Daily Coping Skills

What the Bayeux Tapestry Doesn't Show

2012-01-26T05:31:00.000-08:00

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Forget about the Doomsday Book and the massive redistribution of land ownership and the changes in law, The Battle of Hastings in 1066 was pivotal because that's when we became dandified by the Normans and started saying beef instead of, "Here's your cowflesh, enjoy your meal."

Yesterday, when I told my 5 yo son we were having fish sandwiches he laughed inexplicably heartily. I waited.

"You're gonna lay dead fish in between two slices of bread?

"Well, yes my little Germanic-Saxon that is precisely and grossly exactly what I'm going to do."

He paused a moment, "Well I KNOW they won't have little x's on their eyeballs."

That's a relief.

Perhaps I should spend some time showing him the Bayeux Tapestry and avoiding Fleischer Studio dvds.

There's that Fleisch again.

Pros And Cons

2012-01-25T09:42:00.000-08:00

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Just noticed my post title could refer to the Ocean's 11 series. That's not what I meant.

I've been pondering this morning how when you mentally list the pros of something they may betray one by appearing simultaneously on the cons list.

For instance, when listing the pros and cons of home schooling chronically ill children the pro list might include:

Home schooling year round so that it's easy to take time off for hospitalizations and doctors appointments without blowing your school year.
Being able to teach to your child's individual level in all subjects.

Becauuuuse....

Having to home school year round well, bummer.
Being able to teach to your child's individual level is more work, duh.

Another example of tricky pros and cons is having a veggie garden pro and con list:

Fresh veggies.
Getting to work outside.

Because.

Fresh veggies are noticeably lacking on my children's personal pro list.
Getting to work outside, emphasis on the word work as opposed to toddling about in the sunshine with pretty garden tools.

This is why I should go back to bed and eat bonbons, in the off chance that the world will become black and white in my absence.

Reading Week: 2

2012-01-15T16:53:00.000-08:00

The Sick-In-Bed Edition

This week, Parzival, by Wolfram von Eschenback, was on the list. It was an odd read, until I awoke in the middle of the night and got one of the jokes. Oh yeah- note to self, it has comedic elements. But mostly lots of red lips on both men and women, and a general lack of any character that was not exceptional in every way.

I need a book on chivalric customs because many of the scenes were so- odd.

If anyone thinks soap-operas are a recent contrivance then they need to take a gander at medieval works or norse myths or The Epic of Gilgamesh for that matter.

My father, whom I successfully bullied into reading along and happened to already have a copy of Parzival on his shelf (imagine those odds) commented, "The only ugly person in the whole work was the sorceress. Everyone else was at one stage of beautiful or gorgeous. After a while the comparisons did not seem very convincing."

I ditched Parzival about 3/4 through when I started coming down with whatever crud hit me and landed me in bed this weekend and picked up Günter Grass's Cat And Mouse instead. It was fascinating though not exactly a fun read but I couldn't put it down until I had finished it. I'd love to hash out the meaning with other reader's- anyone out there that's read it recently? Thoughts?

Anyone?

Bueller?

Happy reading!

Native Tennessee Giraffes

2012-01-12T13:20:00.000-08:00

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Random meets Coincidence

On today's drive home my 4 yo asked, "Why do long-necks only eat long-necks?"

"What's a long-neck? Is it a kind of animal?"

"I don't know?"

"Hmmm. I'm sorry, I don't know what your question means."

"I don't either," he replied in a melancholy voice.

17 yo took her head out of the novel Buddenbrooks, "There's long-neck in Buddenbrooks: Miss Langhals."

Silence.

We turned the corner and saw a real life long-neck. The touted but seldom seen Tennessee Giraffe.

But what does it eat?

Hold Tight To Your Brains

2012-01-11T07:58:00.000-08:00

Which begs the question...

where does one dump brains?

Reading: Week 1

2012-01-08T08:45:00.000-08:00

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I read Hildebrandslied over Christmas and my 17 yo was reading our copy of Niebelungenlied so I skipped ahead from my list and picked up All's Quiet On The Western Front. Nothing like skipping ahead almost 1,000 years in a supposedly chronological study of German literature...

All's Quiet was most impressive. Well written and shocking. Yet compared to so many current novels that seem to want to titillate with shock, the book rang honest. Warfare portrayed without a sentimental overlay and yet honor and humanity was a constant subtext.

I found it interesting that the book was almost entirely without enemies. In Remarque's telling one takes the villains with you into war.

This line really struck me, "It is very queer that the unhappiness of the world is so often brought on by small men. They are so much more energetic and uncompromising than the big fellows."

I'm also currently reading Parzival by Wolfram Von Eschenback. The contrast of a medieval tale full of single-hand combat and Remarque's WWI was jarring.

To muddy up the chronology even more I finished Undine by Fouqué.

My fist impression at the beginning of the story was that Undine would have benefitted by a good spanking from her fisher-parents. I only continued reading because my 17 year old encouraged me. As an imaginative fairy-tale/ghost story I can appreciate it.

I actually like the movie Ondine better.

Happy Reading!

Crafts Meet Medieval Lawn Supplies

2012-01-05T15:16:00.000-08:00

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My 5 yo ran into my room with an exciting new craft idea.

"We could go into the garage and get a round piece of wood and attach it to a chain what is golden and then attach spikey things to the ball of wood and then swing the chain and smash the ball into things."

"A mace", said I.

"What's a mace."

"A round ball with spikes attached to a chain."

"Oh, yeah."

"Just what sort of things do you want to smash?"

"Oh, just the ground. We wouldn't make the spikey things too sharp to hurt anyone. Maybe we could hit bugs."

Sooooo, now I'm picturing 3 boys in the front yard with homemade maces. How long do you think it would take them to aerate the lawn?

Beware of Sleep

2012-01-02T07:54:00.000-08:00

Doctor: If you lift the left eye-lid you can see what they are dreaming.

Med. Student: Hmmmm.

Patient: Zzzzzzzz.

Putting the Laundry out to dry.

52 in 52

2011-12-28T13:45:00.000-08:00

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I'm joining a book challenge this year. 52 books in 52 weeks. Even though I'm a reader it sounds insane to me. However, I never claimed to be entirely sane.

With the exception of Kafka and Nietzsche, I never read German literature in school, so I thought that my particular spin on the 52 would be to do a survey of German lit. through the ages.

I've melded a variety of book lists together to come up with my particular list and added some oddball choices. I like the Cornelia Funke series- and I thought it would be a nice break from heavier reading.

I've talked one daughter into reading along and my father said (rather vaguely and probably not intentionally) that he'd like to do it too.

I reserve the right to read only the easy choices in German and the rest in English, because, well- have you looked at Hesse's, The Glass Bead Game!?! The English translation makes my brain hurt, the original German, assuming I could manage it- which I couldn't, would make my eyebrows get red hot.

D'Aulaire's Norse Mythology
Hildebrandslied
Cornelia Funke, Tintenherz
Hartman von Aue, Der arme Heinrich (1195)
Nibelungenlied (1200)
Wolfram von Eschenback, Parzival (1200/10)
Johan van Saaz, Ackermann aus Böhmen (1400)
Poetry of Walther von der Vogelweide
H.J. Chrisotffe von Grimmelshausen, Simplixius Simplicissimus or Die Landstörzerin Courasche (1670)
Andreas Gryphius, Squentz (1658)
Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, Emilia Gaolotti (1772) or Nathan der Weise (1779)
Jakob Michael Reinhold Lenz, Die Soldaten (1776)
Immanuel Kant, Beantwortung der Frage: Was is Aufklären? (1784)
Johann Wolfgang Goethe, Die Leiden des jungen Werther (1774/1787) or Die Wahlverwandtschaften (1809)
Friedrich Schiller, Die Räuber (1781)
Friedrich Schiller, Wilhelm Tell (1804)
Cornelia Funke, Tintenblut
Heinrich Wilhelm von Kleist, Das Edbeben in Chili (1806)
Ludwig Tieck, Der blonde Eckbert (1796)
Clemens Brentano, Die Geschichte vom braven Kasperi und dem schönen Anneri (1817)
Joseph von Eichendorff, Aus dem Leben eines Taugenichts (1826)
Friedrich de la Motte Fouqué, Undine (1811)
Ernst Theodor Amadeus Hoffmann, Die Elixiere des Teufels (1815)
Heinrich Heine, Deutschland. Ein Wintermärchen (1844)
Georg Büchner, Junges Deutschland or Woyzeck (1836)
Annette von Droste-Hülshoff, Die Judenbuche (1842)
Friedrich Hebbel, Maria Magdalene (1843)
Gottfried Keller , Der grüne Heinrich (1854-55) or Romeo und Julia auf dem Dorfe (1856) or Kleider machen Leute (1874)
Theodor Storm, Der Schimmelreiter (1888)
Theodor Fontane, Frau Jenny Triebel (1893) or Effi Briest (1895)
Gerhard Hauptmann, Sonnenaufgang (1889)
Arthur Schnitzler, Leutnant Gusti (1901)
Thomas Mann, Buddenbrooks (1901)
Cornelia Funke, Tintentod
Thomas Mann, Der Zauberberg (1924)
Robert Musil, Die Verwirrungen des Zöglings Törleß (1906)
Heinrich Mann, Der Untertan (1918) or Professor Unrat
Hermann Hesse, Das Glasperlenspiel (1943)
Bertolt Brecht , Neue Sachlichkeit or Mutter Courage (1941)
Franz Kafka, Die Verwandlung (1912)
Alfred Döblin, Berlin Alexanderplatz (1929)
Joseph Roth, Radetzkymarsch (1932)
Elias Canetti, Die Blendung (1936)
Wolfgang Borchert, Draussen vor der Tür (1947)
Wolfgang Koeppen, Tauben im Gras (1951)
Stefan Zwieg, Die Welt von Gestern (1943)
Anna Seghers, Das siebte Kreuz (1942)
Erich Maria Remarque, All Quiet On the Western Front
Heimito von Dodener , Die Strudhofstiege (1951)
Max Frisch, Montauk (1975)
Friedrich Dürrenmatt, Die Physiker (1962)
Heinrich Böll, Ansichten eines Clowns (1963)
Günter Grass, Die Blechtrommel (1959)
Christa Wolf, Nachdenken über Christa T. (1968)
Ulrich Plenzdorf, Die neuen Leiden des jungen Werther (1972)
Thomas Bernhard, Holzfällen (1984)
Patrick Süskind, Das Parfüm (1985)
Imre Kertész, Roman eines Schicksallosen

That's more than 52 because life is too short to read a book that one despises, so I gave myself options. On Sundays I'll post snippets about the week's readings- my daughter is going to give her opinions as well, for any other insane people out there who happen to be interested in German literature.

Happy New Years and happy reading!

What Home School Moms Do Over The Holidays*

2011-12-28T13:02:00.000-08:00

I am Woman, hear me roar.

Well, not roar, but see the (mostly) sanitized version of me butchering my first deer. Yes I am girly enough to be wearing a glove.

Angie, my teacher and friend, is waiting patiently for me to get that skin off.

As any self-respecting home-educating mother I packed up the kids to watch/help. It was a blast. A gross and educational blast.

The first venison dish I cooked was awesome.

Thanks to the hunters- Phil and William!

Thanks to Angie and Jeff for lending us the use of their tree and for only laughing at me a little.

*I never thought about how much red-necks and home schoolers have in common...

I'm Dreaming Of A Brown Christmas?

2011-12-22T06:43:00.000-08:00

Who needs snow for snowballs?

Efficiency Experts

2011-12-21T06:59:00.000-08:00

"Dad took moving pictures of us children washing dishes, so that he could

figure out how we could reduce our motions and thus hurry through the task."

Dr Frank Gilbreth, Cheaper By the Dozen

Once as a child, wandering through the legs of coffee drinking and chatting ladies my mother was entertaining, I was asked if I had any chores. I beamed and proudly proclaimed that I had many, including cleaning my own bathroom.

