O Karma, Dharma, pudding and pie,
gimme a break before I die:
grant me wisdom, will & wit,
purity, probity, pluck, & grit.
Trustworthy, loyal, helpful, kind,
gimme great abs & a steel-trap mind,
and forgive, Ye Gods, some humble advice-
these little blessings would suffice
to beget an earthly paradise:
make the bad people good-
and the good people nice;
and before our world goes over the brink,
teach the believers how to think.
-Philip Appleman
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Saturday, November 29, 2008
For the record, I hate children's shows, including SpongeBob Squarepants
Ben was loading himself up with books on his way to bed. He doesn't complain about bedtime, and only sometimes tries to postpone with pleas of "hungwy! hungwy!" No, as long as he can say ni-night to everyone by name and fill his crib with books and the occasional firetruck, he's quite happy to go to sleep.
On his way out, he happened to grab a little plastic Spongebob, left over from a bubble bath bottle. Halfway down the stairs, he stopped, put down his books, and gazed lovingly into Bob's eyes. Here is what my little 2 year old said to Bob:
"HI SPONGEBOB! (whispering) hi, bob.
You funny. You funny.
Ha ha ha!!!
Bob funny.
Ben funny.
Katie ni-night?"
And he continued on to bed. I love seeing the glimpses of the world he has in his mind. Language limits what we all imagine, but sometimes we get little peeps into our children's minds. Seeing my little man develop an emotional vocabulary with words like "funny" or earlier this evening, "scared," strikes an ever deepening chord in this mother's heart. He has an entire life going on in there, and I am charged with nurturing and guiding it. I find it endlessly fascinating.
On his way out, he happened to grab a little plastic Spongebob, left over from a bubble bath bottle. Halfway down the stairs, he stopped, put down his books, and gazed lovingly into Bob's eyes. Here is what my little 2 year old said to Bob:
"HI SPONGEBOB! (whispering) hi, bob.
You funny. You funny.
Ha ha ha!!!
Bob funny.
Ben funny.
Katie ni-night?"
And he continued on to bed. I love seeing the glimpses of the world he has in his mind. Language limits what we all imagine, but sometimes we get little peeps into our children's minds. Seeing my little man develop an emotional vocabulary with words like "funny" or earlier this evening, "scared," strikes an ever deepening chord in this mother's heart. He has an entire life going on in there, and I am charged with nurturing and guiding it. I find it endlessly fascinating.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Venting
I hate colds. I hate this cold I have now more than any cold that ever walked the face of the earth. It makes my head hurt, makes my nose hurt, makes my throat hurt, gives me a fever, and makes me want to lie on the couch and do nothing. This, however, is not possible. I have two children who rely on me for food, clothing, baths, entertainment, channel-changing, and everything else. I just want to curl up and be a blob, then wake up and feel all better. Could somebody please arrange that for me?
Update: 11/29/08
A) All loved ones, take notice: It is a mere one month until my birthday. I arranged it that way so you could hit all the good sales after Thanksgiving AND the day after Christmas. Aren't I thoughtful?
B) The cold seems to be on its way out! Forget soup, vitamin C, and Sudafed; I recommend complaining in a public forum. Worked for me.
Update: 11/29/08
A) All loved ones, take notice: It is a mere one month until my birthday. I arranged it that way so you could hit all the good sales after Thanksgiving AND the day after Christmas. Aren't I thoughtful?
B) The cold seems to be on its way out! Forget soup, vitamin C, and Sudafed; I recommend complaining in a public forum. Worked for me.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Kathryn's First Poem
"Friends"
I know that we are happy
We both think we are just like our great pappy
Being friends though is tough
But you and I do it even though it is rough.
I know that we are happy
We both think we are just like our great pappy
Being friends though is tough
But you and I do it even though it is rough.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Once Upon a Time...
... there was an ill-fated baton twirlers' convention. You see, the event planner was not familiar with the very specific needs of baton twirlers. Not the least of these were the need for high ceilings. The venue was not well-equipped for this group of people, and the ceilings were a mere 15 feet high. However, many of them had traveled great distances, and, being expert at their craft, did their best to work within these limitations. Baton twirlers are known far and wide for their cheerful nature and this was no exception; they were optimistic about the convention ahead of them.
The week went on, and the baton twirlers attended their sessions, listened dutifully to the keynote speaker, and took copious notes. They were inspired. As the week came to a close, these peppy ladies became more and more excited to put what they had learned into practice. Now, it had long been planned that on the final day, there would be a choreographed mass performance. Just walking through the crowds one could sense the energy building. Everyone understood that they could not toss their batons high, but other than that they would be giving their all.
At long last, the moment had arrived. The twirlers' teeth glistened white, their ponytails swung happily, and the ladies twirls their hearts out. In a fit of exuberance, all 200 twirlers tossed their batons in the air; in their minds, they saw batons flying skyward. In reality, the batons were rocketing dangerously toward the low ceilings. At this moment, fate must have been on their sides, for instead of the weapons ricocheting off the ceiling and raining down on the optimistic group, the batons tangled in equal groups and affixed right there on the ceiling. Here is the result:
Thus the convention came abruptly to a close. The 200 in attendance were heartbroken at their failure. They each swore on that day that they would never raise a baton again. In their many small towns across the country, parades would pass with no baton twirlers. Daughters were raised never knowing the joy of twirling. Once a year they return to the site of The Incident and set flowers in memory of the life-changing day, then they return home again a little less perky, a little sadder. In time, the site would become a restaurant, but so that we would never forget the sacrifice of these women, tiny lights were placed on the ends of each of the batons, reminding us of the everlasting light baton twirlers everywhere bring to our lives.
The next time you see a baton twirler, please thank her for her service. When your eyes meet, there will be an exchange of understanding: she will know that you, too, have learned of The Incident. The two of you may never meet again, but your lives will have been enriched.
The week went on, and the baton twirlers attended their sessions, listened dutifully to the keynote speaker, and took copious notes. They were inspired. As the week came to a close, these peppy ladies became more and more excited to put what they had learned into practice. Now, it had long been planned that on the final day, there would be a choreographed mass performance. Just walking through the crowds one could sense the energy building. Everyone understood that they could not toss their batons high, but other than that they would be giving their all.
At long last, the moment had arrived. The twirlers' teeth glistened white, their ponytails swung happily, and the ladies twirls their hearts out. In a fit of exuberance, all 200 twirlers tossed their batons in the air; in their minds, they saw batons flying skyward. In reality, the batons were rocketing dangerously toward the low ceilings. At this moment, fate must have been on their sides, for instead of the weapons ricocheting off the ceiling and raining down on the optimistic group, the batons tangled in equal groups and affixed right there on the ceiling. Here is the result:
Thus the convention came abruptly to a close. The 200 in attendance were heartbroken at their failure. They each swore on that day that they would never raise a baton again. In their many small towns across the country, parades would pass with no baton twirlers. Daughters were raised never knowing the joy of twirling. Once a year they return to the site of The Incident and set flowers in memory of the life-changing day, then they return home again a little less perky, a little sadder. In time, the site would become a restaurant, but so that we would never forget the sacrifice of these women, tiny lights were placed on the ends of each of the batons, reminding us of the everlasting light baton twirlers everywhere bring to our lives.The next time you see a baton twirler, please thank her for her service. When your eyes meet, there will be an exchange of understanding: she will know that you, too, have learned of The Incident. The two of you may never meet again, but your lives will have been enriched.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
An Observation
From my earliest days I have been a watcher. I was a very shy child, and was much more comfortable sitting back, gathering information, so that if the need arose for me to join society, I would know just what to do. I did not have a marriage to observe close-up, but I've always been a romantic. For that reason, I've taken special interest in watching what couples do, how couples interact, and from there I could decide what I wanted and didn't want in a relationship.
Older couples, those who have been married for their entire adult lives, are the most interesting to watch. Fortunately, our parish has plenty of older couples. There is one couple, Brad and Liz, and they have been married forever. They're the kind of couple that is so intuitive around one each other that they have grown to even look similar. I don't know either particularly well, but I've been on some committees with Brad. Liz was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. I don't know the prognosis, but I do know that Brad was scared, and together they were scared enough to stop postponing a cruise they've wanted to take. They returned home a couple of weeks ago.
This morning I sat 2 pews behind them. I happened to catch a glimpse of something that looked so personal and meaningful, I was ashamed to be peeking. I love our old, Episcopal hymns. This is probably the legacy of being raised by a minister of music. To me, they are a prayer, a kind of communion. Our second hymn today was "Come Labor On." I was singing away, frustrated at my poor tone on D's all morning, when my eyes rested on Brad and Liz. They were standing arm-in-arm, slightly turned toward one another. Two short, stout people with very good, thick hair. Then Brad looked at Liz, and she at him, and they were singing to each other with the most tender expression on their faces. There they were, these two people who reach for each other without even a conscious thought. They were singing a love song both to God their Savior and each other. In that moment, I imagined all the ugly, mucky things that happen in a marriage: facing illnesses, disagreements over money or children, sorrow in losing loved ones. And yet, somehow they kept a purity of heart that reached me, two rows back. I'm so glad they did.
Older couples, those who have been married for their entire adult lives, are the most interesting to watch. Fortunately, our parish has plenty of older couples. There is one couple, Brad and Liz, and they have been married forever. They're the kind of couple that is so intuitive around one each other that they have grown to even look similar. I don't know either particularly well, but I've been on some committees with Brad. Liz was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. I don't know the prognosis, but I do know that Brad was scared, and together they were scared enough to stop postponing a cruise they've wanted to take. They returned home a couple of weeks ago.
