Last year, we drove our youngest daughter to college in Idaho. We stopped in Salt Lake City and attended a session before it closed it's doors in December for a massive four year renovation. I was pondering my children and was concerned about their testimony and whether they would remain active in the gospel.
It was just before entering the celestial room that I received an answer that acted as a balm and gave me courage. I realized that through the power of the priesthood (our family having been sealed in the temple) that somehow, all would be well as long as we continued to strive towards perfection. It has been said that as long as our feet are on the pathway towards the Lord when our mortality ended, that the atonement would make our works sufficient.
It is the hardest thing to allow our children to grow up and make their own choices. It's so hard to remember all the false starts and ill-thought-out decisions we made at their age. It requires so much faith to believe they will grow out of their youth and return to the Lord. But I believe the Spirit has whispered to me to trust the power of the Priesthood to be upon my family, so I falteringly move forward and hope that I can be the parent they need.
Sunday, 2 February 2020
I dreamed a dream or in other words, I had a vision 1990
When I was about 27 I had a dream, but it was so much more like a vision. The dream was so vivid and wasn't disjoined like a regular dream. I'll just tell it the way I remember it so perfectly.
The first I remember I was in an operating room watching as doctors and nurses were frantically working over a person on a table. As they bustled about, I saw the person they were trying to recesitate was ME and I was watching this from the corner ceiling of the operating theater. I was distraught as I watched them insert needles and tubes into my body, the body which had ALWAYS served me well. My heart had always beat strong and regularly, my lungs had breathed without any thought on my part, but now it was betraying me. I was so upset, worrying about my 2 young daughters and who would care for them.
As I looked away to my left, the operating room faded and I saw darkness. When I had turned 180 degrees, I was in a plain room and the things I was thinking about all of a sudden became absurd, silly worries. A laugh burbled from my throat as I, remembering how foolish it was to worry about such childish things, and said, "Oh yeah!" remembering with a certainty that everything was already taken care of. Then I noticed that in a simple chair sat a woman that I have never seen before with my mortal eyes. As my glance fell on her I joyfully cried, "Mother!" and ran to her, sitting at her feet and placing my head in her lap. She spoke to me, telling me important things that I remember thinking, "I need to remember this."
The next part of my dream finds me in a restaurant with Michelle and Kimmy's father and his parents. I was in great humor thinking how great it was that I had been resurrected and was visiting with my earthly family. I was very animated as I mentioned to them my new immortal state. I remembered feeling so unafraid. I was unafraid of death because I knew how fantastic it was to leave the mortal existence. But they looked at each other and I could tell something was up. I asked what was going on and they looked like they didn't know who should tell me. Finally, my mother-in-law told me that I hadn't died, that the doctors were able to save me, but that I had an aneurism in my brain and that one day it would burst and I would die instantly. I was so ANGRY! So angry at those doctors for pulling me away from my afterlife. I felt the mortal mantle of fear begin to settle around me as I realized I was going to have to die.
I got home and my two preschool children were there, needing to be fed, to be dressed, to be cared for and all I could do was think, "I've got to write down my life for them so when I leave, they will know me. I was trying to wipe a face and find something to write on, but only came up with a piece of an envelope to write on.
Then I woke up, knowing that keeping a journal for my children was the most important thing I could leave them. So here I am, nearly 20 years later doing just that. And those things "Mother" told me about that I wanted to remember were veiled from my memory, but I testify, when she told me them, it was amazing and made so much sense and I know when I return, I WILL remember.
The first I remember I was in an operating room watching as doctors and nurses were frantically working over a person on a table. As they bustled about, I saw the person they were trying to recesitate was ME and I was watching this from the corner ceiling of the operating theater. I was distraught as I watched them insert needles and tubes into my body, the body which had ALWAYS served me well. My heart had always beat strong and regularly, my lungs had breathed without any thought on my part, but now it was betraying me. I was so upset, worrying about my 2 young daughters and who would care for them.
As I looked away to my left, the operating room faded and I saw darkness. When I had turned 180 degrees, I was in a plain room and the things I was thinking about all of a sudden became absurd, silly worries. A laugh burbled from my throat as I, remembering how foolish it was to worry about such childish things, and said, "Oh yeah!" remembering with a certainty that everything was already taken care of. Then I noticed that in a simple chair sat a woman that I have never seen before with my mortal eyes. As my glance fell on her I joyfully cried, "Mother!" and ran to her, sitting at her feet and placing my head in her lap. She spoke to me, telling me important things that I remember thinking, "I need to remember this."
The next part of my dream finds me in a restaurant with Michelle and Kimmy's father and his parents. I was in great humor thinking how great it was that I had been resurrected and was visiting with my earthly family. I was very animated as I mentioned to them my new immortal state. I remembered feeling so unafraid. I was unafraid of death because I knew how fantastic it was to leave the mortal existence. But they looked at each other and I could tell something was up. I asked what was going on and they looked like they didn't know who should tell me. Finally, my mother-in-law told me that I hadn't died, that the doctors were able to save me, but that I had an aneurism in my brain and that one day it would burst and I would die instantly. I was so ANGRY! So angry at those doctors for pulling me away from my afterlife. I felt the mortal mantle of fear begin to settle around me as I realized I was going to have to die.