I was eager to share my new bathtub cleaning discover with my apparently eager audience. It was quite a while later before I understood just why the watching faces began to grimace when I explained that my short arms made tub-scrubbing difficult but that by scrubbing the toilet first, and thereby getting the toilet brush nice and wet, I could use the toilet brush to scrub the far corners of the tub, thus entirely circumventing my short-arm problem.

Brilliant, no?

Brilliance runs in my family.

"Find the laziest worker and study his approach."

also by Dr Frank Gilbreth

My 5 year old is responsible for drying and putting away the silverware. Let's just say that the shine has worn off the responsibility. He often dawdles. So the other morning, as I doing paperwork in the kitchen, a part of my brain registered that said 5 year old was working on his huge stack of silverware with unusual uniform motion and efficiency.

He would grab a utensil standing tall,

and in ballet terms he'd demi-plié ,

do something I couldn't see,

return to first position and pop the utensil in the drawer.

Hmmmm, I investigated.

He was sticking each utensil between his pliéd legs, closing his legs and then pulling out the now jean-dried silverware and popping it away.

Who needs those pesky, annoying dishtowels?

Traveling With a Chronic Condition

2011-12-16T09:10:00.000-08:00

Or: The Never Ending Search For The Right Purse

Over Thanksgiving my entire family drove to Grandma's house which is 11 hours away. Packing for a family trip with a van load of children is always involved but when you add chronically ill children to the mix there are extra steps one learns to do.

My extra steps:

Ensure that both my sons' letters of medical protocol are up-to-date and not stained with too many coffee cup rings or sticky with gum from the bottom of my purse.
Pack a folder with abreviated medical records, just in case.
Pack extra meds. in case I do something stupid, like trip in the night and spill the entire contents of a bottle. Not that I've ever done that... oh, wait, I have.
In fact. on meds.- since one son is still on mostly liquid medication I have the pharmacist fill 4 small bottles instead of one large one. They are easier to handle, plus if he gets a virus and I've accidentally double dipped with an oral syringe I haven't contaminated his entire supply.
Pack extra syringes.
Pack all of the above meds. and supplies in two separate locations, just in case.
Call ahead and find out where the nearest E.R. is located and do some research to try and discover whether it is staffed with monkeys or caring professionals. I do this online at FOD Family Support Group because they are they go-to support group for my sons' particular condition.
Call ahead and get the name and location of the closest hospital staffed with a metabolic specialist.
Pack the car with enough food for the trip, because road-side fast food is not an option.
Look at the itinerary and figure the furthest we will be from medical care and decide if that is acceptable. We have family in an area of the country that I cannot take my 5 year old to see, they are just too far from a children's hospital for me to take the risk.
Find a purse that all of the above will fit into.

Then I count my blessings. My sons can travel. I don't have to pack large medical equipment.

Btw, we had a great time at Grandma's.

Plurals

2011-12-07T00:16:00.000-08:00

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I spent time driving the kid's car yesterday. Besides being a sticky experience an overly helpful security guard blew out the electical system jump-starting the car for my son last week. We got everything fixed but the radio.

No music means lots more talking.

Talking 5 year olds involves a lot of grammar. I have to admit to zoning out, only to zone back in on language usage problems. My brain was somewhere in Tahiti when I heard, "So do wolf-feses really like to fight?"

"They're wolves."

"Were-wolves like to fight, but mom, do wolf-feses like to fight?"

"No sweetie. One is a wolf but more than one- they're wolves."

"Hmmmm, so when there is more than one they're were-wolves, and they like to fight?"

Later on the way to our first ever karate class....

"Is the teacher going to be a man or a woman?"

"I think it's a man."

"Do only mans teach karate?"

"No, honey and we say men not mans. One is a man but 2 makes men."

Short silence from the back seat followed by, "So man plus men equals 3."

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Worried Racoons

2011-12-05T20:57:00.000-08:00

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Define Righteousness: Why?

Let's backtrack. Sunday I listened to a lesson on worry by Craig Evans. He got me to thinking... drat that man...

So Righteousness-
James 2:23 "And the scripture was fulfilled that says, "Abraham believed God, and it was credited to him as righteousness," and he was called God's friend."

On Worry, righteousness pops up again-
Christ says in Matthew 6:25, 33-34 "Therefore I say to you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink nor about your body, what you will put on... But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you."

Webster defines righteousness as 1. acting in accord with divine or moral law: free from guilt or sin.

I like Abraham's route to righteousness. Faith ought to be easier than Webster, right?

Buuuuut, faith in the Creator requires a submission of the spirit. I Peter 5:6, "Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time, casting all your care upon Him for he cares for you."

Cares for me, wow. But just doing what the day requires and letting go of my invisible and completely imaginary hold over the possible happenings of the future? That's a different matter.

The funny thing is that even if I am unable to trust God to care for me; as Christ says in Matthew 6:27, "Which of you by worry can add one cubit to his stature?"

Evidently, I'm not quite as smart as the racoon in Where the Red Fern Grows. -The one that was trapped by the butter churn because it wouldn't let go of its handful of butter. At least it was smart enough to try holding onto something yummy...

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Smallville

2011-12-03T20:03:00.000-08:00

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What's better than tucking two freshly scrubbed and shampooed little boys into bed while older children string Christmas lights and blast Drumming Song by Florence and the Machine?

Or, what's better than sitting over a post-parade spaghetti dinner listening to your children discuss what sort of dog they want. Not that getting a dog is an option.

10 year old, "I want a black lab."

12 year old, "But purebreds are usually stupid."

5 year old, "I want an Irish Wolf Hound."

Not that dogs are an option. Especially dogs with digestive systems the size of San Francisco.

4 year old, "I want to go to the store and get a dinosaur, a nice one."

5 year old, "You can't buy a dinosaur, and it would be too big anyway."

"I CAN TOO! And I'll build a metal house for it and teach it to fight the robots."

Or, what's better than going to a small town parade with people you love and watching your little's eyes sparkle at EVERYTHING and watching your older kids meet up with friends and help give out candy.

What's better? Maybe it's doing it all in one evening, a small town evening, topped with a pot of hot tea.

Smallville rocks.

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Odds and Ends- or maybe just Dregs

2011-11-30T08:49:00.000-08:00

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When I signed in to blogger today they promised that their new interface was, "Clean and modern." I haven't seen a sign with the spectacular promise of Modern since I was a child and a dilapidated sign in the teeny tiny West Texas town near my grandparents farm promised both, "air conditioning and modern rooms," as an enticement to brave their Bates-motel establishment.

Onto Dregs. I am the grinch. In surveying my non-holiday decorated house this morning all I could think was- will my children notice if we don't have a tree and it's accompanying clutter this year?

Heavy sigh. I'm pretty sure they'll notice. Last year I got away with not putting up our huge fake tree because my husband and I bought a live Norway Spruce as our anniversary gift to each other and put it in the living room. My children were unimpressed with it's 3 1/2 foot splendor and the fact that I wouldn't let them put lights on it.

Less clutter, but the fear and trembling with which I had to work to make sure the expensive thing didn't get shocked and die before we planted it in the backyard was exhausting. Besides the expense, having your 23rd anniversary present die would be pretty depressing.

Exhaustion versus clutter versus permanently scarring my children's holiday spirit.... hmmmm.

Am I the only one out there that wants to run at the first sightings of Christmas sweaters, and that sees seasonal decorations only as dust-catchers?

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Honesty Is The Best Policy?

2011-11-28T11:58:00.000-08:00

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I went to a local community bank this morning to open savings accounts for my 4 and 5 year old boys. The joy at realizing that they would both be getting identical plastic piggy banks knew no bounds.

The noise that a few dollar coin pieces can make in a plastic piggy bank in the hands of aforementioned mancubs also knows no bounds.

I explained to both boys that I would use a Sharpie pen at home to write their names on the pig's bellies. My 4 year old held up his hands, palms forward, and said, "No, Mommy don't do that," at this point he took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, "because when I loose mine I'll just take Brother's and I don't want his name to be on it."

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Puddy Muddles

2011-11-21T13:22:00.000-08:00

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How tempting is a mud puddle
lying still and silky,
reflecting sky and White Pine boughs?

There it is, secreted behind the climbing cube.
Calling with a slight ripple
caused by the fall wind.

That same cool fall wind that in the perverseness
of mothers deems muddy water out of season.
Out of bounds,
and "you may not get your clothing wet and no face paint either."

Face paint
Fishing tank
cauldron of mysteries
holder of globby muddy snowless snowballs.

Why, why not?
Temptations of childhood are a myriad lot,
but none so strong, and fraught with discovery
as illegal muddy puddles.

Yes But... No

2011-11-19T07:18:00.000-08:00

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I was reading about some of Jesus' miracles to my 5 and 3 year old sons when it occured to me to ask if they knew what the word miracle meant. When the 5 year old answered no I attempted to explain.

Exlaining what a miracle is is harder than one might think. It's easy to end up describing either Harry Potter or an X Man and not divine nature.

My 5 year old got excited and interrupted my obviously boring miracle-example of water turned to wine. "Did Jesus ever," he looked around for ideas and grabbed the pencil from the table in front of him, "make a pencil float up and make it fly into a bad guy's eye?"

I must have looked horrified because he added, "Not to poke through the bad guy's eye or anything, just to give him a really bad black eye."

My 3 year old was listening with rapt attention until I attempted to explain that no, in fact God's plan was not to send Jesus to beat up bad guys, but to love them and turn them into good guys.

Boring.

A couple of early mornings later my still pajama clad 3 year old had kissed his dad goodbye and shut the front door with big-boy aplomb. I reminded him to lock the door. "Why?", he asked.

"We don't want bad guys to come in."

"But God loves bad guys."

Yes, but....

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That Pesky th Sound

2011-11-16T08:02:00.000-08:00

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My 5 year old abruptly asked, "So was he just really really fat?"

"Who?"

"Fatty-ous."

"Who?"

"You know", my son spoke more slowly. Obviously Mom was not on top of her game, " One of Jesus's disciples."

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Through a Mirror

2011-11-14T07:16:00.000-08:00

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I went to the park in a funk on Friday, put there in part by new hospital bills and new medication needs for my 5 year old. I had one of those headaches that have you seriously considering attempting self trepannation. I was hoping the little boys would wear themselves out, while I sat like a reclusive sloth on the sidelines.

No such luck. The only free bench was mined with a chatty mother watching her daughters. Sure enough as soon as I sat, with my hood up, my body in a non-attitude of chattiness, the chatty mother began to chat.

I'm glad.

One of her two daughters has a chronic ilnness, she told me out of the blue. She had no idea that she was speaking to a fellow "caretaker" of a chronically ill child.

This articulate mom was at the park with her polite, smart, well-behaved, social little girls. She's managing her daughter's illness so well that her daughter can be out and about, learning and playing and being a child. Until her daughter's next crisis...

Yet, this mom wasn't basking in the peace of the sunny play day, she was frustrated with a myriad of things from chronic lack of sleep to her weight gain since her daughter's last round of hospitalizations to the feeling of being "undisciplined" and not accomplishing enough. She was frustrated that though she is a christian she is still sometimes gripped with fear when she looks at her daughter. She felt that she should be over that by now. And that's just what she shared in our 45 minute acquaintance.

I didn't have many words for her. All I could think was, really? And then I checked to make sure I was speaking to a real person and not some phantom projection of my subconscious. I hope that venting relived her spirit. I hope she gets some sleep.

It was illuminating to see the commonalilty of frustrations and the tendency towards an exhausted sort of self-flagellation among caretakers. A sort of tunnel vision that lacks grace for self.

She will probably never know how she relieved my gloom. It is always illuminating to see one's self, even be it dimly, through the mirror of someone else.

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Dreamy Concert Grands

2011-11-13T09:07:00.000-08:00

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This morning as I was pouring a cup of coffee my 17 year old rounded the corner already dressed for her part time job.

My daughter is a pianist and plans on majoring in piano. At school she plays on Steinway Grands. Alas, at home it's just a Craig's list fussy upright piano- the kind whose purpose is usually limited to acting as a 350 pound holder of doilies and framed cat photos.

She practies at school instead of home a lot, even though it means she has to drive in to work with my husband at 5:45 a.m.