This morning I sat 2 pews behind them. I happened to catch a glimpse of something that looked so personal and meaningful, I was ashamed to be peeking. I love our old, Episcopal hymns. This is probably the legacy of being raised by a minister of music. To me, they are a prayer, a kind of communion. Our second hymn today was "Come Labor On." I was singing away, frustrated at my poor tone on D's all morning, when my eyes rested on Brad and Liz. They were standing arm-in-arm, slightly turned toward one another. Two short, stout people with very good, thick hair. Then Brad looked at Liz, and she at him, and they were singing to each other with the most tender expression on their faces. There they were, these two people who reach for each other without even a conscious thought. They were singing a love song both to God their Savior and each other. In that moment, I imagined all the ugly, mucky things that happen in a marriage: facing illnesses, disagreements over money or children, sorrow in losing loved ones. And yet, somehow they kept a purity of heart that reached me, two rows back. I'm so glad they did.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
Halloween
I have nothing brilliant to say today. I just love my kids so darn much. That's all I got, folks.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
My Son the Sculptor
My child has a gift. I order him food at a restaurant, and he turns it into a masterpiece.Observe exhibit #1: He has taken an ordinary cheeseburger, and inserted into it two straws, a celery stick, and a green crayon. Voila: genius!
Exhibit #2: What was once ordinary macaroni and cheese, is now a straw-and-saltine feast for the eyes!
Sunday, October 05, 2008
Car Conversation
When the four of us are in the car, Baby Boy has this charming habit of calling everyone's name, just to check. "Mommy!" "Yes, honey." "Daddy!" "Yes, boo." "Titi?" [insert the 9 year old's growl here]. We call it Roll Call. Daughter explains her reaction this way:
"I don't want to be unsupportive, but I'm not a fan of the Roll Call."
That girl slays me.
"I don't want to be unsupportive, but I'm not a fan of the Roll Call."
That girl slays me.
Saturday, October 04, 2008
Dear Baby Brother,
Thank you for my eggs tonight. I now officially amend my scrambled egg rule to include yours.
Thank you for your support during hard times.
Thank you for laughing with (at?) me. I think.
Thank you for all your help around the house and with the children.
Thank you for loving my children the way you do. They adore you, and I can see that you adore them. Love lasts; this time together will stay in their hearts for a very long time.
Thank you for being the best brother a woman could ask for. I love, value, and appreciate you.
Love,
Aimers
Thank you for your support during hard times.
Thank you for laughing with (at?) me. I think.
Thank you for all your help around the house and with the children.
Thank you for loving my children the way you do. They adore you, and I can see that you adore them. Love lasts; this time together will stay in their hearts for a very long time.
Thank you for being the best brother a woman could ask for. I love, value, and appreciate you.
Love,
Aimers
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
I'm not that kind of girl
Last night Daughter attempted to go to yoga with me. I prepped her ahead of time saying that it's a whole hour long, there's no talking, I'd love to be with her but be forewarned. On the way there we went over the "rules" again. She was unyoga-ly hyped for the task ahead of her. Can you tell where this is heading?
Halfway through the practice, she sweetly asks, "How much longer?" Uh-oh. Every mom knows what that means. Still, I give her the benefit of the doubt. A few minutes later she whispers, "I'm bored." I gave her a "good luck with that" sort of shrug from my downward dog position. Then I slowly took compassion on her and asked if she wanted to go. Pretty darn nice of me, huh? She declined. Another sun salutation for me. Dang, I'm doing great tonight, I think! This is wonderful! Next thing I know, I look upside-down at my girl, whose head is on her knees and whose shoulders are shaking. This is getting serious. She says she's hungry and bored and wants to go, but doesn't want to interrupt what I'm doing. I remind her that she is more important than yoga (but only barely... don't want her to get a big head, you know). We quietly slip out of the room.
Walking down the hallway I have my arm around her and reassure her that it's not a big deal, that it's totally ok, that we really need to go get a snack. A few quiet moments pass, and I venture,
"We learned something tonight, didn't we?"
"Yeah," she responds. "I'm not a sit-and-wait kind of girl."
I'm glad she's a woman of action, not a sit-and-wait person. It's a quality that will serve her well in life. I adore this child.
Halfway through the practice, she sweetly asks, "How much longer?" Uh-oh. Every mom knows what that means. Still, I give her the benefit of the doubt. A few minutes later she whispers, "I'm bored." I gave her a "good luck with that" sort of shrug from my downward dog position. Then I slowly took compassion on her and asked if she wanted to go. Pretty darn nice of me, huh? She declined. Another sun salutation for me. Dang, I'm doing great tonight, I think! This is wonderful! Next thing I know, I look upside-down at my girl, whose head is on her knees and whose shoulders are shaking. This is getting serious. She says she's hungry and bored and wants to go, but doesn't want to interrupt what I'm doing. I remind her that she is more important than yoga (but only barely... don't want her to get a big head, you know). We quietly slip out of the room.
Walking down the hallway I have my arm around her and reassure her that it's not a big deal, that it's totally ok, that we really need to go get a snack. A few quiet moments pass, and I venture,
"We learned something tonight, didn't we?"
"Yeah," she responds. "I'm not a sit-and-wait kind of girl."
I'm glad she's a woman of action, not a sit-and-wait person. It's a quality that will serve her well in life. I adore this child.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Dear Santa,
I have now returned back to earth from heaven, and have landed square in the Land of Dirty Dishes. I could segregate my dirties from my cleans, as most normal Americans do, but alas, my dishwasher and my husband are conspiring against me.
As I turn to my stack of so-called Clean Glasses, usually when I have guests over, and begin to pour them a nice refreshing glass of water, I notice flecks of yucky stuck to the inside of the glass. Upon further inspection, I see that many of my other glasses are similarly afflicted. My heart begins to race, smoke streams from my ears, as I think, "Who didn't rinse the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher?! Moreover, who put unclean dishes away?!" I go through the mental list of everything I do, how much work I have anyway, how unreasonable it is that I should have to wash these dishes twice, for God's sake. This is unhealthy.
Rather than fume about the situation, I choose to research a solution. I call the dishwasher repairman, who tells me that my filter was dirty, and that will be $150, thank you very much. The dishes are cleaner, now, but not for long. Soon the dishwasher leaves them bespeckled once again. I beg Steve for a new dishwasher, but he claims he can clean the filter. And he does. The dishes wash cleaner... for about a day. He cleans the filter again, and notices that the water isn't draining. I get on my knees and plead with him for a new dishwasher. Nope. He will figure out the drainage issue. Eventually. And maybe clean the filter every 3rd day. In the meantime, I remain dubious about how clean our dishes really are.
Santa, if you have a heart for a poor mommy, please bring me a new dishwasher this Christmas. Please have your elves install it while I sleep. I don't need a bow or any wrapping paper. I don't need new clothes or pretty shiny things under the tree. I just want clean dishes. Oh, and you might want to double-check the plate your cookies were left on and the glass your milk was served in. I'm just saying.
As I turn to my stack of so-called Clean Glasses, usually when I have guests over, and begin to pour them a nice refreshing glass of water, I notice flecks of yucky stuck to the inside of the glass. Upon further inspection, I see that many of my other glasses are similarly afflicted. My heart begins to race, smoke streams from my ears, as I think, "Who didn't rinse the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher?! Moreover, who put unclean dishes away?!" I go through the mental list of everything I do, how much work I have anyway, how unreasonable it is that I should have to wash these dishes twice, for God's sake. This is unhealthy.
Rather than fume about the situation, I choose to research a solution. I call the dishwasher repairman, who tells me that my filter was dirty, and that will be $150, thank you very much. The dishes are cleaner, now, but not for long. Soon the dishwasher leaves them bespeckled once again. I beg Steve for a new dishwasher, but he claims he can clean the filter. And he does. The dishes wash cleaner... for about a day. He cleans the filter again, and notices that the water isn't draining. I get on my knees and plead with him for a new dishwasher. Nope. He will figure out the drainage issue. Eventually. And maybe clean the filter every 3rd day. In the meantime, I remain dubious about how clean our dishes really are.
Santa, if you have a heart for a poor mommy, please bring me a new dishwasher this Christmas. Please have your elves install it while I sleep. I don't need a bow or any wrapping paper. I don't need new clothes or pretty shiny things under the tree. I just want clean dishes. Oh, and you might want to double-check the plate your cookies were left on and the glass your milk was served in. I'm just saying.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Where Heaven is Located
I am in heaven, and it is located in Santa Cruz, California. My aunt recently finished building her dream house, here. It is in a secluded spot (I didn't realize there was any seclusion left for sale in California!), overlooking a little valley with big trees and a little river, and in the distance is the Monterrey Bay. It is quiet, except for the crickets, has a beauty that has no choice but to provoke peace within, and soon it will be filled with my extended family, whom I love so much. Not to mention, the cooking here is to die for.The pea
ce and quiet I am now enjoying will soon be replaced by frivolity and joy. My son will wake up from his nap, and in the next few days our number will reach 19, all here to celebrate Marce's 50th birthday. I am so fortunate to be from a family that loves each other enough to gather like this. We are a spirited group, a little shrill when excited, but that means we are passionate about our convictions, including devotion to one another. All that said, by Sunday I'm sure I'll be really ready for those marguaritas that Uncle Dean makes.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Thursday, August 14, 2008
An Out of Body Experience
I am not myself these days. Two years ago I was preggers with our son, and eating two bowls of ice cream every day. I figured that this was most likely my last pregnancy, so I was darn well going to enjoy the heck out of it. Looking back, I must have thought that the baby fat would melt off, as it did with my daughter. However, I did not count on two factors this time around:
1. That I am 7 years older than I was with Kathryn and weight is a little harder to lose.
2. That I would be more tired with two and therefore less excited about exercise.
3. That when the baby was 5 months old, I would break my leg, have surgery, be on 7 weeks of bedrest, and be weaker ever after.