I got home and my two preschool children were there, needing to be fed, to be dressed, to be cared for and all I could do was think, "I've got to write down my life for them so when I leave, they will know me. I was trying to wipe a face and find something to write on, but only came up with a piece of an envelope to write on.
Then I woke up, knowing that keeping a journal for my children was the most important thing I could leave them. So here I am, nearly 20 years later doing just that. And those things "Mother" told me about that I wanted to remember were veiled from my memory, but I testify, when she told me them, it was amazing and made so much sense and I know when I return, I WILL remember.
He will direct us 1988
The next time I really remember the Lord answering prayers was when I had my own baby, Michelle. She was 18 months or so and needed to get her immunization shots. We had an appointment at the health center and I needed to be on time. The problem was, I couldn't find my car keys. We lived in a small 2 bedroom apartment, simply furnished. I looked EVERYWHERE for those keys, but they were literally not to be found They weren't in my purse, the diaper bag, the counter, the dresser. I was going to miss her appointment if I didn't find those keys. In desperation, I knelt down and told Heavenly Father my problem. I told him how important this appointment was and asked for him to help me find the keys. As I stood up, I looked around the bedroom but no inspiration was finding its way into my mind. I half heartedly checked the dresser tops again, wandered out into the living area and thought, "Look in the book case." I glanced at the top of the 2 foot book case but the keys obviously weren't there. I knelt down and put my hand behind the books thinking this was the most ridiculous place to look, knowing I would never put the keys there. And yet, there they were! As I pulled the keys out and hustled to make my appointment, I realized that Michelle must have found the keys and put them there. I was SO incredibly grateful for the Lord inspiring me to look for those keys in a place I would never have looked on my own. This was another testimony to me that God wants us to come to him even with our smallest concerns and he will direct us for our good.
The Still Small Voice 1980
I think the very first and most clear experiences I've ever had was when I was about 16. I was babysitting for the O'Banions. They were members of our church and as far as I could gauge, the richest, most beautiful people on the planet. I was always happy to babysit so I could make a little cash, so I wanted to do such a good job, they would ALWAYS ask me to be their babysitter.
They had a little boy about 6-9 months old and a little girl about 2-3 years old. I wanted to follow to the letter the directions they gave me. I put their son to bed exactly as directed and everything was going fine. Then I put the daughter to bed, but she started fretting and crying and that wasn't working so well. I finally got her to bed but then little brother woke up. I tried everything I knew to get him settled but he just cried and cried. I took him downstairs to get him a bottle, which he refused. I tried walking and singing softly to him but he cried on. I was so worried the O'Banions would come home and see I was an inept babysitter and never have me back. I remember holding that baby boy in my arms and kneeling down in their living room asking the Lord for help. As I stood up, I heard clearly and distinctly in my left ear the words, "Put him to bed, he will be fine." I turned my head to the left to see who it was who had spoken so clearly to me. I HEARD it. No one was there in that empty living room, I knew I had just heard the Spirit of the Lord speak to me. I walked up those steps, put that poor screaming boy in his crib, turned off the light and closed the door. I went down to the kitchen where the baby monitor was located and listened fearfully as he cried. What if the O[Banion's walked in and witnessed me doing nothing while their son was crying? Within a minute, the cries settled and then silence as he fell asleep. I was SO grateful for the answer to my worried prayer. It has been a testimony to me that the Lord hears and answers our prayers, even if they are just simple problems.
They had a little boy about 6-9 months old and a little girl about 2-3 years old. I wanted to follow to the letter the directions they gave me. I put their son to bed exactly as directed and everything was going fine. Then I put the daughter to bed, but she started fretting and crying and that wasn't working so well. I finally got her to bed but then little brother woke up. I tried everything I knew to get him settled but he just cried and cried. I took him downstairs to get him a bottle, which he refused. I tried walking and singing softly to him but he cried on. I was so worried the O'Banions would come home and see I was an inept babysitter and never have me back. I remember holding that baby boy in my arms and kneeling down in their living room asking the Lord for help. As I stood up, I heard clearly and distinctly in my left ear the words, "Put him to bed, he will be fine." I turned my head to the left to see who it was who had spoken so clearly to me. I HEARD it. No one was there in that empty living room, I knew I had just heard the Spirit of the Lord speak to me. I walked up those steps, put that poor screaming boy in his crib, turned off the light and closed the door. I went down to the kitchen where the baby monitor was located and listened fearfully as he cried. What if the O[Banion's walked in and witnessed me doing nothing while their son was crying? Within a minute, the cries settled and then silence as he fell asleep. I was SO grateful for the answer to my worried prayer. It has been a testimony to me that the Lord hears and answers our prayers, even if they are just simple problems.