Seeing her triggered my memory of a dream I had had in the night; I was listening to her play but she was frustrated with our little upright- when I suddenly remembered that our concert grand was out on the covered back deck, we had merely forgotten it was there.

My husband quickly got some power tools and cut a hole in the dining room wall so he could slide the grand piano back into the house. Problem solved, and the finish on the Steinway Grand was only a little dulled by it's 3 months outside.

My psychology-class-taking-college-student-son, who was perched on a stool eating breakfast while I recounted my dream, commented that Freud would call the dream wish fulfillment, but that Freud's system of dream analysis has been thouroughly discredited and was never based on actual research anyway.

So, I'm thinking if Freud has been thoroughly discredited I need to check the back deck quickly, before the finish dulls even more.

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Parched

2011-11-12T08:30:00.000-08:00

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I've been underwater all week with the combination of a cold, worries and the kind of tiredness that comes from your heart and makes your bones heavy.

My 17 year old has me reading Les Misérables this month. Hint, don't read Les Mis. when you are bone weary. It won't help. I opted to endure my daughter's literary scorn and read The Power Of Six instead. I also read Disappointment With God, by Yancey.

Power Of Six- who writes in all present tense? Oh, Pittacus Lore. Nothing like blowing up some aliens and enduring some poorly thought out anti-catholic sentiments that are quickly followed by fatalistic philosophy- also poorly developed. I did enjoy the blowing up of the aliens, but I'm deep like that...

Disappointment With God, though it had not a single sword or ray gun, was surprisingly uplifting. The main thing I took away from the book was that I either believe God or not. I either believe he is, and by definition he loves, or I don't.

I, an almost yuppie, who loves to over-analyze everything could get used to the freedom of not having to figure everything out.

On Wednesday my 5 year old asked me if there would be hospitals in heaven. He looked worried when I told him no. He looked radiant when I explained why there would be no hospitals.

The radiance of a child's faith.

Refreshing.

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Off Track And Under Dressed

2011-11-10T10:23:00.000-08:00

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Sometimes the simplest things take forever.

I was reading my 3 and 5 year old a very simple version of the baptism of Christ.

John the Baptist's clothing came into question.

"Why is he dressed different?"

"He's wearing animal skins."

"Where's the animal?"

I explained as briefly as possible and attempted to finish the story.

"So he took out the animal's insides? Well, that makes sense. Because if he didn't then he'd have blood running down his legs, and he's not wearing any pants, so that would be gross."

"Really gross", affirmed the 3 year old at top volume as he leaped off the ottoman to climb up and see the picture. "Why isn't he wearing any pants!?!"

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Interrogations and Negotiations

2011-11-05T09:53:00.000-07:00

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I'm pretty sure every mother loves it when people ask their children random questions. I know I can generally depend on my children to answer in unusual and usually unflattering ways. Recently my 5 year old was peppered with questions.

"So, what grade are you in?"

"I don't go to school."

"Oh", surprised look because my 5 year old is so tall he looks almost 7,"well then,do you like to play outside??"

"I like to just watch T.V. And play video games all day."

Perfect, an answer to make any parent proud. He doesn't GO to school because we home school... We don't even get television because we don't have cable. We also don't have any video game gizmos- no Wii, X-box, or whatever the latest video-flavor is current.

My son was answering not what he does but what he would do if the governing of the universe were in his control. Thank goodness it is not.

I was treated with a condemnatory look that made me want to giggle and add in a whiney voice that my son wears Velcro sneakers because tying shoes is just too hard and that he eats cheeseo's with Spam and Sprite for breakfast because he, "Just won't eat anything else".

If my mothering is going to be condemned because of my son's imagination, I might as well take a flight of fancy too. In for a penny in for a pound...

No t.v. But my kids do watch movies. I figure the negotiation skills my children are learning through the arduous process of choosing a movie that the majority can agree on is priceless.

Yesterday after 50 minutes of non-stop bargaining between the three youngest my 3 year old ran into the kitchen holding up a movie. "I agree, I agree, we can watch this movie now!"

As he was unaccompanied and I could still hear the sounds of shuffling in the movie cupboard from the next room I asked, "Who agrees with you on this movie?"

He looked at me as if it were obvious, which I guess it was, "I agree with me. Can you put it in for us now?"

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I Think I'm Being Laughed At

2011-11-02T06:22:00.000-07:00

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One of the advantages of having a lot of children is that even if you don't have overwhelming worries about any one particular child you can pick and choose various small concerns, add them all together, and lay awake worrying over the sum of all the parts.

It's fabulous.

A couple of weeks ago I was laying awake worrying and unsuccessfully working on not worrying. I had decided to focus my worry on one of my children's upcoming college midterms- because let's face it, what's the fun in late-night-worries if it is about something that you have any control whatsoever over?

And we all know that possibly poor college midterms will lead to the permanent downslide of a child into madness and depravity, subsequently submerging the earth into war, anarchy and chaos. And I would be the mom of the child that did it.

Finally I got out of bed and decided to open scripture and do some reading for comfort. I didn't want to go to Matthew 6 and read Christ's teaching on worry so I flipped open the Bible trying to hit a calming Psalms but something different popped open:

1 Samuel 2: Wherefore the sin of the young men was very great before the Lord; for men abhorred the offering of the Lord..... Now Eli was very old, and heard all that his sons did unto all Israel; and how they lay with the women that assembled at the door of the tabernacle of the congregation.... And this shall be a sign unto thee, that shall come upon thy two sons, on Hopni and Phineahs ; in one day they shall die both of them.

What?

Oh, yeah, Perspective. The Bible seems to be full of it.

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Halloween Hangovers

2011-11-01T10:14:00.000-07:00

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Candy Hangover that is.... necessitates a small chocolate Hershey's bar at 5:30 a.m., before the kids see. Hair of the dog and all that. With piping hot coffee, yum.

Halloween at our house is a pretty cheap affair. $3.50 for duct tape and a t-shirt is transformed into a knights mail-of-amour. We already have plenty of capes, swords, scabbards and shields- 4 boys will do that to you, not to mention daughters who were obsessed with the Redwall series, Tolkein, and Howard Pyle's version of King Arthur.

Indeed, several years went by in which my oldest 4 children were always armed and spoke only their version of Middle English. "A boon! a boon! I do beseech this of thee, mine mother, that when thou preparest luncheon it includeth a fair portion of dessert for each of these deserving knights."

I've lost track of how many treasure maps have threatened to catch fire in my kitchen during attempts to age and weather parchment purchased from Hobby Lobby.

My oldest just taught the 5 year old how to use his alphabet stamp kit with lemon juice on parchment in order to write secret messages. They look like crazed notes from a conspiracy theorist, or the uni-bomber.

Emerging literacy aside, my brain is fried from sacrificing myself for my children's health by eating their chocolate after they went to bed.

Today should be a national day of mourning for all the teacher's trying, against all odds, to teach hung over children anything on this day of sleep deprivation and sugar comas extraordinaire.

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Theology For 5 Year Olds

2011-10-28T08:00:00.000-07:00

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This morning I was greeted with the question,"If you are about to die and you yell real loud for God to save you right before you die, he'll save you- right?"

Coming from a chronically ill child who has survived several harrowing ambulance rides to the emergency room: this is not an idle question. This is a child who has prayed for other children with his same disorder, some of whom have since died.

Why do my children only ask questions like these early, before coffee, or so late in the evening that my brain is fried?

Last week this same child whispered to me that he sometimes thinks God isn't nice. He told me about praying for snow- and how "It Never Snows!", praying not to have to go to the hospital and, "having to go anyway."

His line of reasoning was scaring him. God not answering prayers = God not being good.

That is a scary thought.

It made me think about how we sometimes thoughtlessly mention Intelligent Design when describing a loving God; how God makes everything to work together perfectly because he loves us.

What does that mean theologically for a 5 year old who's body wasn't "perfectly" made? Whose body is lacking a critical enzyme?

He tried to trap me with a question about God's goodness- "Does God watch girls when they change clothes?"

We simplify the message of the Gospel and Creation so that it is accessible, but platitudes about God don't sustain, don't hold up to deeper questions.

I would imagine this problem holds true for any young children that are not basking in a Disney-esque perfect childhood. I'm praying that I listen when my children ask questions. I'm praying that I won't pretend to know the answers just because the questions make me uncomfortable.

Matthew 19:14
Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”

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What You See And What You Don't

2011-10-23T10:33:00.000-07:00

These are growing along my front sidewalk.

I didn't plant them there this year, they volunteered from a couple of seasons ago. Luckily I was too busy to weed them out this spring.

What you can't see is the overall shape and condition of my garden. Neglect would be the key characterizing word. My husband enjoyed the vivid color enough to snap the photo. He carefully left the rest of the garden out of the snapshot.

He loves me like that.

Not A Synonym and Too Much Hank

2011-10-21T05:56:00.000-07:00

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My 5 year old checked out a Hank the Cowdog c.d. from the library. Everywhere we drive we are accompanied by Hank's tales. I'm starting to cogitate in Hank's vernacular, see, because as head of this ranch's social life I do a lot of cogitation.

It's kind of like what happens after an overdose of Dr. Suess.

I was fixin dinner yesterday. "Fixin" because we live in the South. We fix a lot of things. We can even be fixin to fix a lot of things.

Anyway. I'll try to write normally now...

My 3 year old ran in the back door in a gleeful burst of fresh air and hollered, "I need a sharp knife to cut the skin off too!"

So of course I reached in the knife drawer and handed my 3 year old a sharp knife.

Wait, no I didn't. I believe what happened was a momentary tableau. At the exact moment that he hollered, "sharp knife, and, skin," several other family members were in motion moving through the dining room and kitchen. We all froze.

I think the word "skin" was the clincher.

"Um, what skin?"

"The skin like big brother is cutting off with his knife."

Well that was helpful. There was a general household-wide movement to the back door. "The skin of the pointy thing... you know..."

Why do children speak so slowly when you most want them to HURRY UP and get to the point.

"Oh, you know off a tree, a stick. The skin on a stick."

"Bark!" exhaled 3 or 4 listeners all at once.

I think we offended him with our laughter.

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Dangerous Platitudes

2011-10-16T14:16:00.000-07:00

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We depend on them to fill the empty spaces.
Embarrassing spaces between what we know
and what we feel.

Or what we know and what we fear.
Grammatical spaces between the subjunctive planned for
and the indicative received.

Platitudes,
lest one must openly say,
"Don't despair, kind friend, it may leave a stain on my brain and that won't do at all."

Platitude spray, a killing kindness-
thought repellant, most viscously efficient
at killing nothing short of Faith.

Murphy's Revenge

2011-10-13T05:24:00.000-07:00

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If you are squeamish, or are lucky enough to be eating a danish and enjoying some coffee, you might want to skip this post. Don't say I didn't warn you...

There is a lesser reported Murphy's Law of parenting. It covers the relationship between a freshly purged and cleaned child's room and how quickly and how disgusting it can become.

Last week was fall break. I cleaned out dressers, closets, mattress pads, pillows, sheets, blankets, toys, books. It was a full boy's-room purge. What was I thinking?

Nature abhors a... clean room?

My 19 yo commutes to college and has a bunk in his little brother's room. He also freelances as a grip in production. Yesterday morning he came out of his room still wearing his clothes from the day before. "Hey Mom, the music video shoot was a lot of fun, but I got home pretty late. It was in an old meatpacking plant that's been closed down for years- the architecture was interesting, but boy was it dirty, the dust was inches thick and was starting to turn back into soil." He picked up an english muffin and continued talking.

At this point my brain stuck on the fact that my son had slept in his nasty work clothes; I was wondering how to reenact the decontamination scene from Silkwood. And my son wonders why I sometimes don't pay attention to what he is saying.

I thought I had fulfilled Murphy's law. But I underestimated it.

This morning I played a well know and well despised game of "Horror Hunting." It's that lovely game that begins when a young child has been taken ill in the night, from one end or the other, and has subsequently walked through the house in search of assistance.

The rules of Horror Hunting are simple:

clean and comfort said child
backtrack their trail looking for artifacts of their passing
you must maintain a loving composure
you must avoid finding "artifacts" with your bare feet
gagging sounds are not allowed

My husband maintains that we need sloping floors and a large drain in the center of our home so I can occasionally just hose the whole house down.