I look at myself in the mirror, now, and it's just not my body. I'm not supposed to be this size. My tummy has always been flat and now it's not. And back fat? Puh-lease!
For whatever reason, God has given the gift of motivation to two of my favorite people. My brother, Peter, who is currently living with us, is in training for running a marathon. And my oldest, dearest friend, Ruthie, is now seriously working toward being a yoga instructor. And believe it or not, they inspire me! I don't know what this will lead me toward, but I've had it with this wretched body of mine. Getting up early is out, and I'm beat by dinner time, and it's hard as all get-out to get out of the house without my children, but maybe there's a routine I can establish that will help get me back in shape. Send me happy exercise vibes.
1. That I am 7 years older than I was with Kathryn and weight is a little harder to lose.
2. That I would be more tired with two and therefore less excited about exercise.
3. That when the baby was 5 months old, I would break my leg, have surgery, be on 7 weeks of bedrest, and be weaker ever after.
I look at myself in the mirror, now, and it's just not my body. I'm not supposed to be this size. My tummy has always been flat and now it's not. And back fat? Puh-lease!
For whatever reason, God has given the gift of motivation to two of my favorite people. My brother, Peter, who is currently living with us, is in training for running a marathon. And my oldest, dearest friend, Ruthie, is now seriously working toward being a yoga instructor. And believe it or not, they inspire me! I don't know what this will lead me toward, but I've had it with this wretched body of mine. Getting up early is out, and I'm beat by dinner time, and it's hard as all get-out to get out of the house without my children, but maybe there's a routine I can establish that will help get me back in shape. Send me happy exercise vibes.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
To My Daughter on her Ninth Birthday
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You, my girl, the child who made me a mother, are nine years old today! We have had such a wonderful day together today, with our traditional birthday girls' day out. You are so excited about the flower they painted on your big toenails at our mani-pedis. You waited to find just the right outfit at the mall. You were thrilled to see our new housemate, your "Uncle Pizza," at lunch. My cheeks hurt so much from all the laughing we did today! You held my hand in every parking lot we were in today, and each time, I savored the moment, knowing they are limited. Please don't grow up so fast. Here are some other things I love about you at this brief moment in time:1. You are so earnest when you talk about very grown-up things, such as the fashion choices on "Project Runway" or "What Not to Wear." You don't sound at all like a little girl, so to hear the utter sincerity of your opinions coming out of that be-freckled little face is marvelous!
2. You make no apologies for your talents. They are just a fact, like your clear blue eyes. Today as we made your Birthday Calzone, you put on your new apron and sighed, "I love to cook. I have several different gifts. I can't choose just one." You are not yet at an age where you have to prioritize.
3. You love God, and you love to learn about Him. When you took your first communion, you exclaimed loudly, "That was GREAT!" You feel short-changed when we can't make it to Sunday School or we miss church. One time you were so upset that we were missing Holy Eucharist that we had to run to the grocery store and get some port and mazzo bread, pulled out the Book of Common Prayer, and fudge communion as best we could, just to calm you down. Needless to say, your first experience at church camp was a raging success. May this bring you a lifetime of peace and joy.
4. Your freckles are so incredibly beautiful! I love every single one--especially the family freckle. You know the one.
5. Your compassion blows me away. It's not the sappy kind of compassion, although a cute puppy will invoke an appropriate "Awwww, cute!" No, yours is Action Compassion. [I'm going to trademark that, I think.] You do chores to buy a CD to bring to a sick friend. You enjoy helping at the homeless shelter, and are willing to donate your backpack and supplies for the homeless kids. You, my darling, have a generous heart. I credit your father's influence.
6. You are so blessedly snuggly. We complain about what a flopper you are in bed, but secretly I enjoy how you smash your whole body right up against mine all night. Even though you are long and lanky, it's still wonderful to hold you on my lap in the evenings.
7. What a funny child you are! You use a hint of sarcasm and a marvelous vocabulary. Together, they absolutely slay me.
8. You are perhaps the most loving sister I've ever seen. You are so patient with your baby brother. You never complain about the compromises we all must make by having a little one around, or some of the added responsibility. You are a help to your father and me, and a model to the baby. He is such a fortunate child to have you to look up to. I hate to think that this is a side of you we almost never saw.
9. I take great joy in your antiestablishmentarianism. You prefer to be just a little bit on the edge of popularity. When we went to the Jonas Brothers concert, you rolled your eyes at how frenzied the other little girls were. When the crowd was wildly and loudly applauding, you lightly tapped your fingers together, saying you wanted to show your enjoyment but not add to the noise. Please always feel free to color outside the lines.
10. How on earth can I possibly stop at 10? You are smart and reasonable, super silly, clutzy (like me), so very strong. You are focused and pay attention to details, and seem to remember everything. At the same time, you never seem to be able to find whatever you are looking for, and will forget something you're told 2 seconds after you've heard it. You are unselfconscious, full of enthusiasm, and springy! I love every little cell in your being, and am so happy I get to be your mother.
Happy birthday, my precious one. May the year ahead be your best yet.
Love,
Mommy
Thursday, July 24, 2008
These are the Thoughts that Occupy my MInd (what's left of it)
Daughter's 9th birthday is a week from today. Nine years ago today I went into labor. She was born 7 days later. (A story for another time.) Since I am a winter baby, planning her summer birthday party has always been a source of fun for me. Not so much this year.
Because of camp last week taking up 98% of my brain, we put off planning her party until she got back on Saturday. Here is the series of events:
Sunday night: Spoke with the pool's party planner. This is now the 3rd year in a row she's had a pool party. She confirms that we can have her party at 1 pm on Saturday, August 2. We order her invitations.
Tuesday: We mail the invitations, saying that the party will be on Saturday, August 2 at 1 pm. You see where this is going.
Wednesday: Ignorant bliss.
Thursday (today)--9 days before the event: Party coordinator calls and says that I cannot have the party at 11 am on Aug 2 because there's a swim meet scheduled. I say no problem, we had requested 1 pm anyway. She says that's a no go, since someone else has the pool from 1-4.
In the estimable words of Bill the Cat, ACK! ACK ACK ACK! Invitations are out, and there is no party place. If we do the party after 4 pm, baby boy may be too tired to be much fun at the party. Any other options for party days are also reserved until 4 pm.
Dear reader(s), if you've been holding off on commenting before, now is the time to dive on in. I sure could use some ideas. By the way, hosting at our house isn't really an option.
Because of camp last week taking up 98% of my brain, we put off planning her party until she got back on Saturday. Here is the series of events:
Sunday night: Spoke with the pool's party planner. This is now the 3rd year in a row she's had a pool party. She confirms that we can have her party at 1 pm on Saturday, August 2. We order her invitations.
Tuesday: We mail the invitations, saying that the party will be on Saturday, August 2 at 1 pm. You see where this is going.
Wednesday: Ignorant bliss.
Thursday (today)--9 days before the event: Party coordinator calls and says that I cannot have the party at 11 am on Aug 2 because there's a swim meet scheduled. I say no problem, we had requested 1 pm anyway. She says that's a no go, since someone else has the pool from 1-4.
In the estimable words of Bill the Cat, ACK! ACK ACK ACK! Invitations are out, and there is no party place. If we do the party after 4 pm, baby boy may be too tired to be much fun at the party. Any other options for party days are also reserved until 4 pm.
Dear reader(s), if you've been holding off on commenting before, now is the time to dive on in. I sure could use some ideas. By the way, hosting at our house isn't really an option.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Short and Oh, so Sweet
The boy-child is always learning new words. We heard a new one at diaper-changing time tonight. As I was trying to wrestle him into a clean nappy and pajamas, his little voice squeeked, "Help! Help!" We laughed so hard we had to let him run around naked for a while.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
An Open Letter to Doctors' Offices*
Dear ones, since you are always dealing with people who are nervous, or hurting, or somehow uncomfortable, please do not add to the anxiety by tuning your radio station to abrasive music. I like Aerosmith as much as the next girl, and I had many of my happiest moments with 80's hair bands in the background, but when I am sitting in your waiting room, guitar riffs are the last thing I want to hear. I am partial to classical music; no matter where I am, I can settle into myself with a symphony in the background. I know I am not like everyone, though. Waiting room music should be not-noticeable. Just something creating an ambient atmosphere, conducive to relaxation.
For example, yesterday I was in urgent care with my back hurting so badly I was near tears. The radio in the office was loud, tuned to a 70's/80's station with static. Static, I tell you! It's very possible my ears started to bleed. On top of that, the nurses and office manager were opposed to looking anyone in the eye or speaking kindly. By the end of the visit, my nerves were frayed and I was weeping. Weeping, I tell you! Two summers ago I had the distinct displeasure of frequently visiting the obstetrician, where the music over the loudspeaker was tuned to a different station than the little radio the receptionists kept behind the front desk. Warring music! It was my own personal hell.
So, friends and colleagues, take heed. Some of your patients are already a little wound up and are quite noise-sensitive. Please don't make it worse by embracing static or choosing music that is too noticeable. I beg of you, use your powers for good and not evil by choosing unobtrusive music.
*Disclaimer: I am the office manager at a dentist's office, and often in control of the music, unless a certain doctor is in the office, in which case we have no choice but to listen to Clint Black or Kenny Chesney over and over. I probably frustrate our patients with my music choices, and I accept that. Moreover, I live with a non-noise-sensitive man who has no problem having the TV on, the radio on, and playing the ukelele AT THE SAME TIME. The moral of the lesson is that familiarity breeds contempt.
