they do, gently remind them that you really don't have a lot of time. Help them stay focused."

I didn't go to the door with her, just waited until someone answered. After the 20 minute drive home, I began preparing dinner. I hear my phone jingle a text message. It's from Hilary.

"Kyle almost just sliced his thumb off trying to cut this thing for his mom so we are at the emergency room doing our project."

"What???" Was my first response.

I then message her back (why don't I just call???) asking if I should pick her and the other boys up & bring them here to finish the project. Nope. She assures me everything is under control. What, and miss all of the excitement?

I couldn't help but wonder what in the world I would have done if this had been my child who nearly sliced her thumb off. I can't imagine dragging a bunch of teens with me for that trip and having them sit in the waiting area to work on their project.

I then receive a picture message of the bloody wound being cleaned up. Nice.

I text Hilary, "Are you in the room watching Kyle get stitches?" Well, duh. She simply said yes.

Kyle's parent was a much better superviser than I. They did almost finish their project.

Reach Out To Touch Someone

I was late to church this morning, so sat in the back. At one point, we turn and greet those around us. I looked around. A couple with a small boy standing between them sat a row behind me and over several seats. I shook the father's hand first, then greeted the mom. The boy was looking down, so I bent over, placed my hand on his shoulder and said, "hey buddy, how are you today."

As he looked up at me, I noticed he had Down Syndrome. Without thinking, I swiped my hand across his face, wiping most of the drool dripping down his chin. The same way I've done with Ethan so many times. And just as quickly, I dried my hand on the side of my skirt. With Ethan, I am usually wearing a pair of absorbant jeans when I decide to whisk saliva into my hand. This skirt was not cotton. I stroked his hair, smiled and turned to greet the next person. But when I sat down, I was horrified.

Was it a faux pas to wipe drool off of someone else's child? Did I embarrass the parents? Except for when they were babies, I've never had a child that drooled. (A wet pillow doesn't count.) I imagined being back in church when my children were little. In the middle of greeting, an older lady pulls a wrinkled tissue from her purse and says, "here honey, let me get that big booger" and then proceedes to wipe my child's nose. No this didn't happen, but I would have been horrified. I would have thought the lady figured I didn't take the time, or didn't notice my young child needed to wipe her nose. I would be embarrassed.

I truly hope I did not embarrass these parents. It was not my intention. I hadn't even noticed the drool until he looked up. My movements were automatic, not something I thought about. Shudder. Anyone have any thoughts?