Yet, how would Murphy equalize that, a falling satellite?

Define Chatting

2011-10-07T05:13:00.000-07:00

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When you have an emergent reader running errands with you, the conversation can turn into a Strip Mall Alphabetarian

"That said S T O P. Stop has a P in it. So does Panera. It also has an S. Starbucks starts with an S. Look, there's a Starbucks. McDonald's starts with M"

"No Honey, that's a Barnes & Noble. It starts with a B."

"No it's not, I see an S, that says Starbucks."

Small hint, never argue with the distance vision of a 5 year old. Barnes & Noble did indeed have a teeny tiny Starbucks sign. My literacy in question, my son moved on to automobiles.

"If you see these circles," I could see wild air-drawing in the rearview mirror, "they say Toyota."

This consumer education was almost non-stop. It was like driving with an overly enthusiastic tour guide.

"Mom, why does my foot hurt?'

"Is it asleep?" I asked.

"MY FOOT CAN FALL ASLEEP!?!"

A lesson on blood flow ensued. Then it was time to stop to eat. I mentioned that it was a special treat for just the two of us to eat out and that we could chat in the restaurant. There was a pause.

"I don't think I can chat."

"Why [on earth] not?"

"Well Mom, I don't chat. I only talk when I have something important to say... Or if I need to ask you a question."

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Pointless

2011-10-05T05:35:00.000-07:00

Pointless: without force, meaning, or relevance

I have figured out a couple of things about parenting a child with a chronic illness. Just a couple.

It's pointless to think about the things your child might not be able to do in the future.
It's pointless to wonder when the next hospitalization will come..

Yet I do think about these things.

Today, as my teens left for a 4 day hiking trip, I wondered if my 5 yo would ever be able to go on a trip like that.
I found an old hospital-bag in my closet yesterday while searching for the boys' winter clothes. Should I pack a bag for this winter?

When does wondering cross the pointless threshold?

I've come up with an addendum to the definition of pointless, if maudlin violin is playing in the background of my mind, I've reached self-indulgent pointlessness.

Wondering if my 5 yo will ever be able to go on a 4 day hiking trip? - definitely pointless.

Wondering if I should keep a hospital bag packed? - that's called planning.

If I want to wallow in self-indulgence I might as well eat chocolate because I don't even like violin music. That's why my children take piano.

Pushmi-pullu

2011-10-01T07:40:00.000-07:00

One size fits all?

Some nights, getting bathed and dressed for bed takes a detour-

into silliness.

From the Locker Room

2011-09-29T05:38:00.000-07:00

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My 3 year old son was born intent on world domination. He's an alpha male in a 3 foot tall body. I have to wonder, is precocious interest in girls part and parcel of being an alpha?

My 12 year old overheard the following conversation between my alpha 3 year old and my laid back 5 year old sons:

3 yo: "Do you think girls like me?"

5 yo: "Some do, I bet."

3 yo: "Why do girls like pink so much?"

5 yo: "I don't know. It's kinda weird."

3 yo: Deep sigh and then a rhetorical, "Why are girls so pretty?"

I'm thinking we should be planning for a wedding... in about 10 years.

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Not Quite A Homophone

2011-09-28T08:20:00.000-07:00

And Other Joys

My 5 yo goes to, "Invisible Therapy." It makes me laugh, to hear him say it, every. single. time.

I told my three year old that he was not allowed to color during nap time. He exclaimed with a sad face, "You Just Broke My Heart!"

Life is good, in the visible South.

Laundry Ethics

2011-09-24T06:23:00.000-07:00

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My washer ate a Haitian octagon-shaped coin. It did not agree with the pump. While waiting for the new part to come in I've been communing weekly with a laundromat.

Washing weekly instead of daily for a family of 9 means that I load up the back of my van with bag after bag after bag of smelly laundry... actually it means I have the children load up the van with bag after bag of smelly laundry, and then head to King Neptune for 2 hours of washing bliss.

I'm not kidding about the washing bliss part. I can knock out 12 loads of laundry in 2- 2 1/2 hours. Not only that but I can buy a large drink and sit by myself and read while the rest of the family does Saturday morning chores at home. As a bonus, when I arrive home to my newly clean house my family even feels sorry for me.

I shouldn't have let it slip that the Laundromat has free wifi, my husband is getting suspicious; last weekend he asked just when the part would arrive.

If it wasn't for the $25- $30 a weekend to use the Laundromat I might never fix my washer. Well, that and the fact that to keep to 12 loads a week I've become the laundry police, "What do you have on? No, wear what you had on yesterday. Sheets? No they don't need to be washed yet!"

Normally, my older kids do their own wash. Everyone helps fold- everyone puts their own things away. This is important because it prevents me from facing a moral dilemma faced by mothers everywhere-

Can I throw away this particular item of clothing that personally offends me while no one is looking and afterwards feign ignorance?

At the Laundromat, however, I have have no audience, no witnesses, no accusing glances to fear. If I simply pitch something there will be no wail of, "But that's my FAVORITE." Or even worse, the calm, self-assured voice of an older child asking, "Why are you throwing out the 3 year old's favorite pair of shorts?"

I'm not talking morally questionable clothing, modesty and respect are not involved. I'm speaking of personal preference and taste. I'm actually specifically referring to a pair of silver basketball shorts owned by one of my younger sons.

They are tacky.

That's it. They are just tacky. So of course, in accord with the mysterious physics of hated clothing, he will Never outgrow them and they will never stain or rip.

I recently read the book, Zebraland, by Marlene Roeder. In it she asks if who you are is defined by how you react most of the time, or how you react under extreme circumstances. Actually, she asks a lot of questions along the lines of whether people are basically good with occasional evil actions or basically evil with occasional good actions... thus the zebra stripe imagery.

Anyway, back to the laundry. Am I basically deceitful, with honest moments, or will I wash and fold these stupid silver shorts and take them home for another week?

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Beware of That Person

2011-09-22T04:19:00.000-07:00

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We have to drive to another city for my 5 year old's physical therapy- it's not too far, just 45 minutes but that's far enough that I have to take a snack for my son. Last week I forgot to pack one so we stopped; the only nearby option other than McDonalds was Panera. Admittedly not a great choice given my son is on a low-fat diet for his medical condition.

My 12 year old, along for the ride, was thrilled.

As I had my nose pressed against the display asking which muffin was the lowest in fat grams, I realized I was going to have to ask to see their published nutritional data because the thought bubble above the employee's head clearly stated:

"Bahhhh. It's a bakery. It's all empty calories, so what's the difference?- enjoy your food and stop holding up the line."

Their nutritional data is in a humongous 3 ring binder which was handed to me with an humiliating flourish. That was when I realized I have become That Person. The mother with weird needs for her children. Needs that don't make any sense to the casual bystander.

I ordered a fat-free muffin for my son, and a fat-full bearclaw for my 12 year old. My son's muffin came with an extra dollop of incredulous pity from the cashier.

"That Mother..."

Train of Thought

2011-09-12T05:54:00.000-07:00

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My husband and I were relaxing in the living room chatting this weekend; perhaps I should say attempting to chat while all the kids were home doing a million different things.

After the 17th interruption my husband pointed out that our large family has the timing of a sitcom.We sat and counted. Sure enough every 3- 6 seconds:

someone entered or exited from varying directions
a loud sound occurred off-stage
a person appeared with a question or a one-liner
random neighbor-children entered and exited carrying swords

All in all, a normal Sunday afternoon. It's a funny life...

and no commercials.

How to Help?

2011-09-09T13:05:00.000-07:00

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Pondering parenting.

I've been searching for articles about how to help children with chronic illnesses deal with fear. Most of the advice is so basic that it could have been written by a hamster.

I want nitty-gritty, in the trenches advice. -From people with experience, not just a deadline to post a feel-good upbeat article.

My 5 year old woke at 12:30 a.m. with an earache last weekend. Normal childhood stuff, except with his medical condition he's been hospitalized at least 3 times for metabolic de-compensation kicked off by a simple ear infection.

I did what I could to make him comfortable and to support his metabolism, but he was too wound up to sleep. I put in the most boring movie I could find and snuggled with him on the sofa. He chatted/asked movie questions non-stop until 4:30 a.m.

Out of the blue around 4:15 a.m. he confided, "I'm always asleep and then I wake up and have to go to the hospital when I feel this way."

5 year old logic: staying awake=no hospital.

After he explained his fear we talked and he relaxed, and fell asleep. I just wish I could have figured out the issue 4 hours earlier.

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Boys

2011-09-07T10:35:00.000-07:00

"Wow, what happened?" Not a good sign to have to ask that right after pulling back the covers-cocoon of your 9 year old son.

"Well Mom, After you left last night I jammed my finger."

"Yes, but your lip is enormous? I've never actually seen a fat lip until now."

"After I jammed my finger I figured out I had a bruise on my leg and arm."

"O.k...?"

"Then I was holding onto brother's arms. When he let go I flipped over the sofa and luckily didn't hit the piano, just my knee."

"What did you hit your knee on?"

"My lip. [of course, silly me] Then I was doing handstands and hit my back on a chair. That's when Dad said to sit down."

The 5 year piped up at this point, "Yeah Mom, we really need to get rid of the piano, it's kinda dangerous."

And that is my definition of Boys.

Not A Flying Toy

2011-09-06T11:34:00.000-07:00

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We've had a wooden jointed toy snake for years. Every few months I'll be in the boys room late at night re-tucking someone in and it will accidentally get bumped and slither down the wall from the top bunk.

I'm a transplanted West Texan. I've seen more than a few rattlers rattlin in the wild, in the suburbs, even downtown from a rattlesnake that had hitched a ride into town on the underside of a car. I know what a rattlesnake sounds like.

It sounds Exactly like my boys wooden toy snake. "It's just a toy, it's just a toy," is my calming chant- after I climb down from the ceiling fan.

My two little boys both recently got plastic toy snakes as a sort of prize. They are very realistic, they look just like baby snakes. They keep reappearing in the dryer. But, I've gotten used to them.

At the park last week my 3 year old was showing a 15 year old friend of the family his toy snake. Our teen friend was really impressed. "Wow, Miss Susan, I think that really is a snake."

"No, no, he got it at church. Look at it closely. Isn't it amazing?"

"Uh, Miss Susan, that's not a toy." Whereupon our friend tossed it to the ground. "It's eyes are sunken in."

A crowd gathers as I'm leaning over the "toy" saying, no really- it's a.... I was interrupted by my 3 year old decisively clarifying the situation. He did this by emphatically stomping on the snake.

Blood squirted everywhere.

I think enough adrenaline rushed through my body to do permanent brain damage.
Nope, not a toy.

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Labor Day Search Party

2011-09-05T09:41:00.000-07:00

The kids thought we were crazy.

We loaded up in the rain in search of...

Trees.

Trails.

Gigantic leaves.

Mud...

and fun-

nine pairs worth.

A Care-Taker's Dilemna

2011-08-26T11:40:00.000-07:00

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Yesterday, as the doctor told me that my 3 year old may be experiencing growth plate issues or necrosis of the blood supply to his hip that would require surgery, he added, "But I don't want you to worry."

I almost laughed. What's one more really expensive, possibly necessary or possibly unnecessary test that gobbles up another day and another dollar? What's a few more care-taker decisions in a long succession of decisions? Decisions that I constantly second-guess.

The thing is, I was relatively sure that his pain and limp were related to his metabolic disorder. But we weren't sure. Turns out (after x-rays) I was probably right.

Today at my 17 year old's piano lesson I heard her teacher telling her that since she has small hands she must learn to think through and re-arrange her fingering so that she can play a piece with the same ease and power of a pianist with a larger hand. Perseverance despite a shortcoming.

In a life of faith, is it possible that the propensity to worry is the equivalent of small hands? If so, it's something I need to take into consideration. If so, I can clearly relate it to the passage in James 1:1-3

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.

Flummoxed

2011-08-24T05:02:00.000-07:00

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Last night I was reading a book about the planets to my 3 and 5 year old. They were seated to each side of me, slurping down their before bed snacks.