Sunday, 7 May 2017
The Rest of the Story
When we entered the alternate universe of mental health disorders, I thought that once the chemical imbalance was straightened out, we would be good to go. Unfortunately, for us, the self harm morphed into an eating disorder. I think it had been lurking all along, but the residential treatment center did not deal with eating disorders. Since we had bigger fish to fry, we put that on the back burner and just tried to find the right dosage of the right medicine to help our child not self destruct. On December 23, 2014, we drove our child home, the long term treatment ended. I was terrified. Would we be racing back to an emergency facility within three weeks? Could I care for my own child? Luckily, things did smooth out. No more police visits, or hospital visits or CPS visits. However, our child "coped" by eating as little as possible. She lost 20 pounds before we finally found help. This was our journey:
Although everyone talks about how evil health insurance companies are, I need to tell you that ours was super helpful and caring and understanding. They covered all of our child's hospitalizations and medication and therapists. Sadly, they did not cover nutritionists. We realized going in that we were going to be paying out of pocket for this, but the alternative would be to allow our child to slowly starve as body dysmorphia controlled reality.
I searched for a nutritionist that dealt with eating disorders. There weren't very many. When I found one that did, I made an appointment and poured out our story. She was very kind, she totally understood, having lived with an eating disorder herself, but she couldn't help. She wasn't licensed to treat patients with eating disorders. I cried. That may not mean much unless you know how I hate crying, especially in front of others. But I ugly cried with grief, frustration, anger and fear. How was I going to keep my child from wasting away?
Joining an eating disorder support group online was an inspired move. I wouldn't have known what to do without their advice, pep talks, and support. Everything I read said eating disorders had to be hit HARD. I found a place in Austin that specialized in eating disorders. Macallum Place was our answer. I remember when we visited, I hoped we could do outpatient, from 3pm to 5 pm Monday through Friday and all day Saturday, but after speaking with them, realized we had to do their all-day program in order to eradicate this very insidious mental illness. Dan was on a business trip and I didn't feel I could handle dropping the news that we were going to "hospitalize" our child yet again. My support group was there for me. I am SO grateful to this day for those faceless strangers who became my lifeline during that really dark time.
Once we did the paperwork, the hard part really began. Dan would make the drive to Austin in the morning before going to work to drop our child off and I would leave work at 2:30 every day for the pick up. Between us, we basically spent 6 hours on the road every day. I can't even remember how in the world we did weekends. But we did this for months. MONTHS! The toll fees alone mounted into hundreds of dollars. Our insurance company didn't bat an eye. In May, our child finally reached the weight requirement and graduated from Macallum, a place that holds good memories for our family. The staff helped us find a nutritionist (still not covered by insurance) as well as a therapist so we could transition away from such intensive therapy.
It's almost two years later. Things are stable. Eating isn't an issue. Yes, I still get triggered when our kid picks at the meal or won't eat everything, or chooses to drink a Boost if dinner doesn't sit well (it happens VERY infrequently). We're all still here. Things are much better. Not all the parents on my support group had such happy endings, so this was miraculous. I count this as a blessing.
Although everyone talks about how evil health insurance companies are, I need to tell you that ours was super helpful and caring and understanding. They covered all of our child's hospitalizations and medication and therapists. Sadly, they did not cover nutritionists. We realized going in that we were going to be paying out of pocket for this, but the alternative would be to allow our child to slowly starve as body dysmorphia controlled reality.
I searched for a nutritionist that dealt with eating disorders. There weren't very many. When I found one that did, I made an appointment and poured out our story. She was very kind, she totally understood, having lived with an eating disorder herself, but she couldn't help. She wasn't licensed to treat patients with eating disorders. I cried. That may not mean much unless you know how I hate crying, especially in front of others. But I ugly cried with grief, frustration, anger and fear. How was I going to keep my child from wasting away?
Joining an eating disorder support group online was an inspired move. I wouldn't have known what to do without their advice, pep talks, and support. Everything I read said eating disorders had to be hit HARD. I found a place in Austin that specialized in eating disorders. Macallum Place was our answer. I remember when we visited, I hoped we could do outpatient, from 3pm to 5 pm Monday through Friday and all day Saturday, but after speaking with them, realized we had to do their all-day program in order to eradicate this very insidious mental illness. Dan was on a business trip and I didn't feel I could handle dropping the news that we were going to "hospitalize" our child yet again. My support group was there for me. I am SO grateful to this day for those faceless strangers who became my lifeline during that really dark time.
Once we did the paperwork, the hard part really began. Dan would make the drive to Austin in the morning before going to work to drop our child off and I would leave work at 2:30 every day for the pick up. Between us, we basically spent 6 hours on the road every day. I can't even remember how in the world we did weekends. But we did this for months. MONTHS! The toll fees alone mounted into hundreds of dollars. Our insurance company didn't bat an eye. In May, our child finally reached the weight requirement and graduated from Macallum, a place that holds good memories for our family. The staff helped us find a nutritionist (still not covered by insurance) as well as a therapist so we could transition away from such intensive therapy.
It's almost two years later. Things are stable. Eating isn't an issue. Yes, I still get triggered when our kid picks at the meal or won't eat everything, or chooses to drink a Boost if dinner doesn't sit well (it happens VERY infrequently). We're all still here. Things are much better. Not all the parents on my support group had such happy endings, so this was miraculous. I count this as a blessing.
Thursday, 12 March 2015
Waiting for the Other Shoe...
When we lived in Bosnia, we were fortunate that our landlord's daughter spoke some English. One day she was telling me about a product she didn't like and she told me, "It is sheet." I was taken aback at her language. Then I realized that she didn't understand the offensiveness of that word. To her, it just meant, "worthless" or "no good". I totally get her now.