For example, yesterday I was in urgent care with my back hurting so badly I was near tears. The radio in the office was loud, tuned to a 70's/80's station with static. Static, I tell you! It's very possible my ears started to bleed. On top of that, the nurses and office manager were opposed to looking anyone in the eye or speaking kindly. By the end of the visit, my nerves were frayed and I was weeping. Weeping, I tell you! Two summers ago I had the distinct displeasure of frequently visiting the obstetrician, where the music over the loudspeaker was tuned to a different station than the little radio the receptionists kept behind the front desk. Warring music! It was my own personal hell.
So, friends and colleagues, take heed. Some of your patients are already a little wound up and are quite noise-sensitive. Please don't make it worse by embracing static or choosing music that is too noticeable. I beg of you, use your powers for good and not evil by choosing unobtrusive music.
*Disclaimer: I am the office manager at a dentist's office, and often in control of the music, unless a certain doctor is in the office, in which case we have no choice but to listen to Clint Black or Kenny Chesney over and over. I probably frustrate our patients with my music choices, and I accept that. Moreover, I live with a non-noise-sensitive man who has no problem having the TV on, the radio on, and playing the ukelele AT THE SAME TIME. The moral of the lesson is that familiarity breeds contempt.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Emptier Nest
The house is too quiet. I miss her. Her baby brother keeps looking for her. This morning, he couldn't stop looking at photos on her, hanging on the wall. At every one, he'd point and say, "Titi?"
Lest anyone start feeling sorry for her, though, here is a photo of her with her counselor, nicknamed "Element:"
The cabin is a converted boxcar. Air-conditioned, no less. She'll be fine. Here is the view of her camp site, with Mt. Rainier in the background:
Lest anyone start feeling sorry for her, though, here is a photo of her with her counselor, nicknamed "Element:"
The cabin is a converted boxcar. Air-conditioned, no less. She'll be fine. Here is the view of her camp site, with Mt. Rainier in the background:
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Random Sunday
1) KED is at camp, now. I didn't cry when I hugged her goodbye, only because I was still frustrated from the 3 hour drive getting there. (Can you believe the camp people don't answer the phones on check-in day?) However, I did cry before we left, and that, in turn, made her cry. There were many meaningful looks at her from me today, as I tried to telepathically teach her everything she might need for a successful camp week, everything I might have overlooked lo, these 9 years we've had together. She said a quick goodbye, and skipped off to her pizza dinner. Now we're home, but my heart is 60 miles away.
2) Last night our closet started smelling of something dead or dying. We emptied out the closet, vacuumed, and refilled it. It still smells of decay, and the smell has moved toward the hallway. Yucky yuckity yuck.
3) When you grow up in a church, raised by a church musician, and you can play the piano, God sometimes taps you on the shoulder and says He needs you for a little while. As I said in my previous post, I'm only a mediocre performer, and yet He still borrows my fingers once and again. Yesterday my father-in-law told me that at his church they will be looking for a pianist soon. I've subbed there, and it's a small and low-key congregation. With some practice, I could be up to the job, and I might even learn some organ, too. I really don't want to leave St. Mary's, though, so we'd probably go to the 9 am service, then Steve and children would stay for Sunday School, while I went to the in-laws' church to play, then they would come get me. So is this really something I want to do? It's that age-old question of whether it's truly God's call or my own will. This is a toughie.
4) I got to read in church today. It was one of my favorite passages, from my favorite prophet: Isaiah 55:12: You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands. So many pieces have been written with this text, and when I was standing at the lectern, it was all I could do to not sing the words! That often happens with me and Isaiah.
2) Last night our closet started smelling of something dead or dying. We emptied out the closet, vacuumed, and refilled it. It still smells of decay, and the smell has moved toward the hallway. Yucky yuckity yuck.
3) When you grow up in a church, raised by a church musician, and you can play the piano, God sometimes taps you on the shoulder and says He needs you for a little while. As I said in my previous post, I'm only a mediocre performer, and yet He still borrows my fingers once and again. Yesterday my father-in-law told me that at his church they will be looking for a pianist soon. I've subbed there, and it's a small and low-key congregation. With some practice, I could be up to the job, and I might even learn some organ, too. I really don't want to leave St. Mary's, though, so we'd probably go to the 9 am service, then Steve and children would stay for Sunday School, while I went to the in-laws' church to play, then they would come get me. So is this really something I want to do? It's that age-old question of whether it's truly God's call or my own will. This is a toughie.
4) I got to read in church today. It was one of my favorite passages, from my favorite prophet: Isaiah 55:12: You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands. So many pieces have been written with this text, and when I was standing at the lectern, it was all I could do to not sing the words! That often happens with me and Isaiah.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
A Terrible Journey
At my daughter's piano lesson last night, her teacher (whom we adore) declared that K is at the beginning of "a terrible journey." I had not thought of the burden he was referring to described quite that way, but after our discussion, I think he is right.
K is a talented musician. I've made this assessment trying to be as unbiased as possible. I've been a pianist my whole life (including the first 5 years where my musical education was less formal and more familial), am the daughter of two wonderful musicians, one professional, and I've been a piano teacher for quite a while. Believe me, I've experienced the spectrum of musical giftedness. Me, I consider myself a mediocre performer, but I do have a good and critical ear. K is talented. The point her teacher was making was that because of her talent, she can get by and have a decent lesson or performance without much effort. But should she?
Do we all have those times? I could get decent grades without killing myself over assignments or reading the text. I could have an ok performance with just a little practice. How many of us had the teacher who said that we'd be great, if only we'd just apply ourselves? Sound familiar? Then I think back on my college days, and how much more I should have made of those years if only I had worked a little harder and played a little less. One could argue that there is value in play, sure, but not so much in this case.
Tim the Marvelous Piano Teacher called this bad stewardship. (He is also a Christian.) This was a new concept to me. God gifted us with music. He placed it in our hands like a fragile bird, closed our fingers around it, looked into our eyes, and asked us to please take good care of it--indeed, to make it even better (see the parable of the talents.) Or our family motto, from Luke 12:48, "From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded."
Sure, we could skate by, or keep what has been given to us intact. By most standards, keeping what we've been given in good shape, and returning it as we found it, would be considered responsible and good. But as Christians, we are on a terrible, wonderful journey. We are to be grateful for our gifts, which, in K's case, is music (and so much more). Then we are to continually, joyously challenge ourselves to do better than good enough. Thank you, Tim, for teaching us that lesson, and thank you, God, for putting Tim in our lives so that we might learn.
K is a talented musician. I've made this assessment trying to be as unbiased as possible. I've been a pianist my whole life (including the first 5 years where my musical education was less formal and more familial), am the daughter of two wonderful musicians, one professional, and I've been a piano teacher for quite a while. Believe me, I've experienced the spectrum of musical giftedness. Me, I consider myself a mediocre performer, but I do have a good and critical ear. K is talented. The point her teacher was making was that because of her talent, she can get by and have a decent lesson or performance without much effort. But should she?
Do we all have those times? I could get decent grades without killing myself over assignments or reading the text. I could have an ok performance with just a little practice. How many of us had the teacher who said that we'd be great, if only we'd just apply ourselves? Sound familiar? Then I think back on my college days, and how much more I should have made of those years if only I had worked a little harder and played a little less. One could argue that there is value in play, sure, but not so much in this case.
Tim the Marvelous Piano Teacher called this bad stewardship. (He is also a Christian.) This was a new concept to me. God gifted us with music. He placed it in our hands like a fragile bird, closed our fingers around it, looked into our eyes, and asked us to please take good care of it--indeed, to make it even better (see the parable of the talents.) Or our family motto, from Luke 12:48, "From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded."
Sure, we could skate by, or keep what has been given to us intact. By most standards, keeping what we've been given in good shape, and returning it as we found it, would be considered responsible and good. But as Christians, we are on a terrible, wonderful journey. We are to be grateful for our gifts, which, in K's case, is music (and so much more). Then we are to continually, joyously challenge ourselves to do better than good enough. Thank you, Tim, for teaching us that lesson, and thank you, God, for putting Tim in our lives so that we might learn.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
Make the World Go Away
There are times in a mommy's life when she wishes time would stop. I just had one of those moments.
Baby (21 months, big toddler boy) was having difficulty falling asleep. I attribute it to the light outside. Although it is nearly 8 pm, we're at a higher latitude and so it doesn't start getting dark until later. I went in his room, whereupon he asked for a book, which means he wants to be read to. Normally I would be happy to oblige, but it's 2 hours past his bedtime and the child doesn't need more stimulation. I picked him up out of his crib, sat in the glider (thanks, Dad, still using it!), and cradled his precious, sweaty head to my shoulder. He was silent and calm for a long time. When I lifted my head to see if he was asleep, he met my gaze and smiled his big toothy smile. I kissed his nose and his cheeks and his lips, and he made smacky-kissy sounds in return. I whispered in my sing-sing voice, "I love you," and he sung back, "I loo!"
His body relaxed, and for 15 beautiful minutes I rocked him, silently prayed for him, and worked in earnest to commit every single moment to everlasting memory. I know it's a cliche, but truly these days go so quickly. My little girl will be 9 this month, and in church today the lay eucharistic minister whispered to me, "you have a young lady on your hands." She's right: overnight, it seems, my little baby girl is halfway to 18. Next week she heads to overnight camp, 6 days far away from us. She is self-assured, confident, funny, smart, and marvelous. If I were 9, I would want to be her best friend. Instead, I have the honor of mothering her and her brother, and I thank God every day for that gift.