We came to a page with a picture of the whole solar system. Things were going well. I asked a few questions about the sun that my 5 year old answered confidently. Then...

Then as usual he stumped me. My 5 year old pointed to Mercury. "How would I die there?"

What? I tried to brush the question off and we moved on to Venus. Again, "How would I die on Venus?"

"Well, you wouldn't be able to breathe there..." He interrupted me, "Would I burn up?" He made a weird choking face to illustrate.

O.k., moving on. But with every new planet the same gory questions about possible cause of death. 12 year old listening from the kitchen and making death-throe sounds didn't help.

All I can say is that teaching little boys does not remotely resemble teaching little girls.

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New Year

2011-08-23T04:45:00.000-07:00

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Yesterday was our first day back to school. I generally fly by the seat of my pants, but this year I had invested a lot of planning time so that the kickoff to school would flow smoothly.

I just forgot to carefully plan that before breakfast my 12 year old was going to get locked out of her dogsitting house, with the dog.

Talk about an adrenaline rush- my daughter calls me and tearfully announces that I, "Must Drive Over NOW!" I thought the dog was dead.

The (non-dead) dog spent the day with us.

I also forgot to plan that I would have 2, yes 2, flat tires. Should have penciled that in.

Thanks to the unknown (and slightly scary looking) gentleman who knocked on my van window and told me something was wrong with my tire, I was able to drive straight to the tire store before it went totally flat. By the way Discount Tire rocks. They found a huge bolt in one front tire and a screw in the other front tire. The joys of living near new construction.

Did my planning pay off? I did. I knew where to pick-up after everything fell apart.

I just hope today's planning doesn't reap quite the same benefit.

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More Nocturnal Nonsense

2011-08-21T17:55:00.000-07:00

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The other night I couldn't sleep so I sat in the den and wrote sloppy prose and checked email. About 3:30 a.m. I heard it. Something rattling a pan in the kitchen.

I stopped breathing and my fingers froze above the keyboard. A mouse. A large one by the sound of the rattles. I ran for backup.

My newly awoken husband went into the kitchen and looked around while I stood on a chair in the dining room and watched. Yes, I stood on a chair. Frankly, I loose 3 dimensionality when it comes to rodents.

My husband rattled everything I could suggest but nothing made the same sound.

He went back to sleep. I did not; I lay awake considering a rodent menance. Until I heard it again. A LOUD metal rattling sound. The Rats of NIMH dismantling the oven?

I sat up and peered out through the bedroom door only to see a dim shape swish down the hall. O.k. not a mouse, not even a rat. I got up to investigate, but as I crossed into the living room a form floated past me, a form with a maniacal smile.

A nanosecond of terror and then laughter. A smiley face Mylar balloon with trailing ribbons was free-floating through the pitch dark house.

My hair was still standing on end when the balloon was suddenly sucked up into the ceiling fan and, with the now familiar large metal rattling sound, it was slammed to the ground and trapped under a rocking chair.

My husband pointed out later that the possibility of a mouse caused me to shriek and run for help yet an unknown form moving through the house, making large sounds caused me to... investigate?!?

I'm too happy knowing I don't have mice to mind a spot of teasing.

Things at 2 a.m.

2011-08-20T00:39:00.000-07:00

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Things that go bump in the night:
the chirps of a son's uncharged and dying cell phone

wake you, but you don't know why.
Thoughts under control by day,
wander at will.

Things done
things undone
things that might be.

Things that go bump in the night grow,
and suck oxygen.

Sleeplessness and reason,
are not happy companions.
The devil's in the details
and the darkness,
chirping.

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Game Designers, Take Note

2011-08-17T05:12:00.000-07:00

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I walked through the den and noticed my 15 year old daughter on her older brother's computer. Steam was open and the screen looked like she was playing one of her brother's games. Yet, nothing seemed to be happening.

"What are you playing?"

"Half-Life, the zombie version."

"When your brother plays this there are zombies attacking and lots of shooting. Are you sure this is the same game?"

"Oh, yeah. This game is Great, it has all these beautiful old houses in it. I go into a house, shoot all the zombies and then I do this."

"What?"

"Well, it's the fun part. I clean up the mess and then rearrange all the furniture until the house looks really nice. I have a gravity gun, I can move Anything."

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Birthdays

2011-08-16T04:42:00.000-07:00

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Most of the time, if someone asks me the ages of my children, I stumble and trip and have to think. People's expressions falter when they have to wait patiently for me to spit it out. I'm sure they think my children are imaginary- what type of mother can't remember ages?

This is the time of the year when I can remember everyone's ages. When our oldest daughter has her birthday it makes everyone's age odd or even, with our youngest daughter being the marker by being opposite neatly in the middle.

This time it's 19, 17, 15, 12, 9, 5, and 3. See how handy that is.

We planned it that way.

I found this picture of our 17 year old this morning.

She was 35 in a 6 year old body.

Actually she hasn't changed much.

Happy Birthday Sweetie!

And quick, someone ask me my kids' ages so I impress myself by rattling them off without thought.

Do It Yourself Health Care

2011-08-13T12:03:00.000-07:00

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At the park Monday I was watching the kids play when my 5 yo climbed up to the monkey rings, grabbed a hold and then, hand over hand, worked his way to the other side.

Today at the pool I watched the same 5 yo launch his body face first and swim a couple of body lengths underwater.

Where did he learn these skills? How did he develop the strength, despite his hypotonia, to do these things?

Swim lessons? I priced swim lessons at the beginning of the summer, too high.

Physical therapy? We are still on the waiting list for physical therapy.

It was old fashioned family fun.

We had been told by the PT that swimming would be the most beneficial and least risky activity to build strength and endurance. How often is medical advice so pleasurable? Our local rec center has a sloping pool entrance. It was perfect, something all the kids enjoyed. We made it a priority to go to the pool as often as possible, and...

I just let them play.

Monday at the park, and today watching my newly self-taught swimmer? I'm thankful for such a glorious summer of do-it-yourself health care with fabulously concrete results.

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Curious Lines

2011-08-06T07:49:00.000-07:00

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Yesterday in a lull between sizzling summer heat and summer lightening storms, that also sizzled, my Littles and I played in the driveway.

They didn't want to. They were grouchy from being stuck inside, grouchy from being sick, and envious that the big kids were off doing mysterious big kid things; they just wanted to watch a movie.

We went outside anyway.

My three year old looked at our huge double driveway, perfect for scootering and bike riding, and complained that there was nothing to do and nowhere to ride. Until I handed out the sidewalk chalk. Immediately they began to draw streets and lanes and stop signs.

They had a blast. They even drew rest stops and parking lots. It was hilarious watching them fill up their scooters at the "gas station." They pantomimed entering their PINs before using the invisible pumps.

What is it about lines and walls and rules? We pretend to ourselves that we desire total freedom, but when confronted with it... the first thing we do is draw boundaries.

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Night Sights

2011-08-03T04:39:00.000-07:00

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Last night, in the wee hours, I heard someone sleep-talking and went to investigate. I found my three year old sleeping, half off his bed, wearing the sleep T-shirt I had put him to bed in along with the surprising addition of a pair of his dad's black socks.

His dad has size 12 feet.

The black socks were pulled up to the top of his thighs, almost to his spiderman underwear. They looked like hip boots ala the three musketeers. They also resembled the thick black tights I saw several Japanese teenage girls wearing under micro shorts recently.

As a young married couple we wanted children, I don't remember exactly why, but I'm pretty sure it included a lot of rosy and unrealistic expectations.

Reality is sooo much more precious.... not to mention funnier.

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Note To Self

2011-07-31T23:29:00.000-07:00

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My 17 year old daughter has been away for almost 3 months. She arrives home from Austria tomorrow evening. I am almost giddy with impatience... I can't wait to hug her neck, hear her German, and eat the chocolate that we all assume she'll have in her carry-on case.

She owns an Ipod dock/clock radio that she didn't take with her. I think the 3 year old messed with it because it started going off every night around 1 a.m.

It's loud. Extremely loud. Yet, I am the only one that can hear it... from the other side of the house, through two wooden doors.

I've tried messing with it myself, in the dark and with great hand-scrabbling exasperation, feverishly trying to get "Oh Mandy" to stop blaring before my head explodes.

I've woken my 15 year old to ask her how to turn it off but she just cried out something about kittens and rolled over again. The strange thing is that by morning I cannot remember to ask my husband to reprogram the blasted thing.

Tonight it was playing some death metal song. Seriously, what possessed radio staion plays Manilow one night and death metal the next? So I'm posting this at 1:30 a.m. as a note to self to fix the Ipod dock during the day.

Because, as I stand in the airport hugging my long-missed daughter, I don't want to say:

Yesterday's a dream I face the morning,
crying on a breeze the pain is calling
Oh Mandy.

I think that might confuse her.

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At The Intersection of Hope, Medical Knowledge, and Chronic Illness

2011-07-27T14:33:00.000-07:00

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It's a low day.
A below day.
Another, "We don't know day."

I know better than to pin hopes on a new specialist. Yet, even as I convinced myself that I hadn't really hoped, I found myself trying not to cry with disappointment in yet another flavor of pediatric specialist's office.

A least everyone participated in pretending that I was not crying.

Having a rare genetic disorder isn't good enough for my children. They get to have a rare genetic disorder along an as of yet unknown biochemical pathway impacting unknown enzymes.

Yay us.

So round and round the traffic circle I go. Medical Knowledge is blocked and (hopefully) under construction. I need to exit at Hope, but I keep just barely missing it.

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Super Human Housewife?

2011-07-26T06:47:00.000-07:00

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I was spinning wool into yarn today while watching I Am Number 4 with my children, for the 4th time, when it occurred to me that I'm so hopelessly domestic that I'm past the point of alien super powers.

Bear with me. I love the idea of super powers. I even 'fess up to admitting that I enjoy I Am Number 4. Yet, putting super powers on along with my tek sandals and Gap sundress in the morning wouldn't really impact my life.

If I could suddenly fight with super strength.... against whom? My toddler?

Perhaps I could call a babysitter to come over while I troll dark alleys trying to pick a fight. Um, baby sitters are expensive and actually, our small town doesn't really have any dark alleys.

O.k. free-running without fear of a sprained ankle would be awesome. Huge even, really huge. Instead of barely making it through Pilates at the rec center I could race about, leaping and flipping over park tables while my Littles played on the playground.

Again, though fun, not really life altering. It does amuse me to imagine it; I already get strange looks for merely hanging from the monkey bars.

Moving on- being fireproof? On a daily basis I am thankful to say that being fireproof has never been a necessary aspect of my life. Being able to read minds? I have teenagers, do you seriously think you could peacibly coexist with such creatures if you could read their every unfiltered thought?!?

Do you see the pattern? If I was suddenly embuued with alien super powers while somehow still remaining me, the powers would be superfluous instead of super-anything.

Though, now that I think about it, when my 3 year old was in his biting stage being able to lift him away from his intended victim with a lumen force field would have been fabulous...

Charkha Not Chakra

2011-07-20T06:41:00.000-07:00

What to do when it is 10 million degrees outside and life has been a bit wearying?

I know, go to a Dye Day... outside...

and stand over pots of boiling wool.

Think the soaking wool looks rather like sheep intestines? You should see what soaking black wool looks like.

Skeins drying in the sun. It's an age old magic.

Probably all spinning guild's are the same. We can't just stick with one topic. Charkha lessons ensued. Spinning Cotton on an Indian designed wheel.

Rug making with hand-spun yarn, that is too scratchy to wear, wrapped over cotton clothes line. Cheap and practical and I can't wait to start one.

A stack of my newly dyed wool bats. A color so lovely I want to eat it.

It spins up such a rich red.

Of course I never know what I will see when I get together with my guild. I sat working under this wind chime for a long time before I figured out what was making the woodpecker sound.

A lovely day full of lovely breezes learning new things and meeting new people.

When life is wearying, learning something new, creating something practical always seems to blow away the cobwebs.

Foster Creativity At Your Own Risk

2011-07-18T09:38:00.000-07:00

It sounds like a great thing: children with a creative eye,

but it causes kitchen chores to take forever.