Last year was sheet.; serious sheet. I'm afraid this year might be it's ugly twin. Our family is in crisis. I don't know how to write about it...we are battling a sinister alien who has taken one of our children hostage. The doctors have named it Depression. Anxiety. Possible Bi-Polar Disorder. We went through four emergency psychiatric facilities and a long term residential hospital in nine months. Those nine months included four attempted suicides, two runaway incidents an one melt down in a police car. Our child called Child Protective Services after an altercation in our home. They wouldn't close the case until they knew that this child (suffering from a poor cocktail of SSRI medications) was locked safely away in a residential treatment center so that the other child in our home would be safe.
Residential treatment was the ticket. It got the right meds on board and we have been 50+ days without a meltdown. But that *@$! hijacker is back, this time clothed as an eating disorder. Our baby is melting away, starving, terrified of food. Our child's hostage whispers lies, makes the image in the mirror look distorted, ugly, fat. Our beautiful child won't even eat half the calories needed to sustain health. This makes our usually cheerful child morbidly surly and critical. Today I hugged my baby and gently murmured that athletics needed to be cut since there weren't enough calories to maintain that level of activity. "I'm afraid for your heart. I love your heart. I don't want it to be damaged," I whispered quietly. Tuesday, we go to the pediatrician to get the ball rolling on this newest development. I feel like we are trapped in Satan's own Fun House where each turn is met with a new and more fearful specter. I feel like we are strapped into a roller coaster from hell being pulled slowly up, up, up. I don't know when the drop will come, only that it will. I hate roller coasters. They are sheet.
Friday, 24 January 2014
My First Snow Day EVER
Weather in central Texas is an enigma. Which is awesome because how many times do you get a chance to use the word "enigma"? But we ARE going to discuss the weather because it's been bizarre and puzzling and difficult to understand…which is the exact definition of an enigma, so there you go.
See, on Thursday, it was chilly when I arrived to school at 6:30 a.m.. Then it became pretty brisk by 9:30, evolving to bitingly cold by lunchtime. At 4:00 p.m. as I was waving good-bye to my last student, it was decidedly arctic. I was going to stay awhile to clean up my classroom, but the roads were starting to ice up, so I abandoned ship. It was SNOWING by dinnertime. It was still snowing when I went to bed with the liberating news that school would be delayed two hours on the morrow.
See, on Thursday, it was chilly when I arrived to school at 6:30 a.m.. Then it became pretty brisk by 9:30, evolving to bitingly cold by lunchtime. At 4:00 p.m. as I was waving good-bye to my last student, it was decidedly arctic. I was going to stay awhile to clean up my classroom, but the roads were starting to ice up, so I abandoned ship. It was SNOWING by dinnertime. It was still snowing when I went to bed with the liberating news that school would be delayed two hours on the morrow.
We woke to find we had ourselves a bona fide Snow Day, giving us an unintended three day weekend! You Northerners don't understand the phenomena that is snow when you live in TEXAS where a cold snap means temperatures will be under 50 degrees.
The kids were up and we giddily high fived each other and whooped as we read the text message that freed us from all responsible behavior for the rest of the day. Granted, it was just a dusting of the magical white crystals, but the kids got dressed and romped around in it, making snow/dirt angels and a legit-looking snow-dwarf. They would warm themselves occasionally in front of the fire pit where flames crackled smartly. Then, using all the snow they could find in the yard, they made a snowball two feet in diameter and parked it by the back door. They played video games for too long. They made a batch of chocolate chip cookies and then ate them all. Yeah, it was the perfect day…
The kids were up and we giddily high fived each other and whooped as we read the text message that freed us from all responsible behavior for the rest of the day. Granted, it was just a dusting of the magical white crystals, but the kids got dressed and romped around in it, making snow/dirt angels and a legit-looking snow-dwarf. They would warm themselves occasionally in front of the fire pit where flames crackled smartly. Then, using all the snow they could find in the yard, they made a snowball two feet in diameter and parked it by the back door. They played video games for too long. They made a batch of chocolate chip cookies and then ate them all. Yeah, it was the perfect day…
Tomorrow the temperatures will be in the mid 60's. Sunday will be a sunny 71 degrees. I love our winters!
Tuesday, 31 December 2013
Another Post Where I Write about Writing
Grading papers written by first grade students…debilitatingly painful. One must remember they are just starting out. It's their first tentative foray into the written word. Wielding the sword of correction is a delicate operation that should prune just enough to encourage growth but not so much that it permanently stunts the growth of my budding authors. I hate it. I want to hack and slash and cut out unnecessary verbiage, taking no prisoners. But I can't. So I groan and moan and drag my feet about it.
Logan noticed me crying out in literary pain and shuffling papers to the bottom of the stack because they were burning my retinas with their poor letter formation, or unintelligible spelling, or incomplete sentences or, more than likely, all of the above. He encouraged me to do all the hard ones first and get it over with rather than leaving them to the end. I handed him one from the bottom of the pile and told him, "Here, YOU read this." He mumbled as he tried to decipher the words scrawled higgelty-pigglety across the paper. Finally he handed it back and wisely advised, "Just shred this one Mom."