Baby (21 months, big toddler boy) was having difficulty falling asleep. I attribute it to the light outside. Although it is nearly 8 pm, we're at a higher latitude and so it doesn't start getting dark until later. I went in his room, whereupon he asked for a book, which means he wants to be read to. Normally I would be happy to oblige, but it's 2 hours past his bedtime and the child doesn't need more stimulation. I picked him up out of his crib, sat in the glider (thanks, Dad, still using it!), and cradled his precious, sweaty head to my shoulder. He was silent and calm for a long time. When I lifted my head to see if he was asleep, he met my gaze and smiled his big toothy smile. I kissed his nose and his cheeks and his lips, and he made smacky-kissy sounds in return. I whispered in my sing-sing voice, "I love you," and he sung back, "I loo!"
His body relaxed, and for 15 beautiful minutes I rocked him, silently prayed for him, and worked in earnest to commit every single moment to everlasting memory. I know it's a cliche, but truly these days go so quickly. My little girl will be 9 this month, and in church today the lay eucharistic minister whispered to me, "you have a young lady on your hands." She's right: overnight, it seems, my little baby girl is halfway to 18. Next week she heads to overnight camp, 6 days far away from us. She is self-assured, confident, funny, smart, and marvelous. If I were 9, I would want to be her best friend. Instead, I have the honor of mothering her and her brother, and I thank God every day for that gift.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Yes, I'm blogging about THIS
Excuse me? Why, yes, that IS me, the one with the clean refrigerator! How nice of you to notice. Oh, it was nothing. Nothing, plus one SOS pad, two rags, endless paper towels, a scrubber sponge, and two garbage bags full of old food. Other than that, it was nothing. Oh, and 45 minutes out of my life. Hello Clorox, goodbye salmonella!
Now to rid that fridge of those Henry's...
Monday, June 16, 2008
I don't want Nana to die. I know she's not on death's door, but she's now in her 80's, and each health scare brings with it more and more serious repercussions. This last time, she was very confused, and Mom thought she had had another TIA (mini-stroke). Nope. It was a urinary tract infection, and at her age, apparently, massive confusion is another side-effect. Even a few days after she was hospitalized, she still couldn't tell us the year or the name of her ex-husband, my grandfather, the father of her 5 children and spouse of 35 years.
Nana is very competitive, and will knock your ball out of the park in croquet with no apologies. She has an acidic wit, and can cut deeply if it's directed at you. She started a preschool in Ohio that is still going strong, 50 years later. She is funny, strong, devoted, fashionable, and my nana. She was always nicer to me than to my brother, adding to my forever feeling guilty over his getting the raw end of things.
She's a complicated woman, and I love her very much. I've never lost anyone I love, which probably adds to my fear of losing her. With all the craziness, I know she loves me very much, and not just because I'm the mother of her only two great-grandchildren. Every time I see her, I feel like there is a little bit less of her here with us. One day, she'll be all the way gone.
Nana is very competitive, and will knock your ball out of the park in croquet with no apologies. She has an acidic wit, and can cut deeply if it's directed at you. She started a preschool in Ohio that is still going strong, 50 years later. She is funny, strong, devoted, fashionable, and my nana. She was always nicer to me than to my brother, adding to my forever feeling guilty over his getting the raw end of things.
She's a complicated woman, and I love her very much. I've never lost anyone I love, which probably adds to my fear of losing her. With all the craziness, I know she loves me very much, and not just because I'm the mother of her only two great-grandchildren. Every time I see her, I feel like there is a little bit less of her here with us. One day, she'll be all the way gone.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Grateful
Today, I am feeling so grateful for so many things.
1. I am very glad I work only part time. I'm healthier, my family is less harried, and we had time to take a bike ride after school yesterday.
2. I'm grateful for the sunshine today! It was KED's Brownie's pool party today, and it was actually warm. Since I had to be the one mommy in the pool (due to my toddler wanting to play in the "bath"), at least I wasn't freezing.
3. I get to see my good friend Kara on Saturday with my other buddies, Shelly and Valerie! Yipee!
4. Thank heavens I don't live in Cedar Rapids like poor Kara and the rest.
5. I'm so pleased that KED has had another successful year at school. Tomorrow is her last day of 3rd grade, and while I have some frustrations at what wasn't taught or attended to this year, she feels darn good about her year.
1. I am very glad I work only part time. I'm healthier, my family is less harried, and we had time to take a bike ride after school yesterday.
2. I'm grateful for the sunshine today! It was KED's Brownie's pool party today, and it was actually warm. Since I had to be the one mommy in the pool (due to my toddler wanting to play in the "bath"), at least I wasn't freezing.
3. I get to see my good friend Kara on Saturday with my other buddies, Shelly and Valerie! Yipee!
4. Thank heavens I don't live in Cedar Rapids like poor Kara and the rest.
5. I'm so pleased that KED has had another successful year at school. Tomorrow is her last day of 3rd grade, and while I have some frustrations at what wasn't taught or attended to this year, she feels darn good about her year.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
I'm Home, Alive, Dry, and Famous!
I spent last weekend in Madison, Wisconsin with my oldest and best friend, Ruthie. We had a great, great time, and oh my gosh, we laughed like nuts! It felt so good to be myself again. Here's a quickie-poo synopsis of my weekend:
Friday
After flying all night, I arrived safe and sound. We played with her precious boys whom I absolutely, hopelessly adore, went out to dinner, and then she and I went to see Sex & the City. I got to drink a cosmo in the theatre. Can we please bring a place like that here?
Saturday
Stardom. We went to see What D'ya Know at the U of W Madison campus. Lo and behold, the host picked lil ole ME to interview in the first hour! And yes, that's RUTHIE you hear in the 2nd hour playing the quiz!!! We're NPR divas! We had to fight off the throngs of fans the whole rest of the day.
Later in the day, I was treated to a tornado warning. Truly I was only beginning to get the full midwestern experience. I was giddy, they were blase. Why on earth weren't they more excited about this?
Sunday
Because then they have to deal with weather like this:
That's right, my friends: flooding. Roads were filled with water, cars were floating by. Somehow the very courageous Ruthie managed to get me to the airport, circumventing the many washed-out roads. It took 3 hours. It was NOT fun.
All in all, it was a fun, warm, funny, nurturing, dramatic trip. I was so glad I went! It was totally worth it. In the meantime, my prayers are with those left in the midwest dealing with these floods. When your life is truly affected, your perspective changes. Ruthie, I hope your carpets dry out soon!
Friday
After flying all night, I arrived safe and sound. We played with her precious boys whom I absolutely, hopelessly adore, went out to dinner, and then she and I went to see Sex & the City. I got to drink a cosmo in the theatre. Can we please bring a place like that here?
Saturday
Stardom. We went to see What D'ya Know at the U of W Madison campus. Lo and behold, the host picked lil ole ME to interview in the first hour! And yes, that's RUTHIE you hear in the 2nd hour playing the quiz!!! We're NPR divas! We had to fight off the throngs of fans the whole rest of the day.Later in the day, I was treated to a tornado warning. Truly I was only beginning to get the full midwestern experience. I was giddy, they were blase. Why on earth weren't they more excited about this?
Sunday
Because then they have to deal with weather like this:
That's right, my friends: flooding. Roads were filled with water, cars were floating by. Somehow the very courageous Ruthie managed to get me to the airport, circumventing the many washed-out roads. It took 3 hours. It was NOT fun.All in all, it was a fun, warm, funny, nurturing, dramatic trip. I was so glad I went! It was totally worth it. In the meantime, my prayers are with those left in the midwest dealing with these floods. When your life is truly affected, your perspective changes. Ruthie, I hope your carpets dry out soon!
Monday, June 09, 2008
49 Things
This is from Sibyl, and I thought I would post it here, since the creative spark hasn't hit me recently.
50 Things.
1. Do you like bleu cheese?
Oh, yes
2. Have you ever smoked heroin?My gosh, no!
3. Do you own a gun?I personally do not own a gun. I suspect my spouse has one hidden in the garage somewhere, though, and that really freaks me out.
4. Your favorite song right now?"New Soul" by Yael Naim
5. Do you get nervous before doctor appointments?
No, I like having problems solved.
6. What do you think about hot dogs?I like them, as long as I don't think too much about what they're made of.
7. Favorite Christmas song?Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence. Give me goosebumps.
8. What do you like to drink in the morning?Sugar free vanilla, non-fat, 140 degree latte. (High maintenance? Me?) Except in the summer, then it's straight-up iced tea.
9. Can you do push ups?Yes
10. How much money is in your bank account?enough
11. What's your favorite piece of jewelry?1. My ring that I always wear on my right hand that Steve made for me with Kathryn's birthstone (which my father gave to me). 2. My necklace with Benjamin's birthstone that Steve had made for me for my last birthday.
12. Favorite hobby?Travelling, or quilting.
15. One trait you hate about yourself?To lazy to excercize vigorously every day
16. Middle Name?Elizabeth. Like the town in New Jersey
17. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment?-Madison was so much fun!
-I hope the link to the radio show is up and running now so I can hear myself tonight.
-My eyes are so tired.
18. Name 3 things you bought yesterday?
-A pink cowboy hat
-Water for the plane
-Wine on the plane
19. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink?water, lattes, Caffeine Free Diet Coke
20. Current worry right now?Ben's teeth are starting to look like he's a bottle-drinker, and it's going to be hard to get him off the bottle.
21. Current hate right now?Being tired today.
22. Favorite place to be?
Wherever my children are.
23. How did you bring in the New Year?At the Johnson's house, with the Lloyds and another family.
24. Where would you like to go?
West Africa, especially the Congo
25. Name three people who will complete this?Valerie. Maybe Ruthie
26. Do you own slippers?
Abso-bloomin-lutely. I really dislike bare feet on bare floors.