That interesting reflection must first be admired

and then filmed against black posterboard...

Turn the dishwasher on? Oh, yeah...

Heat and Disautonia

2011-07-14T13:00:00.000-07:00

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Disautonia? Just another word for why I wish I could pull a Madeleine L'Engle in The Wind in The Door, and send someone in to give my son's mitochondria a good talking to.

A lot of FOD kids are heat intolerant. Not as in, gee, this heat makes me hot and cranky but as in, hmmm, my body is shutting down important functions starting with digestion in order to conserve energy.

We live in Tennessee. It's stinking hot. The humidity is absurd. My 5 year old started showing signs of heat exhaustion Monday, while he was INSIDE. He was inside because it was too hot to go to the pool.

He's fine. I will be fine. I'm just angry. Angry at a faceless bunch of cells that are not doing their jobs.

I can relate the sentiment from Wives And Daughters, "I do try to say, God’s will be done, sir,” said the Squire, looking up at Mr. Gibson for the first time, and speaking with more life in his voice; “but it’s harder to be resigned than happy people think."
— Elizabeth Gaskell

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My Mother's Snap

2011-07-11T05:54:00.000-07:00

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Yesterday, at church services our 5 year old was sitting with his big brothers, four rows away. He started getting silly during a hymn.

I used a latent skill I didn't know I possessed. The dreaded Accusatory Finger Snap.

The snap was decisive. Powerful enough to cause my misbehaving son's head to immediately swivel back in my direction.

Funny how only the guilty one turned to make eye contact, but that's the beautiful and mysterious power of snapping.

He got up and walked back to sit with my husband and me.

As my son sat down I smiled at him to cover my laugh of surprise. I had snapped my mother's snap without thought. Her Accusatory Finger Snap could cross state lines. Her snap could cause hardened criminals to weep with contrition.

The next hymn made me really smile. Fittingly, it was one of my mother's favorites, "Angry Words." Now I just need to get some eye glasses so I can learn to cast my mother's Stop-You-In-Your-Tracks, Just-what-do-you-think-you-are-up-to, over the lens laser-beam glance.

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Dumb and Scary

2011-07-08T09:06:00.000-07:00

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Dumb, then Scary.

I picked a summer vacation morning to repaint interior trim.
It must have been the sugar rush from the cinnamon rolls my son baked for breakfast.

Who paints interior trim when 5 children are home?
Me on sugar. Dumb.

So now? Now I sit and bellow, "OUT", every time one of my poor children tries to poke their head in the door.

I'm a Gorgon, wild hair and all, frightening my children.
Can I compare pristine white trim to Pegasus leaping out of my neck? I'm floundering here.

So I'm stuck with Scary. For at least another hour, until the trim dries.

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Twue Wuv

2011-07-06T06:42:00.000-07:00

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I've been reading a lot of young adult fiction this summer. It's interesting, in an eye opening sort of way. Some of the books have been good, some.... not.

I found it interesting that under all that goth cover-art one of the predominant themes is Love. And what love is. And how you get love. And how you show love.

Yesterday, my car radio was on a pop station. I don't know the artist- but he was singing that he loved so true that he'd take a bullet, catch a grenade, yada yada for his woman.

I'm 44. That doesn't impress me. Adrenaline-rushed moments are gone in seconds.

So as a service announcement for my teen daughters I'd like someone to write a song with the following elements;

I love you so much that I get out of bed today, for what feels like the 5th millionth time, to go work all day, even when no one recognizes my brilliance.

I love you so much that when you have a stomach virus I'll clean the bathroom afterwards while you sleep.

I love you so much that when I look at you I see the you I love, not the spit-up on your shoulder, bad hair cut or the 20 extra years.

I love you so much that when life gets slow and long and hard, I take your hand to go for a walk.

"Wuv, twue wuv wiww fowwow you fowevah."

-The Princess Bride

Sure, superhuman abilities, a mysterious past and unlimited funds might be nice, but being human is harder than that. Love is what you do all day, everyday, even without the aid of adrenaline.

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When Will I Ever Learn?

2011-07-02T12:10:00.000-07:00

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My 3 year old lined up a tank, a fire truck, and a race car.

Abandoning the vehicles, he asked if he could get out the lincoln logs.

Of course.

He needed help setting up a city. He's very particular about building. We spent a long time working together. I was gently but firmly corrected many times. He had a vision.

I went to get the mail. I pictured him playing "city" with little people. I came back.

I had missed the entire point of the set-up. The lined-up vehicles had not been abandoned. They were just waiting for a city to be built so it could be systematically and theatrically destroyed.

Duh.

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Processing Speed

2011-06-27T18:00:00.000-07:00

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Around 5:30 this morning I was sitting and eating, well.... eating popcorn with my 3 year old. We were munching in companionable silence when my son suddenly looked at me with a most intent expression.

"Mom, I was throwing up and Sister took me to the bathroom and then we lay on the sofa and I was still throwing up." He paused awaiting a response.

I was more than a little floored. He was talking about the stomach virus he had in March- a full 3 months ago. It precipitated his first (hopefully only) metabolic meltdown. I had already taken his 5 year old brother to the hospital and his big sister was caring for the 3 year old because Dad was sick with the same virus.

My 3 yo continued. His facial expressions filling in for his linguistic shortcomings as he narrated the entire event from his point of view. Evidently the ambulance was noteworthy because they had "a pokey thing." -The I.V. of course.

Why he needed to discuss this with me this morning I don't know. I do know he needed it. He needed to narrate the events. He needed to talk about throwing up on the sofa and see my face look sad but not angry. He needed to hear that, "Yep, those pokey things do hurt."

I don't know what else he needed. I'm just glad that he's processing.

We looked at this snapshot from the hospital. He told me that he liked me and Brother being with him. I think our conversation made the event less mysteriously frightening. Of course, I'm guessing now. Who knows what goes on in the mind of a 3 year old?

I'm just muddling through mothering the best I can. Evidently a.m. popcorn helps.

March.

Today.

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You Have To Break A Lot Of Eggs...

2011-06-25T09:47:00.000-07:00

Or in the case of my 3 year old- you have to cut a lot of paper to make the "Perfect Little Book."

Why Everyone Should Own A 19 Year Old

2011-06-17T07:10:00.000-07:00

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My oldest son took all his siblings and a few neighbors to the Summer Dollar-Movie Series yesterday morning. Thus:

I was alone in my house.

I had no idea what to do, so almost hysterical with the unlimited possibilities I called a friend to say:

I am alone in my house!

She laughed at me -but it was nice laughter. I think she was jealous.

Giddy, I hung up and ate candy without sharing. I entered my bathroom By Myself.

I played my favorite music. I did dishes without talking.

I thought in complete sentences. My brain was surprised.

When's the next movie in the series?

Oddities of Language

2011-06-16T04:37:00.000-07:00

Of Weird Connections

I have my ipod set so its settings are in German. I also named my ipod Humphrey Alaric. Both facts amuse me. When it's connected and syncing it tells me it's, "verbunden," or connected.

1 John 2:5 reads in English, "But if anyone obeys his word, God's love is truly made complete in him. This is how we know we are in him."

Except in my German Bible the in him is translated "mit ihm verbunden". Literally, "with him connected."

Which led me down the rabbit trail of considering how we need to continually connect ourselves with both God's word and God's love.

Does Apple sell a sync cable for that?

Job Security or Secured Futility

2011-06-13T14:06:00.000-07:00

House cleaning all morning

Back turned for coffee,

a vague, "Yes you can play in the living room with duplos..."

Vacuuming upstairs, laundry downstairs.

Daughter cooking, people happy.

Should have known, should have noticed that,

Duplo cities require forts. Forts require.... stuff.

Forts are for security,

security is futile.

And so is a whole house cleaned at once.

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P.S.

Surreptitiously watching 3 year old develop a way to clean up Duplos quickly makes the futility worthwhile.

Road-Side Art On The Way To Hungary

2011-06-07T19:22:00.000-07:00

My daughter sent me:

I could title it: Shocking Bikers.

You know- bikers lying against reed stacks that are being shocked? O.k., too much explanation required = bad pun.

In these photos my daughter was cycling/relaxing her way to Hungary is sunshine so beautiful I'd like to eat a bowlful.

What drives me crazy is that the shots remind me of a painting. But I can't remember which one. I can't even pinpoint the period of the painting I'm remembering. Maybe a Dutch painting?

In my search I came across an entire website devoted to hay.

Yes, Hay.

Not surprisingly it's called Hay In Art. They have over 6,000 links to paintings.

I didn't find the painting I was looking for but I did find this:

I saw this Bastien-LePage painting at The Frist Center last winter. Seeing it online was like greeting an old friend. An old, very tired friend.

But back to the topmost photo- save my sanity- what painting does the shot resemble?

Self-Care For Chronically Ill Children

2011-06-04T06:22:00.000-07:00

A Work In Progress

Mothering is at heart a teaching profession. If I had to list a summary of course offerings that my children are required to take, one would be entitled- Self Care: from personal hygiene and nutrition to personal banking.

For my two young sons with chronic metabolic disorders self-care involves remembering to snack every 2 hours. On the FOD support group I followed a long thread about using watches with timers to discreetly remind teen FODers to snack.

Brilliant. Self-care with a non-mommy-nagging reminder.

I looked up watches and found some pediatric medical watch-sites. They look like they would work great. I needed something cheaper. Way cheaper. I'm not putting a $100+ watch on my 5 year old. Especially before I know how my son will do with the whole idea.

Timex, here we come... at least to experiment.

Self-care in camouflage with a two hour timer = Cool. According to my 5 year old, "You know, spies and soldiers and super heroes all have watches."

Unfortunately the alarm on this watch model can only be set for one repeating time a day. The timer can be set for every two hours, but after it goes off it is a bit harder for my son to re-set without help.

However, after only four days I'm really in love with the idea- even if I have to eventually try a new watch. My 5 yo is enjoying turning off the timer and getting himself his 2 hour snack. He appears proudly independent about the new routine. I'm enjoying the reminder myself as our summer has been hectic.

I may go completely Montessori and buy a small pitcher so he can learn to pour his own milk for snack as well.

My 3 year old? Too soon. He'd love the watch, until he took it off to do something inexplicable- like stuff it in a sock to "cook" it over a pretend camp fire in the back yard. Bye-bye watch.

Like I said, it's all a work in progress.

Phrasing

2011-06-01T04:56:00.000-07:00

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I love words. I'll read a farming report, or Government Video if that's all that is available.

Jabberwocky is pure genius.

My husband taught our 19 year old to say vehicular locomotion when he was 19 months old. We both thought it was hilarious to hear our son repeat it with perfect diction. I'm not sure why.

Recently I heard a phrase at church. Thank you Craig. The phrase was, "housebroken sins." I love it. I've been thinking about it for a couple of weeks.

Housebroken sins- you know, weaknesses/sins that are socially acceptable, things about ourselves that we don't mind admitting to. Things we can throw out there if we want to fake being "real."

Housebroken sins don't wake anyone up in the middle of the night.

Nice Summer

2011-05-27T05:58:00.000-07:00

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For some reason that I still do not fathom, my parents, - who in every other way loved me- chose one summer to put me in a day camp full of the biggest and toughest, meanest girls known to man. I was skinny, short and had no skills. Skills being defined as: double-dutch jumping, cussing, playing jacks and having a boyfriend.

By the end of the summer I could play jacks and cuss. The cussing, incidentally, made me a 4th grade playground star back at my fancy-schmancy elementary school the following fall.

The supposed point of the camp was to learn to swim. However, the bus was almost always broken down so we almost never got to swim. Mostly we sat around a hot, mainly concrete Baltimore City park, and in a sort of Lord of the Flies atmosphere we practiced the above listed skills.

While I didn't really learn swimming I did learn how to not get beaten up. I learned how to fly under the radar without crossing the line into toadyism. I learned how to be nice to everyone, while always watching my back. I learned to eat the good part of my lunch before someone could take it.

I was perpetually scared. It was exhausting. I think my mom thought "swimming" really wore me out.