Logan noticed me crying out in literary pain and shuffling papers to the bottom of the stack because they were burning my retinas with their poor letter formation, or unintelligible spelling, or incomplete sentences or, more than likely, all of the above. He encouraged me to do all the hard ones first and get it over with rather than leaving them to the end. I handed him one from the bottom of the pile and told him, "Here, YOU read this." He mumbled as he tried to decipher the words scrawled higgelty-pigglety across the paper. Finally he handed it back and wisely advised, "Just shred this one Mom."
Friday, 15 November 2013
Public Displays of Thanksgiving
Now that it's November, half a dozen of my friends on Facebook post things they are thankful for each day--enumerating the blessings we take for granted eleven months out of the year. I've been thinking about a blessing which I'm thankful for and it's time to put it out there.
This blessing started when we moved in with Dan's mom three years ago. We were out of work and homeless without any other option while we waited for a job to turn up. She graciously opened her home to us and made every effort to make us feel comfortable and welcomed. Nevertheless, I remember feeling covetous when I drove around, resentful that people had homes while my family didn't. Looking back, I don't have great memories because I was in survival mode; putting my head down and plowing through it, sure that God's plan was going to be one of those tragic stories where everyone suffers years of poverty before some tear-jerking final scene. Of course that wasn't the case; four months after we arrived, Dan got a job in Texas. Three months later, I joined him and we bought a house. As far as I was concerned, that horrible episode was past--we could start rebuilding out life together and try to forget that really distasteful chapter we had just been through. It took losing Dan's mom several months later to bring things into sharp focus.
Those seven and a half months with her were a gift we were being given. It was a blessing to live with her and talk with her, comfort her and be comforted by her. I remember how much Logan loved helping Grandma or just sitting by her. He was a joy to his Grandma, filling her darkness with light. Once he said, "Grandma, you have such soft skin," completely melting her heart. I'm grateful he and Hannah have memories of Grandma that never would have been made had we not been "homeless" those few months. I didn't realize at the time that God was giving us a final window of opportunity to love and be loved every single day by an amazing woman--I didn't see the blessing because I could only focus on what I perceived was disaster. I should have trusted that "all things work together for good to them that love God" (Romans 8:24).
So I want to say "Thank you" for giving me a gift I wasn't willing to accept. Thank you for giving it to me anyway, knowing I would recognize it's value later. I regret not cherishing it when it was given, but I do now and I'm filled with gratitude.
This blessing started when we moved in with Dan's mom three years ago. We were out of work and homeless without any other option while we waited for a job to turn up. She graciously opened her home to us and made every effort to make us feel comfortable and welcomed. Nevertheless, I remember feeling covetous when I drove around, resentful that people had homes while my family didn't. Looking back, I don't have great memories because I was in survival mode; putting my head down and plowing through it, sure that God's plan was going to be one of those tragic stories where everyone suffers years of poverty before some tear-jerking final scene. Of course that wasn't the case; four months after we arrived, Dan got a job in Texas. Three months later, I joined him and we bought a house. As far as I was concerned, that horrible episode was past--we could start rebuilding out life together and try to forget that really distasteful chapter we had just been through. It took losing Dan's mom several months later to bring things into sharp focus.
Those seven and a half months with her were a gift we were being given. It was a blessing to live with her and talk with her, comfort her and be comforted by her. I remember how much Logan loved helping Grandma or just sitting by her. He was a joy to his Grandma, filling her darkness with light. Once he said, "Grandma, you have such soft skin," completely melting her heart. I'm grateful he and Hannah have memories of Grandma that never would have been made had we not been "homeless" those few months. I didn't realize at the time that God was giving us a final window of opportunity to love and be loved every single day by an amazing woman--I didn't see the blessing because I could only focus on what I perceived was disaster. I should have trusted that "all things work together for good to them that love God" (Romans 8:24).
Thursday, 31 October 2013
The Great Halloween Fiasco of 2013
I'd like to lodge a complaint with the Fates regarding the quality of my Halloween. You see, I started working as a classroom teacher after being MIA from the profession for a scandalous number of years. Now I'm trying to play "catch-up" buy putting in 60+ hours a week at school. Luckily, hubby has valiantly been holding down the home-front, cleaning, cooking and jetting kids around to their various locations in my absence.
This year, (due to my inattentiveness of what's going on at home), the kids decided to MAKE their Halloween costumes. Logan was going to be this incredible aluminum-plated robot while Hannah planned on being an ultra cool, morphing-before-your-very-eyes Dragon Girl. We argued about the wings, as I wanted store bought and she insisted she could MAKE better dragon wings than the ones in the store (and she DID too)! The rub was trying to get them to attach to her body, which I solved quite neatly at the last moment. Go me. We painted her skin (and my trousers) with green Kool-Aid but it was so insufferably itchy she had to shower it off and go as a sorceress (see last year's Halloween picture and subtract the bat ears). Logan actually got his costume to work all the way across the street to the neighbor's house before he had to ditch it because walking around in a box with dryer vent arms is actually a painful way to die. *sigh* And of course, the neighborhood Halloween party is ending 40 minutes from the time the kids finally don their (store bought) back-up costumes. I'll be honest. I told the kids that I had bought a large bag of candy and if they decided to stay home, we'd just split it up between them...which makes me Halloween Scrooge. As we're pulling out of the driveway, our dog is seen wandering the streets (he went to see the neighbors too). Giving up entirely, I bailed from the car and sent the family on ahead while I nabbed the dog.