27. What kind of shirt are you wearing?a light green striped light sweater with a matching tank underneath
28. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets?Never tried it. I do like flannel sheets, though.
29. Can you whistle?Yes, one note, with great concentration and effort. 30. Favorite color?Probably blue. Or red.
31. Would you be a pirate?Nah.
32. What songs do you sing in the shower?Rise and shine and give God the glory glory...
33. Favorite girl's name?Kathryn
34. Favorite boy's name?Benjamin
35. What's in your pocket right now?Keys and mascara
36. Last thing that made you laugh?Just about anything that Ruthie said this weekend.
37. Best bed sheets as a child?Bambi sheets. Which I still have.
38. Worst injury you've ever had?Last year's broken leg.
39. Do you love where you live?Steilacoom is the best place in the world. I love it. I love the people and the beaches and everything.
40. How many tvs do you have in your house?2
41. Who is your loudest friend?Steve. He's not obnoxious usually, but he has a really loud speaking voice, and he's content with lots of sounds going on around him (radio + ukelele + Kathryn on the piano + tv = crazy Amy)
42. How many dogs do you have?1 German Shepherd named Sidda Lee (points for you if you know where that name came from)
43. How many cats do you have?none, just our 3 angel kitties in heaven.
44. What is your favorite TV show?Lost
45. What is your favorite candy?Smarties or Sour Patch Kids
46. What is your favorite Sports Team?Mariners
47. What song do you want played at your funeral?The entire Durufle Reqiuem
48. What were you doing 12 AM last night?Settling in at home after getting back from Wisconsin.
49. What was your first thought as you awoke this morning?Yay! I'm waking up next to my little girl, who is waking me with kissies all over my face!
50 Things.
1. Do you like bleu cheese?
Oh, yes
2. Have you ever smoked heroin?My gosh, no!
3. Do you own a gun?I personally do not own a gun. I suspect my spouse has one hidden in the garage somewhere, though, and that really freaks me out.
4. Your favorite song right now?"New Soul" by Yael Naim
5. Do you get nervous before doctor appointments?
No, I like having problems solved.
6. What do you think about hot dogs?I like them, as long as I don't think too much about what they're made of.
7. Favorite Christmas song?Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence. Give me goosebumps.
8. What do you like to drink in the morning?Sugar free vanilla, non-fat, 140 degree latte. (High maintenance? Me?) Except in the summer, then it's straight-up iced tea.
9. Can you do push ups?Yes
10. How much money is in your bank account?enough
11. What's your favorite piece of jewelry?1. My ring that I always wear on my right hand that Steve made for me with Kathryn's birthstone (which my father gave to me). 2. My necklace with Benjamin's birthstone that Steve had made for me for my last birthday.
12. Favorite hobby?Travelling, or quilting.
15. One trait you hate about yourself?To lazy to excercize vigorously every day
16. Middle Name?Elizabeth. Like the town in New Jersey
17. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment?-Madison was so much fun!
-I hope the link to the radio show is up and running now so I can hear myself tonight.
-My eyes are so tired.
18. Name 3 things you bought yesterday?
-A pink cowboy hat
-Water for the plane
-Wine on the plane
19. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink?water, lattes, Caffeine Free Diet Coke
20. Current worry right now?Ben's teeth are starting to look like he's a bottle-drinker, and it's going to be hard to get him off the bottle.
21. Current hate right now?Being tired today.
22. Favorite place to be?
Wherever my children are.
23. How did you bring in the New Year?At the Johnson's house, with the Lloyds and another family.
24. Where would you like to go?
West Africa, especially the Congo
25. Name three people who will complete this?Valerie. Maybe Ruthie
26. Do you own slippers?
Abso-bloomin-lutely. I really dislike bare feet on bare floors.
27. What kind of shirt are you wearing?a light green striped light sweater with a matching tank underneath
28. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets?Never tried it. I do like flannel sheets, though.
29. Can you whistle?Yes, one note, with great concentration and effort. 30. Favorite color?Probably blue. Or red.
31. Would you be a pirate?Nah.
32. What songs do you sing in the shower?Rise and shine and give God the glory glory...
33. Favorite girl's name?Kathryn
34. Favorite boy's name?Benjamin
35. What's in your pocket right now?Keys and mascara
36. Last thing that made you laugh?Just about anything that Ruthie said this weekend.
37. Best bed sheets as a child?Bambi sheets. Which I still have.
38. Worst injury you've ever had?Last year's broken leg.
39. Do you love where you live?Steilacoom is the best place in the world. I love it. I love the people and the beaches and everything.
40. How many tvs do you have in your house?2
41. Who is your loudest friend?Steve. He's not obnoxious usually, but he has a really loud speaking voice, and he's content with lots of sounds going on around him (radio + ukelele + Kathryn on the piano + tv = crazy Amy)
42. How many dogs do you have?1 German Shepherd named Sidda Lee (points for you if you know where that name came from)
43. How many cats do you have?none, just our 3 angel kitties in heaven.
44. What is your favorite TV show?Lost
45. What is your favorite candy?Smarties or Sour Patch Kids
46. What is your favorite Sports Team?Mariners
47. What song do you want played at your funeral?The entire Durufle Reqiuem
48. What were you doing 12 AM last night?Settling in at home after getting back from Wisconsin.
49. What was your first thought as you awoke this morning?Yay! I'm waking up next to my little girl, who is waking me with kissies all over my face!
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Benediction
My baby brother is a law school graduate! I'm so darn proud of him I could burst.
Speaking of, I almost did burst... laughing, that is. The benediction at graduation (the day before Pentecost, I get it) began like this:
"Dear God, you are the arsonist of our hearts..."
Seriously? Did he just say arsonist of our hearts? Yes, yes, he did indeed. And yes, we, a religious family, all four generations of us there present, totally died laughing.
Amen.
PS: We love Heather, baby brother's girlfriend. We love her for many many reasons, but the icing on the cake is that on mother's day, when Nana, Mom, and I all ordered oatmeal for brunch, Heather swooped in and ordered oatmeal, too, without knowing that we all had! She's totally a fit. And she loves Sondheim.
Speaking of, I almost did burst... laughing, that is. The benediction at graduation (the day before Pentecost, I get it) began like this:
"Dear God, you are the arsonist of our hearts..."
Seriously? Did he just say arsonist of our hearts? Yes, yes, he did indeed. And yes, we, a religious family, all four generations of us there present, totally died laughing.
Amen.
PS: We love Heather, baby brother's girlfriend. We love her for many many reasons, but the icing on the cake is that on mother's day, when Nana, Mom, and I all ordered oatmeal for brunch, Heather swooped in and ordered oatmeal, too, without knowing that we all had! She's totally a fit. And she loves Sondheim.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Spooning
Dear Universe,
Where have all my spoons gone? I have plenty of soup spoons, salad and dinner forks, and butter knives. But where are my spoons? Two summers ago I noticed I was running low on these spoons, so I ran out to The Bon, paid an exorbitant amount for the spoons in my pattern, waited 3 weeks, and obtained 6 replacement spoons to fill that far-right spot in the drawer. Here it is, fewer than 24 months later, and all that's left is one spoon and two shark spoons (aka grapefruit spoons). What the heck is going on here, universe? Are the cereal gremlins raiding my silverware drawer? Is my husband packing good silverware in the kids' lunchboxes? I remember once at Hoover Elementary school I accidentally dumped a home-spoon in the garbage. I realized my mistake right away, but was too grossed out by the thought of rummaging through ick to do anything about it. I still feel guilty about it, of course. Even with that misdeed, when I am at my mom's house, her spoon-slot runneth over!
Universe, as soon as you have an answer for me, please contact me right away. I'll be the one with bloodly lips from eating my cereal with shark spoons.
Yours cordially,
Amy
Where have all my spoons gone? I have plenty of soup spoons, salad and dinner forks, and butter knives. But where are my spoons? Two summers ago I noticed I was running low on these spoons, so I ran out to The Bon, paid an exorbitant amount for the spoons in my pattern, waited 3 weeks, and obtained 6 replacement spoons to fill that far-right spot in the drawer. Here it is, fewer than 24 months later, and all that's left is one spoon and two shark spoons (aka grapefruit spoons). What the heck is going on here, universe? Are the cereal gremlins raiding my silverware drawer? Is my husband packing good silverware in the kids' lunchboxes? I remember once at Hoover Elementary school I accidentally dumped a home-spoon in the garbage. I realized my mistake right away, but was too grossed out by the thought of rummaging through ick to do anything about it. I still feel guilty about it, of course. Even with that misdeed, when I am at my mom's house, her spoon-slot runneth over!
Universe, as soon as you have an answer for me, please contact me right away. I'll be the one with bloodly lips from eating my cereal with shark spoons.
Yours cordially,
Amy
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Observant Mommy
It was after bathtime, and my sweet little guy was running around in the nude. What does any self-respecting scrapbooker do? She takes photos!
Photo #1:
Oh, the sweet baby! Photo #2 is equally sweet, but I didn't notice the details until I had printed out the photo just now:
HE PEED ON MY WALL!!! And darn if he doesn't look proud of himself for it!
Photo #1:
Oh, the sweet baby! Photo #2 is equally sweet, but I didn't notice the details until I had printed out the photo just now:
HE PEED ON MY WALL!!! And darn if he doesn't look proud of himself for it!
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Freaky Food
I don't know why, but today I've been thinking about what a wierdo I am. There are so many food quirks I have, and I'm so pleased that Steve knows most of them, so I don't really have to explain myself anymore. Here are a few:
* I adore Lucky Charms.