At the end of the summer imagine my surprise when I was awarded a trophy- a trophy that my husband found in a box and put up ontop of my kitchen cabinets to see how long it would take before I noticed it- a trophy for being the "nicest" girl of the summer.

It's the only trophy from childhood that I still have. It's the only trophy I truly sweated for:

Susan, Queen of the Park

Sometimes nice girls do win... or at least stay alive.

Hints For Other Unthoughtful Moms

2011-05-25T07:08:00.000-07:00

I'm not sentimental. I don't like Hallmark cards, I don't collect figurines of any sort. I always forget my loved ones birthdays.

So I try and pay attention to real-life thoughtful people.

My daughter above is playing Austrian streetball. She's in Austria going to school for the summer while living with a friend of mine from high school. This friend of mine, Doris, is a real life thoughtful person.

Doris' whole family is thoughtful.

They put up a Picasa album and every day they add a few photos of what my daughter has been up to with their family.

Balm for a mother's heart.

I had a friend's daughter from Switzerland stay with us for a month last summer and this idea never occurred to me.

Next time though... Next time we have an extended visitor...

I may not be thoughtful but I am a great mimic.

Birds and Angry Birds

2011-05-24T05:51:00.000-07:00

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Last night my 15 year old daughter and I were attempting to watch the A&E version of Pride and Prejudice while the 5 year old sat between us.

5 year olds wonder out-loud, a lot. While watching things like Pride and Prejudice they wonder ad nauseam about who the bad guy is... and when will he (finally) show up?

We came to the scene when Darcy and Mr Bingley are walking across the estate with other men, all holding guns. Sudden silence from the 5 year old. Blessed silence.

The scene continues- servants startle pheasants into the air and suddenly all the men shoot.

Silence. I thought perhaps the 5 year old had fallen asleep.

Then 5 year olds most wondering voice of all, "Do they just really not like birds?"

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I popped my head into a classroom at church to see if the teacher was there yet. A two year old was sitting neatly at the table waiting. I waved hello and asked how he was.

He looked at me, dressed in his Sunday finery, and with the utmost earnest expression on his face declared vehemently, "I LOVE ANGRY BIRDS."

Well then. O.k.

I'm still trying to figure out what an elderly teacher who had never heard of that app. would think of his announcement.

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Dating Your Spouse

2011-05-17T04:15:00.000-07:00

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Why do my husband and I sometimes go grocery shopping together when I have a houseful of teens that can shop for me?

Because we have a houseful of teens.

And,
because getting to be alone together and find marketing genius like the example below makes life good.

Lookin' good, mister. Really- women say that all the time- but only if you have the right socks.

Kind of like how men used to always say, "Gee, your hair smells terrific."

The Aftermath of a Child's Periodic Hospital Stays

2011-05-15T13:36:00.000-07:00

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I've been thinking a lot about what I noticed after our last hospital stay with our 5 year old. The aftermath, so to speak. I've compared it with my memory of his various hospitalizations.

Some of the commonalities after a hospital stay:

Trouble going to sleep
Trouble with scary dreams
Regressed social skills around peers
Greater dependence on adults
Narrowing of his food repertoire
A need to focus on a comfort object for security- i.e. a pillow or stuffed animal
Moodiness- or a general sense of being out of equilibrium

Blessedly all these things have always been temporary. However, I have noticed that my son has less trouble "re-entering" home life and a shorter aftermath period when:

We keep a hospital routine as close to our home schedule as possible. It seems to really help him to keep a normal dining schedule, rest-time, bathing and bedtime routine in the hospital.
I've also learned that if I chat with the nurses and care partners I can greatly reduce the nighttime disturbances. Small things matter- for instance we keep a blood pressure cuff on his ankle. For some reason he can sleep right through a blood pressure check on his ankle, while one on his arm freaks him out. Also, I do all his blood sugar pokes myself because I can do it without waking him.
By coordinating all the checks we can greatly reduce the number of times people are in and out of the room. I've learned I can just say "No, come back later," if my son needs me to.
If he is at all able we try to eat meals sitting at a table instead of bed.
If he is at all able I try to keep up the home routine of him helping while I work, i.e. he puts away toys, stacks his books, wipes down his own food tray.
Our children's hospital has frequent Bear Clinics that we always try to go to. The give each child a stuffed bear, gloves, oral syringes and other various medical apparatus and let the child play doctor. This seems to be really important to our son. Generally the bear comes home and is intensely cared for- for a few days.
We time our discharge for as early in the day as possible. For our son the excitement of getting to go home drains him- being drained is bad news for night time blood-sugar stability. Being drained also means more trouble sleeping.

In general the more traumatic or painful the hospital visit the longer it takes him to get back to a state of equilibrium.

Back to the stuffed hospital bear. When I eventually find the bear lost and abandoned under the sofa I do a happy dance. It's the surest sign that the aftermath period is over.

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More Road Side Art

2011-05-13T12:11:00.000-07:00

A Tree's Tableau Vivant

The inspiration? Klimt's The Kiss.

The actors? Two heroic trees in the middle of a pasture bring culture to the local cattle.

My 11 year old was not happy with me for stopping the car to take this picture. Evidently being told to watch for traffic freaks her out a bit. Which I found surprisingly funny. I do so enjoy motherhood.

Actually, I think the trees missed out on the tone of the original painting; it's vampiric. In contrast the trees seem to strike more of a "mother embracing a child" chord.

Oh well, maybe the next time they get clipped by the electric company they can try for a Mary Cassatt.

Breakfast Anyone?

2011-05-07T07:24:00.000-07:00

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Yesterday morning when I walked, bleary-eyed, out of my bedroom to make the morning coffee I discovered my 9 year old sitting at the dining room table sipping a large mug of fresh hot tea and reading Calvin and Hobbs.

Weird.

"I wanted to get an early start on school, Mom."

Weirder.

This morning at 5:55 I heard an elephant in the kitchen wrestling with the stove. When I got up 45 minutes later I discovered my 3 yo, my 5 yo, my 9yo all sitting at a set table eating scrambled eggs and toast and hot tea. My also bleary-eyed 16 yo was standing by the table looking shocked as the 9 yo handed her a plate of breakfast.

There was a plate for me and my husband as well.

O.k.?!?

So I did what any self-respecting mother would do. I instantly taught my 9 yo son how to make coffee.

Weird works for me.

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Seasons

2011-05-03T07:06:00.000-07:00

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I'm in the Come and Go season of life.

One child has been in Haiti for almost 3 months. He comes home today.

A different child leaves in a couple weeks for school in Austria.

A third child goes to Guyana for a week this summer.

Come and Go.

There's a lot of fuss with coming and going. Luggage packing, passport prepping, heartstrings stretching.

You get used to them gone. You get used to them back.
Then they go again.

With my large family this season is going to be a long one. I'll have the most flexible heart around.

Middle of the Road

2011-04-26T10:34:00.000-07:00

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The old, "If you can't say anything nice- don't say anything at all," has me post(tongue)tied.

Not that anything dramatic or traumatic or pneumatic is going on.

I've just got the middle-of-the-road blues. The pick up my feet and do the daily dance but my rhythm's off blahs.

Soooo, I interrupt my regularly scheduled blog. Instead, in honor of my friend Jenny and her, um, "love" of high school french, I present this poem by Karla Kuskin...

Many people who are smart

in physics, French and math and art

cannot tell two bugs apart.

Bugs are not very smart

in math or physics, French or art.

But they can tell two bugs apart.

The sky is falling, the sky is falling...

2011-04-20T07:44:00.000-07:00

I've lost my head.

At my request my daughter drew me with my head. If it looks a lot like a date book, that's because she's accurate. She added the coffee caption because she's funny like that.

However I've lost my head.

Without my date book I've no idea what I or my children are supposed to do today. I'm wandering around with stale coffee asking my daughter to take a break from French homework so she can draw cartoons of me.

The sky is falling...

Things Moms-Of-Many Forget

2011-04-19T06:15:00.000-07:00

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Labor is hard, and 5 year olds talk. A lot. All the time.

Girls hit tweendom and start baking. A lot. Boys hit age 10 and start eating. All the time.

Plan family accordingly.

Just saying.

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Tiny Silences

2011-04-17T11:35:00.000-07:00

In our van driving to church services this morning:

3 year old ponders out loud, "What's in my heart?"

Dad answers, "Joy?"

Mom simultaneously answers, "Blood?"

16 year old sister responds, "Supergalactic Universal Oneness."

There's a pause and 3 year old corrects us all, "No, ANIMALS!"

While we are silently dumbfounded 5 year old brother responds, "No, when you eat animal crackers they don't stay animals."

3 year old disagrees, "When I eat animal crackers they stay animals and they go crazy inside me."

5 year old, using knowledgeable older brother lecturing voice, "No food turns into throw-up after you eat."

Mom and Dad, "Ughhhh." Dad tries to correct 3 year old, "Bolus, not throw-up."

Mom, "UGHHH."

Always the non sequitur genius, 3 year old shouts, "LOOK, A TINY SCHOOL BUS IS DRIVING BY!!!"

5 year old asks, "Who rides in the tiny school bus?"

Dad, "Tiny school children."

Silence.

Finally.

Eye Tattoos

2011-04-16T07:14:00.000-07:00

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Just when I though life was getting dull...

Did you know that if your 9 year old son is jumping on a friend's trampoline and a bug or beetle happens along, it can get unknowingly bounced too? At a very high rate of speed.

Did you know that if said bug hits said 9 year old in the eye bad things can happen?
Again, at high speed...

Yes, my son had bug parts embedded in his eye. They came out. However...

However, the bug PIGMENT is still embedded and can only come out with surgery or more slowly; allowing the cells to slough off on their own. Kind of a no-brainer choice really.

My son is now the proud owner of a bug-pigment splattered eye. Eye tatoo's, done naturally.

A Riddle Challenge!

2011-04-09T06:17:00.000-07:00

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Sitting in my van in front of the house where my 14 yo has choir practice, attempting to write poetry...

Blooming dogwoods, and a flock of gorgeous heirloom chickens strutting about the green lawn in front of my windshield laughed at me.

My poem kicked and wriggled and clucked.
So I wrote a riddle instead.

What Am I?

Bound to birthdays, round to cheer,

bound to the rungs of the dining room chair.

Attached to seat back,

dancing in ceiling-fan currents of air.

Tied to people,

precious people,

I mightn't not always stay there.

Getting a Child To Eat

2011-04-08T05:38:00.000-07:00

How do you get a child to eat after a massive stomach virus has landed them in the hospital? Especially a FOD child with weak oral-motor skills, a sluggish g.i., and a history of feeding issues? Not to mention a throat and esophagus rendered raw and sore by the affects of a stomach virus.

A child who doesn't like Popsicles. What kid doesn't like Popsicles? Oh, yeah mine.

This is the first time we had to request help. I called in the cavalry, a.k.a -a speech pathology consult. A good speech pathologist is worth her weight in gold- especially when it comes to feeding issues.

"Most importantly, don't pressure him or tell him he can't go home until he starts to eat," she said.*

Oops.

"Gradually. Disinterestedly. Don't worry about nutrition at first," she said.

"Start with food and/or the smells of food being near to him."

I switched gears. I nibbled his Poptart and left it on his tray. He didn't gross out. I pretended not to gross out- fake strawberry- yuck.

We went on a couple of outings to the food court to buy my dinner. First 2 times we didn't make it because the smells of Taco Bell were just too... potent.

(Note that my handbag is being used to tie his I.V. pole to his car- genius, no?)

Food court fun. Fat-free sorbet from Ben and Jerry's. I had to breathe deeply and pretend I didn't care that all he did with his $4.00 child's sorbet was stir it and lick the spoon once making everything sticky in the process.

Note the blurry Star Wars action figure a friend brought him; it really liked the sorbet.

First meal: one bite of pancakes. The day after that bite it was like re-learning to ride a bicycle. A bicycle with sorbet.

From actively switching gears to success- 3 1/2 days.

Then,

home again, home again, jiggity jog.