OH, and one more thing...I want a refund on the two large pumpkins I bought to make into traditional Jack-o-lanterns...they're nothing but deer fodder. I wasn't home to micro-manage the affair, as custom would dictate, so things went horribly, horribly wrong. Logan's first attempt at carving a wicked-good design was a fail; resolutely, he attempted to carve the OTHER side, which somehow ended up worse than the first try. That was just too much disappointment for one nine-year-old boy on Halloween to bear and he came in crying. We doctored it, praised his knife wielding abilities, and put it out front. Unfortunately, amidst the costume craziness, we failed to light it. Great...now we're facing being plagued by spirits for the rest of the year for failure to observe Standard Halloween Protocol.
This year, (due to my inattentiveness of what's going on at home), the kids decided to MAKE their Halloween costumes. Logan was going to be this incredible aluminum-plated robot while Hannah planned on being an ultra cool, morphing-before-your-very-eyes Dragon Girl. We argued about the wings, as I wanted store bought and she insisted she could MAKE better dragon wings than the ones in the store (and she DID too)! The rub was trying to get them to attach to her body, which I solved quite neatly at the last moment. Go me. We painted her skin (and my trousers) with green Kool-Aid but it was so insufferably itchy she had to shower it off and go as a sorceress (see last year's Halloween picture and subtract the bat ears). Logan actually got his costume to work all the way across the street to the neighbor's house before he had to ditch it because walking around in a box with dryer vent arms is actually a painful way to die. *sigh* And of course, the neighborhood Halloween party is ending 40 minutes from the time the kids finally don their (store bought) back-up costumes. I'll be honest. I told the kids that I had bought a large bag of candy and if they decided to stay home, we'd just split it up between them...which makes me Halloween Scrooge. As we're pulling out of the driveway, our dog is seen wandering the streets (he went to see the neighbors too). Giving up entirely, I bailed from the car and sent the family on ahead while I nabbed the dog.
OH, and one more thing...I want a refund on the two large pumpkins I bought to make into traditional Jack-o-lanterns...they're nothing but deer fodder. I wasn't home to micro-manage the affair, as custom would dictate, so things went horribly, horribly wrong. Logan's first attempt at carving a wicked-good design was a fail; resolutely, he attempted to carve the OTHER side, which somehow ended up worse than the first try. That was just too much disappointment for one nine-year-old boy on Halloween to bear and he came in crying. We doctored it, praised his knife wielding abilities, and put it out front. Unfortunately, amidst the costume craziness, we failed to light it. Great...now we're facing being plagued by spirits for the rest of the year for failure to observe Standard Halloween Protocol.
 |
| Last year's costume. |
 |
| I call him, Tragic Pumpkin |
Sunday, 28 July 2013
On the Block, Take Your Mark, GO!
Last week, Hannah had her very first swim meet. She decided to enter 3 events which guaranteed we'd be spending at least 8 hours sitting on the bleachers. I had volunteered to work the concession stand with two other ladies, which is where I learned to do this to my child's arm:
:
Coaches expect each swimmer to have their own particular information posted with permanent ink on their arm or leg.
E= Event H=Heat L=Lane S=Stroke
This way, at a glance, both swimmer and coach knows when each athlete needs to swim and in which lane they should be.
That morning, Hannah had asked if she could use the inferior goggles for the meet since the Speedo ones were too tight. I was a bit dubious, but if she wanted to use the $4 Wal-mart goggles, that was fine with me.
Her first event was the 50 meter Freestyle and when she dived off the blocks, the goggles ended up around her mouth. Not super conducive for a good finishing time. After that event, she had a few hours until her next event, so Dan took her to the sports shop and bought her some non-fogging Speedo goggles so she could destroy her final 2 events.
Her 2nd event was another 50 meter Freestyle, and her new goggles weren't tight enough so they flipped and filled with water when she entered the pool. But her time was about 2 seconds faster than her first event, so yeay, right? Her final event was a 100 meter Freestyle. That would mean she had to lap the pool four times. She had left her inhaler at home, so Dan had gone back to get it. He brought back what he could find. She took a few puffs before her event since she has been having trouble breathing on longer events. Even so, she finished dead last and gasping for air. Turns out the inhaler Dan found was one we had SIX YEARS ago in Bosnia. It was a little expired. Which is probably why Hannah couldn't breathe. Or swim.
Despite the troubles, she got a 6th place ribbon for her 2nd event. And we threw away the old inhaler, so we're totally ready for next time!
:
E= Event H=Heat L=Lane S=Stroke
This way, at a glance, both swimmer and coach knows when each athlete needs to swim and in which lane they should be.
That morning, Hannah had asked if she could use the inferior goggles for the meet since the Speedo ones were too tight. I was a bit dubious, but if she wanted to use the $4 Wal-mart goggles, that was fine with me.