* I really like hot tea (particularly Irish Breakfast), but only if I can have 2 ice cubes in it.
* I really like iced tea, too, but without any ice. Unless it's a super-hot day, then ice is acceptable.
* The best breakfast, in my opinion, is room temperature iced tea and an old fashioned donut.
* I prefer red wine to white.
* My favorite food ever is my mom's veggie spaghetti. I'll give you the recipe sometime.
* When I eat spaghetti, I use my fork and knife to cut "slices" about 1" apart, all in one direction (left to right). Then I turn the plate 1/4 turn and do the same, so it's all criss-cross and in perfectly manageable bite-sized pieces. This does not apply to veggie spaghetti.
* I'm not a fan of drinking milk. It kind of grosses me out, UNLESS I'm eating veggie spaghetti or sometimes with pizza.
* Scrambled eggs are icky, unless prepared by me or my mom. Otherwise, they turn my stomach something awful.
* Rice Chex is not yummy plain or with bananas. It is only yummy with fresh strawberries.
* McCann's Steel Cut oatmeal is the bomb. Yummers, yum, yum. I will take just about any kind of oatmeal, and the more kinds of fruit I can put on it, the better. The best oatmeal I ever had included raisins, fresh blueberries, fresh strawberries, fresh bananas, and it was delicious. NO MILK IN MY OATMEAL!!! That's just disgusting.
* I never drink the last few sips of my latte. You can't see the bottom of the cup, and you just never know what's lurking down there.
* I always love malt vinegar on my fries.
* Given the choice, I really prefer to drink with a straw. A little more sanitary that way, methinks.
That's all I can think of in these 5 minutes, just off the top of my head. Am I the only one with these oddities, or do you, too, have Food Freakiness? Please share! (Especially you, Lesley.)
* I adore Lucky Charms.
* I really like hot tea (particularly Irish Breakfast), but only if I can have 2 ice cubes in it.
* I really like iced tea, too, but without any ice. Unless it's a super-hot day, then ice is acceptable.
* The best breakfast, in my opinion, is room temperature iced tea and an old fashioned donut.
* I prefer red wine to white.
* My favorite food ever is my mom's veggie spaghetti. I'll give you the recipe sometime.
* When I eat spaghetti, I use my fork and knife to cut "slices" about 1" apart, all in one direction (left to right). Then I turn the plate 1/4 turn and do the same, so it's all criss-cross and in perfectly manageable bite-sized pieces. This does not apply to veggie spaghetti.
* I'm not a fan of drinking milk. It kind of grosses me out, UNLESS I'm eating veggie spaghetti or sometimes with pizza.
* Scrambled eggs are icky, unless prepared by me or my mom. Otherwise, they turn my stomach something awful.
* Rice Chex is not yummy plain or with bananas. It is only yummy with fresh strawberries.
* McCann's Steel Cut oatmeal is the bomb. Yummers, yum, yum. I will take just about any kind of oatmeal, and the more kinds of fruit I can put on it, the better. The best oatmeal I ever had included raisins, fresh blueberries, fresh strawberries, fresh bananas, and it was delicious. NO MILK IN MY OATMEAL!!! That's just disgusting.
* I never drink the last few sips of my latte. You can't see the bottom of the cup, and you just never know what's lurking down there.
* I always love malt vinegar on my fries.
* Given the choice, I really prefer to drink with a straw. A little more sanitary that way, methinks.
That's all I can think of in these 5 minutes, just off the top of my head. Am I the only one with these oddities, or do you, too, have Food Freakiness? Please share! (Especially you, Lesley.)
Saturday, March 22, 2008
I'm Getting Old!
I bought a new computer today. While it is exciting and fun, and I think my new MacBook is the prettiest piece of technology since the iPod I bought 3 years ago, it ages me. I have so much to learn with this new contraption! Strangely, it's not my increasing numbers of gray hairs, nor my dwindling patience, and not even my sagging body that makes me feel old. It's my steep learning curve with this new computer. It's not nearly as intuitive as learning used to be. I pride myself on being tech-savvy. Three weeks ago I built a website from scratch, something I had never done before! My bosses ask me to fix their email problems, thinking I'm the greatest thing since drag-and-drop, but here I have what is supposed to be a very simple thing and I'm a crazy mess! How do I get my email folders? How do I get my Palm calendar to synch with iCal, and my Palm contacts to synch with this Address Book? And perhaps most importantly, why isn't my iTunes synching all my music? [If you know the answers to these questions, please email me pronto!] In a few months, I will have mastered this, I'm sure, and believe me, I'll be all puffed up with pride from this accomplishment as much as any other achievement. It's really all about the little things in life.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
The Definition of Delight
At this very moment, as I write this, Steve is serenading our daughter while she takes a shower. He is strumming his baritone ukelele and together they are belting out "When the Saints Go Marching In." It sounds like this:
"Oh when the saints... (K: Oh when the saints!)... go marching in... (K: Marching in!)... Oh when the saints go marching...[pause for chord change]...in (K: Yes they march!)!"
There is much gesticulating that goes along with this performance. It is the most wonderful concert I have ever heard.
"Oh when the saints... (K: Oh when the saints!)... go marching in... (K: Marching in!)... Oh when the saints go marching...[pause for chord change]...in (K: Yes they march!)!"
There is much gesticulating that goes along with this performance. It is the most wonderful concert I have ever heard.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Slacker Mom No More
Have you heard of slacker moms before? Ever since I saw something on TV about them, it's really rubbed me the wrong way. I remember watching the program--whatever it was--with my mother, and she asked me which camp I fell into. The depiction of alpha moms was definitely NOT me. I feel no pressure whatsoever to shuttle my kids to this activity and that, day in and day out. I do lose field-trip permission slips. My home is rarely tidy (clean from dirt, yes, tidy, no). My 17-month-old has never taken a swimming lesson, enjoyed a mommy-and-me gym class, or learned a foreign language. However, if I follow the definition laid out by USA Today, I do have some alpha mom characteristics: I am well-educated, I surf the web for solutions to household problems, I use technology to better organize our life together, and yes, my daughter gives out hand-made valentines every year. I think, however, my issue lies with the intent of these so-called alpha moms. I'm all for giving my child every opportunity, but I refuse to run myself ragged in pursuing this goal.
The term "slacker mom" is so very derogatory. If I were to identify myself as such, I would be admitting that I do not put very much care into parenting, the most important role I have ever had. Sometimes slacker moms are referred to as "good enough moms," and even that casts a shadow of under-par parenting. I picture a mother changing her baby's diaper. She tosses the soiled diaper aside, doesn't really bother with the wipes, loosely attaches the velcro tabs, and declares, "eh, good enough." She rinses off the dishes in the sink and stacks the plates that still have egg stuck on them and thinks to herself, "eh, good enough." To me THAT is a slacker mom, and that is certainly not me or my like-minded friends.
When my daughter was 4, she was invited to several birthday parties of friends. We've all heard those stories of going overboard with birthday parties, and it's true that some of these parties were wa-a-a-y over the top. However, the one I remember most was at my friend's house, although at the time we were not yet close friends, as we are now. She provided some backyard activities for the children and had made her own birthday cake. It was a simple double-layered round cake with yellow frosting, and birthday candles. The children had a wonderful time, and I was always impressed that this mother felt no need to impress the other mommies with a facade of perfection. In the 4 years since that party, I have learned about other ways that this family has opted for simpler pleasures and disdain for doing something just for appearances. It strikes me as even more impressive, since their family hob-nobs with some of the most high-powered families in the state... names you would probably know. Just the same, their family focus is on God, charity, and family, not country clubs and the latest fashions.
Lest you think that I am choosing for my family an unsocial, isolated existence, let me clarify. We seek balance in work and play. Daughter does well in school, but we do not send her to tutors hoping she will be the best. She participates in martial arts, but we do not send her to a trainer to lift weights or run laps to hone her skills. She takes piano lessons, but practice time is never a war, and we do not require perfection. Next month, students across the state will be taking the WASL, and the school has done a good job of completely stressing out the kids over it. Steve advised our panicky child, "You're eight years old. You're a kid. Despite what school people say, this test is not a big deal this year. Just do your best, and that is fine with us, we are proud of you no matter what." (Three years ago I was an official scorer of the test, so I do have some insight about its inner workings. She will do well on it.) At home, we are all about unstructured play time, family togetherness, books, and imagination. If any one of us is getting too stressed out by life, we all slow down, eat, and engage in pajama time. Sometimes this means we skip a lesson or a class. I believe in my heart of hearts that it is not early achievement that will make my children successful in life (whatever definition of "successful" you wish to use), it is a more internal structure guided by a loving family that enjoys spending lots of time together. Recent research confirms my gut instincts. As it turns out, she really does guide herself to do her very best. When she has extra energy to burn, she does as many sit-ups and push-ups (on her knuckles!) as she can do--completely unprompted by us, because Lord knows, she doesn't see daddy and mommy performing calesthenics at 8pm. We can't get her away from the piano, as she is always trying out new pieces and practicing the old ones, which leads her to more satisfying lessons.
If I am a "slacker mom" because I do not run my children hither and yon every day of the week, or because I am satisfied to play the American Girl 300 Wishes game with Daughter rather than organize my own paperwork, then so be it. I am now hoping to rename "slacker mom" with something more descriptive of why we are the way we are. The leading contender is:
COWABLE (Concerning Ourselves With A Balanced Life Evermore)
Please tell me you have a better idea!