*Goggle 28 Steps to Eating or the SOS Approach for more info. A body that doesn't break down fat molecules correctly cannot go long without food. We don't have the luxury of saying, "He'll eat when he's hungry enough," because in reality if he gets, "hungry enough," he'll be having seizures from hypoglycemia and be unable to eat.

More on Hospitals

2011-04-07T06:43:00.000-07:00

Our sons protocol letters have a section on post emergency management that says: Child unable to take/maintain PO intake: Start or continue 10%glucose continuous infusion at 1.5x maintenance.

What I've learned is that the doctors expect me to be the judge of PO intake. Though they give advice about when to decrease the I.V. they now actually ask us to assess our son's condition and make the final choice on turning off the I.V. and even when we feel confident enough about his blood sugars to take him home.

Sometimes I want to scream, "I Don't Have A Medical Degree, Why Are You Asking Me?"

________________________

Although hospital time is wonky, you have to keep track of it in order to keep up with your child's care. We asked to stay in the E.R. observation room for 2 1/2 days because that was the only way I could have both the boys in the same room. The observation rooms don't have windows. Talk about a quick way to mess up your body clock.

After 2 1/2 days in a room with a 3 and 4 year old, no sleep, no windows and a diet of chocolate and caffeine I had a hard time remembering when anything had happened. I had not been writing things down because of the sheer circus of having two boys with metabolic crises at the same time.

Later in the week I found myself having to depend on others when answering doctors questions about the time-line of the boys' illness. This is not a good place to be. It's also frustrating because now I don't have a record of how the boys blood sugars ran over the week- information that might have been useful for comparison in future illnesses.

Which leads me to an axiom: In the hospital your child's care is your responsibility- not the staffs. We go to a great children's hospital. They have literally saved our children's lives multiple times. Yet every time we are there it is impressed upon me anew that it is a parent's job to advocate for their child, watch over their child, and to coordinate care.

When your child has a rare disorder this home grown advocacy is especially true. Exhausting, but true.

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Odd Phrases From My Kitchen

2011-04-06T08:36:00.000-07:00

My 3 year old addressed me yesterday morning thus: "Mother, will you bake me a lovely pizza?" Then his eyes sparkled. How can I not try to bake a lovely pizza?

My almost 5 year old was discussing Scoobie Doo with his 11 year old sister. She told him that Scrappie Doo was a puppy in the later cartoon series. He corrected her, "No, he wasn't a puppy. Scrappie Doo had a gland disorder."

This morning I mentioned to the almost 5 year old that his coughing and sneezing was from allergies. In his never ending campaign for a dog he assured me, "But I'm not allergic to dogs, I'm only allergic to animals that have a lot of cookies in them, but not dogs."

          Cookies?
          He explained, "Well, I can't have cookies because I'm allergic."

          Why wasn't that immediately clear to me?

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Time Is Critical

2011-04-05T04:17:00.000-07:00

Time, Hospitals, and FODs

Time? Once you walk through the sliding glass doors into the E.R. you have exited whatever time zone you formerly occupied and have entered Hospital Time, cue music.

If any hospital employee, from the care partners up through the Director of Pediatrics makes any sort of estimate that involves time- ignore the estimate. It, no matter what It may be, will happen when It happens; this is the definition of Hospital Time. Once you learn this, hospital life is a lot easier to handle.

E.R. staff have their own groove and time expectations. A kid comes in vomiting with diarrhea- give them an anti-emetic, watch them and discharge them as quickly as you can. No biggee. When it comes to FODs? Throw out all time expectations and hopes of a quick discharge. Plug up your ears when an enthusiastic Resident* unfamiliar with FODs tells you, "Oh, diarrhea is no big deal, once your child stops vomiting and eats a few Popsicle they'll be fine."

This is when having a specialist you trust is such a blessing. This is when you lean on your protocol letter. This is when you depend on what you have studied about your child's disorder. This is when you depend on your own knowledge of your own child. This is when you realize that the only meaning "time" has at this point is that you want more of it.

Both of our FOD affected boys were admitted to the hospital last week with a gastrointestinal virus. One son bounced back on D-10 plus potassium and was able to start eating and be weaned off the I.V. within 36 hours. Our other son, with the very same virus, was on D-10 for a full 6 days and required yet another 36 hours to stabilize off the I.V.

The time difference was a matter of life and death.

________________________

*I highly recommend finding a good E.R. and a good hospital and sticking with it. We have spent every one of our 9 hospitalizations for FODs in the same E.R. and been admitted to the same children's hospital. At first we continually saw new Residents unfamiliar with FODs, but now it seems that the whole E.R. knows what to expect.

This is vitally important because it means.

We are now whisked through triage.
We don't have to wait till our sons are already in full blown crisis to "prove" that they need treatment.
Our sons are given the time that they need to heal.

Moments

2011-04-04T05:30:00.000-07:00

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I'm washing dishing and looking out the back window. My husband is playing with our three youngest sons. They are in a big plastic climbing cube that he is slowly rolling. Raucous good times.

The last Sunday night I stood here washing dishes was also a good night. Little did I know that my boys would wake in the night with the stomach virus from hell. Litttle did I know what drama was about to unfold.

I took one boy to the hospital around midnight that Sunday and then called home the next morning only to have to hang up because my 16 year old needed to call 911 while my husband tried to administer glucose gel to my lethargic 3 year old.

I waited, helpless and unknowing, in an observation room (in another city) with my sick 5 year old for the intercom announcement of the ambulance arriving with my sick 3 year old.

I'll never forget the feeling of being crumpled to my knees one moment and then raised the next.

I'll never forget that first hug with my 3 year old. He was still strapped in his carseat, strapped to a gurney and attached to an I.V. pole rolling down the E.R. hallway.

It was a rolling, overwhelming, dextrose enhanced, adrenaline rushed thanksgiving sort of hug.

So this Sunday night, I wash dishes and glance outside and feel blessed. I feel blessed and yet know that I will be annoyed with my boys about something-or-other several times before bed. They will misbehave one moment and shine the next.

I'm too weak to be consistently thankful or consistently joyful. No memory is that powerful, but I can thank God for moments of clarity. Moments when I see clearly. Moments on the hospital floor praying and feeling God's presence.

Moments that remind me of the power of the Cross and God's overwhelming sacrificial love.

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Postponed On Account of...

2011-03-29T15:21:00.000-07:00

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I was going to title this, "Postponed On Account of Vomit", but then I thought that was too gross. Then I decided that I am too brain dead to think of anything else, thus the coquettish "..." The dots were coquettish, no?

I have a long and brilliantly planned post about how to survive a hospital stay. It will have to wait.

Several of my children were vacationing with their grandparents last week and therefore missed the stomach virus/ hospital/ ambulance drama.

They came home. One of them is now throwing up. Yes, throwing up.

There is no way any germ can have survived my Lysol assault of the house while they were gone. They must have brought home a new virus.

Poor 9 year old. He's quarantined in my bedroom, possibly for the next 2 years. I briefly considered getting in my car and driving to Tahiti. By myself. But, well since it's an island I didn't.

Instead I am broadcasting a planetary alert as in Star Trek IV- you know, the one with the whales.

This is the President of the United Federation of Tiptons. Do not approach Our Home!
The transmissions of an orbiting Virus are causing critical damage to this family.
It has almost totally ionized our mother's ability to cope.
All brands of germ-ex have failed. All orbiting anti-emetics are powerless.

Further communications may not be possible
Save your energy, Save yourselves.

Avoid the Planet Tipton at all costs. ...Farewell.

Exhaling

2011-03-28T14:57:00.000-07:00

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Going home from the hospital after a child's illness is such a surreal experience. It's akin to walking out of a matinee movie; the world looks oddly proportioned and impossibly vivid.

It can also be bewilderingly emotional. As a hospital "frequent flyer" I humbly offer this suggestion: take some time to cry.

Tears can release the fear, the anger, the grief, the joy, the disappointments, the relief, the panic, and even just the boredom of a hospital stay.

Combine a few minutes of tears with a hot bath and you've just bought yourself some sanity. Sanity to cope with taking life off the illusory, hospital induced, "pause" mode.

Romans 8:26 "Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words"

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Prescriptions

2011-03-26T19:27:00.000-07:00

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My almost 5 year old and I met a very sweet woman who happens to be a Little Person. She chatted with my 5 year old one morning and we have since waved to her every day of my son's current hospitalization.

I was surprised my son did not say much about her until- "Mom, that Little Lady kind of scares me." I asked why, assuming it was because she is under 3 feet tall. "Because her voice is so high sounding," he explained. Which just proved to me for the 500th time that when you think you know what another human is thinking, you're probably wrong.

We had a brief discussion about how her voice sounded odd to him because some parts of her body don't work quite right but that she's smart and nice and has a family that loves her and a job she loves...

A body that has parts that doesn't work quite right is something my son can relate to.

Later, after my son relapsed and had a bout of low-budget-horror-movie-puking he was lying on his back obviously troubled. "Mom, did that nice Little Lady's legs not grow because she threw up too much?"

Funny how self-centered fear tends to be. I know most of My thoughts have all been on My family this week, My fears.

We are called to worship God even through trials. Christian worship, the antithesis of self and the prescription for fear.

My son's I.V. pump just started beeping an alert, making me jump. Time to hum my favorite hymn, "Oh Lord My God".

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Our Eyes Opened: Kirill's Story

2011-03-25T07:42:00.000-07:00

I wanted to repost in support of this family. Please pray for them.

Our Eyes Opened: Kirill's Story

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Virus In Verse

2011-03-22T19:58:00.000-07:00

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Sunday night,
Long story, short story?

Two Littles taken ill.
Scarey drives and ambulance rides,
16 year old daughter/super hero.

My toddler twosome in green pajamas.
Peas in a pod,
matching hospital beds side by side.

Fods-o-rama, metabolic drama.

Prayer. Coffee.
Friends bearing burdens and
friends bearing chocolate.

New room, larger beds.
Quiet hum and distant beeps lulls to sleep.
Held in God's hands

Always.

Whirlwind

2011-03-18T12:22:00.000-07:00

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Wow, let me catch my breath. It's been one of those weeks. A week that was neither bad, nor glorious, just Busy.

If you were to say, "Quick tell me 3 things you accomplished this week." I'd probably stand still, looking blank for a few seconds, before apologetically blurting, "Ummm, lots?"

The only thing I know for sure is that my 5 year old passed his eye exam with no sign of retinal pigmentation- take that FOD.

Speaking of milestones. My 3 and 5 year olds are currently at the park with their grandparents. I'm currently... not at the park. This may sound weird to those of you with healthy children, but this is a Big, stinkingly good, Big Deal.

Even though I pretended that it wasn't when I waved goodbye. Even though I keep wondering how things are going.

My 5 year old just doesn't go anywhere without me or his father- unless it's a quick trip to the grocery store with his big brother or sister. His health has been just too unpredictable.

The park? Running around? Expending energy? Wow. This is a first. It's also a great sign of how excellent his health has been for the last 10 months.

All I can say is, "Thank you God."

I guess it has been a glorious week.

Non Sequiturs Du Jour

2011-03-16T05:30:00.000-07:00

6:30 a.m. The house was quiet. My 3 year old and I were quietly eating chocolate chip cookies before the rest of the family could catch us and call foul. Suddenly, I heard a voice call out from my 5 year old's bedroom, "Mom, you really need to get me a dog."

Uh, hmmm. Request noted, and filed. Now hide those cookie crumbs, witnesses are awake.

A few minutes later both 5 and 3 year old were sitting at the kitchen island drinking milk when my 3 year old looked at me and said, "I only have a small balloon swimming pool up over MY house."

5 year old responded, "That balloon freaks me out. I mean, how do you get down?"

I'm just glad I knew what they were talking about.

Thank you Dr Seuss for the morning smile.

Highway Art

2011-03-11T10:42:00.000-08:00

I made my 16 year old use my phone to take a picture on the way to piano class. Because this is the sort of thing I find amusing.

The strapped on load coated with a patina of one-tone-grime made me think of Louise Nevelson's 1960's sculpture Royal Tide IV.

I admit I couldn't remember Nevelson's name. I had to wait until I got home to flip through some art books. But here it was in, Art Now.

Am I right, or am I right?