Her first event was the 50 meter Freestyle and when she dived off the blocks, the goggles ended up around her mouth. Not super conducive for a good finishing time. After that event, she had a few hours until her next event, so Dan took her to the sports shop and bought her some non-fogging Speedo goggles so she could destroy her final 2 events.
Her 2nd event was another 50 meter Freestyle, and her new goggles weren't tight enough so they flipped and filled with water when she entered the pool. But her time was about 2 seconds faster than her first event, so yeay, right? Her final event was a 100 meter Freestyle. That would mean she had to lap the pool four times. She had left her inhaler at home, so Dan had gone back to get it. He brought back what he could find. She took a few puffs before her event since she has been having trouble breathing on longer events. Even so, she finished dead last and gasping for air. Turns out the inhaler Dan found was one we had SIX YEARS ago in Bosnia. It was a little expired. Which is probably why Hannah couldn't breathe. Or swim.
Despite the troubles, she got a 6th place ribbon for her 2nd event. And we threw away the old inhaler, so we're totally ready for next time!
Saturday, 22 June 2013
Sarcasm Much?
On the other hand, Logan just took his first 2 weeks of swim LESSONS.
While at the public pool yesterday, I asked Logan to demonstrate the free-style stroke that he had learned. Proudly, he tucked his face in the water and started thrashing the water mercilessly with wildly rotating arms and flailing feet.
Monday, 20 May 2013
Being Like Little Children
It was a hot, sweltering Texas afternoon when our school held its carnival last week. My booth was the Lollipop Tree. For two tickets, a child could choose a lolly and if the end of the stick had been colored red, he won a prize. But if the chosen lollipop was not a winner, he got a small candy as a consolation prize and would get to keep the lollypop regardless. The best kind of carnival game for a child!
Three adorable young siblings came to my booth early on. Once they understood the game, the six-year-old sister would carefully give me enough tickets so she and her little brothers could each have another chance to win. I was friendly and encouraging as they would chose their lollipops. I smiled and suggested they pick a flavor they liked; when they didn't "win" a prize, I reminded them to choose a candy from the bag. Did I mention that the sun was relentless and there was absolutely no breeze or shade? I could feel beads of sweat on my forehead and upper lip. My cheeks were flushed and the wisps of hair that couldn't be snared into a pony tail were either sticking up crazily or plastered to my skull. Any makeup that I had applied twelve hours earlier was loooong gone. I turned to refill the lollipop tree, and the oldest of the trio lovingly said, "You're beautiful." I was ANYthing but beautiful at that moment, but her sincerity made me FEEL beautiful inside.
I want to be like that little one and share with others the strength, or wit or wonder that I see in them, just as that little one showed me my inner beauty.
Friday, 17 May 2013
Clarification
Mostly, Hannah and I listen to Country music, Dan listens to talk radio, but Logan has chosen Rock n Roll as his music of choice. Specifically, any rendition of "We Will Rock You".
Dan played the trombone in high school, I played the flute in middle school, Michelle tried the flute for awhile, Kim was interested in piano, Hannah chose the cello but when I asked Logan what instrument he would be interested in taking, he decidedly and immediately proclaimed the drums. Inner cringing aside at the thought of the racket an 11-year-old could produce "practicing" the drum, I outwardly supported his choice with a strained smile.
Last night at Hannah's final orchestra performance, there were certain pieces where percussionists and some woodwinds accompanied the Intermediate orchestra. Seriously good music. As Logan endured through the two hour production, I asked if he thought he would like to play the drums like we were hearing in the middle school rendition of a more than decent "Les Miserable" mash-up.
"No, I want to play like a rock star."
Well, as long as he doesn't party like one, I'll be okay...it could happen.
Dan played the trombone in high school, I played the flute in middle school, Michelle tried the flute for awhile, Kim was interested in piano, Hannah chose the cello but when I asked Logan what instrument he would be interested in taking, he decidedly and immediately proclaimed the drums. Inner cringing aside at the thought of the racket an 11-year-old could produce "practicing" the drum, I outwardly supported his choice with a strained smile.
Last night at Hannah's final orchestra performance, there were certain pieces where percussionists and some woodwinds accompanied the Intermediate orchestra. Seriously good music. As Logan endured through the two hour production, I asked if he thought he would like to play the drums like we were hearing in the middle school rendition of a more than decent "Les Miserable" mash-up.
"No, I want to play like a rock star."
Well, as long as he doesn't party like one, I'll be okay...it could happen.
Monday, 8 April 2013
Reverse Telemarketing
A major TV cable company called last week and wanted to know if we would like to start paying them exorbitant monthly fees for a handful of channels that we'll actually watch in addition to several dozen that we'll never, EVER view. I politely explained that until we get a choice of what is on our cable menu, we would respectfully decline at this time. Until then, we'll satisfy ourselves with watching Netflix and Hulu.
"I completely understand," said the TV cable selling lady. "But what's Hulu?"
"Oh, you stream whatever you want from TV and watch it through Hulu."
"What ever you WANT? How do you spell that?"
"H-U-L-U," I answered, as helpfully as possible. "It's great, you should get it."