The term "slacker mom" is so very derogatory. If I were to identify myself as such, I would be admitting that I do not put very much care into parenting, the most important role I have ever had. Sometimes slacker moms are referred to as "good enough moms," and even that casts a shadow of under-par parenting. I picture a mother changing her baby's diaper. She tosses the soiled diaper aside, doesn't really bother with the wipes, loosely attaches the velcro tabs, and declares, "eh, good enough." She rinses off the dishes in the sink and stacks the plates that still have egg stuck on them and thinks to herself, "eh, good enough." To me THAT is a slacker mom, and that is certainly not me or my like-minded friends.
When my daughter was 4, she was invited to several birthday parties of friends. We've all heard those stories of going overboard with birthday parties, and it's true that some of these parties were wa-a-a-y over the top. However, the one I remember most was at my friend's house, although at the time we were not yet close friends, as we are now. She provided some backyard activities for the children and had made her own birthday cake. It was a simple double-layered round cake with yellow frosting, and birthday candles. The children had a wonderful time, and I was always impressed that this mother felt no need to impress the other mommies with a facade of perfection. In the 4 years since that party, I have learned about other ways that this family has opted for simpler pleasures and disdain for doing something just for appearances. It strikes me as even more impressive, since their family hob-nobs with some of the most high-powered families in the state... names you would probably know. Just the same, their family focus is on God, charity, and family, not country clubs and the latest fashions.
Lest you think that I am choosing for my family an unsocial, isolated existence, let me clarify. We seek balance in work and play. Daughter does well in school, but we do not send her to tutors hoping she will be the best. She participates in martial arts, but we do not send her to a trainer to lift weights or run laps to hone her skills. She takes piano lessons, but practice time is never a war, and we do not require perfection. Next month, students across the state will be taking the WASL, and the school has done a good job of completely stressing out the kids over it. Steve advised our panicky child, "You're eight years old. You're a kid. Despite what school people say, this test is not a big deal this year. Just do your best, and that is fine with us, we are proud of you no matter what." (Three years ago I was an official scorer of the test, so I do have some insight about its inner workings. She will do well on it.) At home, we are all about unstructured play time, family togetherness, books, and imagination. If any one of us is getting too stressed out by life, we all slow down, eat, and engage in pajama time. Sometimes this means we skip a lesson or a class. I believe in my heart of hearts that it is not early achievement that will make my children successful in life (whatever definition of "successful" you wish to use), it is a more internal structure guided by a loving family that enjoys spending lots of time together. Recent research confirms my gut instincts. As it turns out, she really does guide herself to do her very best. When she has extra energy to burn, she does as many sit-ups and push-ups (on her knuckles!) as she can do--completely unprompted by us, because Lord knows, she doesn't see daddy and mommy performing calesthenics at 8pm. We can't get her away from the piano, as she is always trying out new pieces and practicing the old ones, which leads her to more satisfying lessons.
If I am a "slacker mom" because I do not run my children hither and yon every day of the week, or because I am satisfied to play the American Girl 300 Wishes game with Daughter rather than organize my own paperwork, then so be it. I am now hoping to rename "slacker mom" with something more descriptive of why we are the way we are. The leading contender is:
COWABLE (Concerning Ourselves With A Balanced Life Evermore)
Please tell me you have a better idea!
Saturday, February 09, 2008
S'mores
Based on my 8 year old daughter's oh, so pithy comments, it looks like we have all the ingredients we need for s'mores:
"Mom, your buns look like marshmellows. [insert my disgusted look here] Not the big ones, just a bunch of little ones."
"My buns are like crackers because they are so hard and boney."
Her prayer the other night: "Dear God, please help me sleep like dark chocolate tonight."
"Mom, your buns look like marshmellows. [insert my disgusted look here] Not the big ones, just a bunch of little ones."
"My buns are like crackers because they are so hard and boney."
Her prayer the other night: "Dear God, please help me sleep like dark chocolate tonight."
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Epiphany
I caught a glimpse of how I want to die earlier this month.
At church on Epiphany, I was a lay reader for the "ugly service." That is to say, the service I usually try to avoid because the music is so campfire that I cringe. Still, I love the people of our parish. The preaching is good and the congregation is about a loving a family as you will ever find. I want to be a lay reader more than I dislike the ugly service, and I understand a little more, now, why I was placed there on that January morning.
Frank and Nikki also attend that service. They have been married nearly 60 years, and are so darn cute. They are short (everyone seems short to my 5'9 1/2"), always impeccably dressed, and have attended our parish for a very long time. I was fortunate to have served on altar guild with Nikki for a period of time, where we had long conversations about children and marriage as we executed our holy housekeeping. Sadly, with age comes changes. Nikki is now starting to lose her memory, and Frank is starting to feel the effects of some as-of-yet undiagnosed illness.
On January 6, they were sitting two rows behind us. I heard Frank breathing heavily, and when I glanced behind me, he looked unusually pale. Still, Nikki was not outwardly concerned, so I really had no reason to be. During communion, Nikki served as a LEM (lay eucharistic minister) up at the altar. My family approached to receive, and on the way back, I noticed that Frank had stayed seated, and his eyes were closed. My gut grew tighter. I watched another friend, also serving, approach Frank in the pew to serve him in his place. The piano was playing "O, Little Town of Bethlehem" gently and quietly. Frank could not be woken. Several men (including one of our EMTs) lowered Frank to the floor, and the rest of us stayed on the kneelers praying hard. I remember Nikki rushing past me, gasping a desparate, "Oh, no." She sat near him for a time, then allowed herself to be comforted by friends in the back.
Frank did wake up, and even smiled. The ambulance finally arrived, and he was hospitalized for a few days, and released with no explanation for this episode. While it was happening, I did pray for him, for his soul, for Nikki, and I put myself in his place. If it were my time to die, I would rather it not be so public, but then again, what a lovely and peaceful way: among your extended church family (and our congregation really does feel like a family), hearing piano music (after 31 years playing the piano I am still desparately in love with the sound of piano music), with prayers guiding your path to heaven.
At church on Epiphany, I was a lay reader for the "ugly service." That is to say, the service I usually try to avoid because the music is so campfire that I cringe. Still, I love the people of our parish. The preaching is good and the congregation is about a loving a family as you will ever find. I want to be a lay reader more than I dislike the ugly service, and I understand a little more, now, why I was placed there on that January morning.
Frank and Nikki also attend that service. They have been married nearly 60 years, and are so darn cute. They are short (everyone seems short to my 5'9 1/2"), always impeccably dressed, and have attended our parish for a very long time. I was fortunate to have served on altar guild with Nikki for a period of time, where we had long conversations about children and marriage as we executed our holy housekeeping. Sadly, with age comes changes. Nikki is now starting to lose her memory, and Frank is starting to feel the effects of some as-of-yet undiagnosed illness.
On January 6, they were sitting two rows behind us. I heard Frank breathing heavily, and when I glanced behind me, he looked unusually pale. Still, Nikki was not outwardly concerned, so I really had no reason to be. During communion, Nikki served as a LEM (lay eucharistic minister) up at the altar. My family approached to receive, and on the way back, I noticed that Frank had stayed seated, and his eyes were closed. My gut grew tighter. I watched another friend, also serving, approach Frank in the pew to serve him in his place. The piano was playing "O, Little Town of Bethlehem" gently and quietly. Frank could not be woken. Several men (including one of our EMTs) lowered Frank to the floor, and the rest of us stayed on the kneelers praying hard. I remember Nikki rushing past me, gasping a desparate, "Oh, no." She sat near him for a time, then allowed herself to be comforted by friends in the back.
Frank did wake up, and even smiled. The ambulance finally arrived, and he was hospitalized for a few days, and released with no explanation for this episode. While it was happening, I did pray for him, for his soul, for Nikki, and I put myself in his place. If it were my time to die, I would rather it not be so public, but then again, what a lovely and peaceful way: among your extended church family (and our congregation really does feel like a family), hearing piano music (after 31 years playing the piano I am still desparately in love with the sound of piano music), with prayers guiding your path to heaven.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Me and Wierdness
OK, Mel, I'm taking the challenge. This is because I seem to have NO time to maintain a thought long enough to write about it, and this is a challenge I can accomplish in small bursts of time.
“THE RULES: Each player of this game starts with the “6 weird things about you.” People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave a comment that says “you are tagged” in their comments and tell them to read your blog.”
1. When I have to go to the bathroom really, really badly, my teeth hurt.
2. I cannot fall asleep in an unmade bed. I must climb between sheets that have been neatly tidied, preferably with hospital corners.
3. I never have cake on my birthday, which is in December. Only lemon meringue pie.
4. When I was pregnant with our second child, I didn't know I was pregnant until I was 4 months along and happened to go my doctor to find out why I was gaining so much weight.
5. When I was baptized as an infant, I cried so loudly that the minister forgot the rest of the service.
6. I like my (unsweetened, no lemon) iced tea to be not very cold. Room temperature is fine with me. And iced tea with an old-fashioned donut is the perfect breakfast.
“THE RULES: Each player of this game starts with the “6 weird things about you.” People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave a comment that says “you are tagged” in their comments and tell them to read your blog.”
1. When I have to go to the bathroom really, really badly, my teeth hurt.
2. I cannot fall asleep in an unmade bed. I must climb between sheets that have been neatly tidied, preferably with hospital corners.
3. I never have cake on my birthday, which is in December. Only lemon meringue pie.
4. When I was pregnant with our second child, I didn't know I was pregnant until I was 4 months along and happened to go my doctor to find out why I was gaining so much weight.
5. When I was baptized as an infant, I cried so loudly that the minister forgot the rest of the service.
6. I like my (unsweetened, no lemon) iced tea to be not very cold. Room temperature is fine with me. And iced tea with an old-fashioned donut is the perfect breakfast.
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