"Hmm. I probably shouldn't be talking about this on the company phone. Thank you, good-bye."
Dang, I should have gotten her name so I could have used her as a referral and gotten 2 free weeks of Hulu!
"I completely understand," said the TV cable selling lady. "But what's Hulu?"
"Oh, you stream whatever you want from TV and watch it through Hulu."
"What ever you WANT? How do you spell that?"
"H-U-L-U," I answered, as helpfully as possible. "It's great, you should get it."
"Hmm. I probably shouldn't be talking about this on the company phone. Thank you, good-bye."
Dang, I should have gotten her name so I could have used her as a referral and gotten 2 free weeks of Hulu!
Saturday, 23 February 2013
Totally Hot!
Last night, we were watching the 1976 remake of King Kong while eating a late supper of delicious lasagna soup. The leading lady, Jessica Lange, was lolling about sensually on the ships berth in a little black dress whose plunging neckline HAD to have been held in place by copious amounts of double-stick tape *ouch!* in order to avoid serious "wardrobe malfunction." Just then, Logan said, "That's hot!"
A quick glance at my eight-year-old son helped me realize he wasn't talking about the actress, but the soup. Phew!
A quick glance at my eight-year-old son helped me realize he wasn't talking about the actress, but the soup. Phew!
Wednesday, 6 February 2013
Kids Say the Darndest Things
Being in middle school has been the social event of Hannah's LIFE. She came in yesterday sighing with satisfaction at having had such a really good day. With a bit of nonchalant interrogation, she shared this story:
Upon being deposited at school, she exclaimed in a rather good English accent, "Oh no! I've left my spectacles on the bus!" Her friend Mikey repeated her, "She's left her testicles on the bus!" allegedly mis-saying "spectacles." Hannah turned pink as she retold us the story, Logan and I laughed with her at his blunder; good times!
THEN, this morning, Logan reminded me about the story, "He said tentacles instead of spectacles!" he sniggered at the other fellow's unfortunate error.
I guess "testicles" has not been one of his vocabulary words in third grade yet, so "tentacles" will have to suffice.
Upon being deposited at school, she exclaimed in a rather good English accent, "Oh no! I've left my spectacles on the bus!" Her friend Mikey repeated her, "She's left her testicles on the bus!" allegedly mis-saying "spectacles." Hannah turned pink as she retold us the story, Logan and I laughed with her at his blunder; good times!
THEN, this morning, Logan reminded me about the story, "He said tentacles instead of spectacles!" he sniggered at the other fellow's unfortunate error.
I guess "testicles" has not been one of his vocabulary words in third grade yet, so "tentacles" will have to suffice.
Friday, 4 January 2013
Zombies Are Real
A few weeks ago, I was coming home from work and as I turned into the neighborhood, I saw a small black kitten lying motionlessly in the middle of the road. "Awww, poor thing; must've been hit by a car," I assessed, slowing down as to not drive over it's little corpse. Just then, his head popped up and it LOOKED at me. Then, it GOT UP (think The Ring scene where that girl climbed out of the TV) and staggered away--probably looking to take a bite out of other kittens and growing it's adorable, furry, undead population so they can eventually take over the world. This has been a public service announcement.
Wednesday, 2 January 2013
GST
This was an incident I meant to post back in December...it's been rather hectic here...
Today was a "Hurry Up Day" because Hannah had a Christmas
performance with orchestra which required us be at the Performing Arts Center
(a.k.a. the high school auditorium) at 6:30p.m. with cello in tow. Since she arrives home from school at 4:30, it
was imperative that homework, dinner, piano practice, etc. be done in a timely
manner. That's just a nice way of saying I was crackin' the whip that afternoon.
Like a well-oiled machine, Hannah went through her paces; practicing both piano and cello, working on Math, eating dinner. When I told her that she now needed to hurry up and change, she disappeared obediently into her room. She exited some time
later, asking if she could sleep in the guest room since her bedroom was
really quite chilly. Baffled as to why she would be asking to do something that wasn't even going to be pertinent for many, MANY hours, I glanced up, and noticed she was
in her jim-jams! Flabbergasted, I reminded her
it wasn't time to put on pajamas, she had a performance and we needed to leave in 15 minutes! Realization dawned, sheepish look followed as she glanced down at her fuzzy slippers. Doing a quick about-face, she skittered back to her room for a costume change.
Honestly? It was comforting to know I’m wasn't the only one ready to turn in at Geriatrics Standard Time (GST).
 |
| Dressed and ready. |
 |
| 2.5 hours was about 2 hours too long for Logan |
Thursday, 13 December 2012
Baby Carrot
I was visiting with a young mother today whose three-year-old daughter
was instantly leery of me. I tried to be Happy, Friendly Pre-K Lady but she wasn’t having any of it. When she finally ventured over with her baby doll, I
chirped sweetly, “What’s your baby’s name?” She took a step closer and whispered, “My baby’s name is Baby Carrot.” I ecstatically cooed over the dolly and gave
it a tender little kiss on the forehead.
Surreptitiously rubbing her baby’s head clean, she leaned over and
quietly informed me, “Baby Carrot doesn’t like you.” I guess you could say I have a certain genius when it comes to children.
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