Monthly Archives: May 2006

Cure

Weekly Anamnesis #23

We were trying to get out the door for church. There is that moment when you realize that if you don’t leave “right now” you will be hopelessly late, well, this was it. The complication was enhanced by the fact we were visiting Paul’s parents in Montana. Finally we had our two children shoed and outfitted, and ourselves too (that is the amazing part!). It was in the final surge to the car, I suppose it was inevitable. In her haste Elizabeth, 2, trip and crashed, he knees digging into the driveway pavement. Shrieks and cries filled the air as we picked her up and dusted her off, setting her temporarily on the hood of the car. After inspection we realized that she was fine, not even enough damage to require a band-aid which was good, because should we have to go doctor it up we would be late. But what to do? She wouldn’t be sattisfied without a band-aid.

Then I had a stroke of genious! It really was a spectacular moment, these things don’t happen to me very often. heh πŸ™‚ I reached into Daddy’s pocket and pulled it out.

“Elizabeth, do you know what this is?” She shook her head, looking slightly puzzled.
“It’s an invisible band-aid! Do you see it? Right here in my fingers.” I held my thumbs and index fingers in the shape of a band-aid. A slow smile spread across her face and she nodded her head yes.
“You need to open it.” she reached over and “peeled” off the invisible wrapper.
“Now, you need to take the tabs off.” She grinned while she took the invisible tabs off the band-aid. Her owie now all but forgotten.
“Do you want to put a kiss on it?” Her hair fell forward framing her chubby cheeks as she leaned forward and kissed the band-aid.
“Shall I put a kiss on it too?” she nodded her hair and blew a kiss onto her invisible band-aid.
“All right, let’s put it on now.” she lifted her skirt and I fastened the little invisible band-aid onto her knee.
“As I proclaimed, “Good as new!” she hopped in the car with the biggest smile on her face and then proceded to show every one in her nursery class at church her invisible band-aid.

They have become our cure-all. The kids are plastered with invisible band-aids. The supply never runs out and they bring their friends to me for the invisible band-aid treatment. It’s really rather silly, but it is imbedded into our family, cherished and loved.

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Happy Mother’s Day!


MotherA delicate arch glowing
Red in the evening sun
Lovingly chiseled and shaped by
The hands of God.
Graceful, yet strong enough
To withstand the tests of time
And the storms of nature;
An example of steadfastness
Courage, and faith.
A witness to time, ages,
Laughter, tears, a monument
To which we aspire.
Beauty internal and eternal;
A masterpiece in the making.

-J.H. Schmidt

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Filed under Family, Poetry, Writing

Celebration

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Filed under Children, Dot, Em, Lizy, Photography

Hmmm . . . .

Ok, I stumbled over this and after Karen’s post about eating Jelly Bellies I just couldn’t resist. πŸ™‚

You Are a Licorice Jelly Bean

You are an acquired taste. The less people fight your strange ways, the more they like them.

What Flavor Jelly Bean Are You?

Let’s just say this made me chuckle, heh. πŸ™‚
Oh, and what kind of jelly bean are you??

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Filed under Meme

Random Friday

I finally have a random Friday post!

I was driving the otherday with all the kids in there car on our way to ‘who knows where this time’ (heh). We drove through a neighborhood with a lot of new development and the kids were glued to the windows watching all the men and different machines at work. Suddenly Elizabeth pipes up, “Look mom! A straw house!” I knew she was thinking of the ‘Three Little Pigs’ and figured she was just goofing off when I saw she was serious and pointing out the window. Confused I slowed the car down and looked trying to see where this straw house was hiding. Then I started to laugh. She was pointing to the compressed wood boards they use for building. I definitely could be mistaken for straw, I sure hope those houses hold up should a wolf saunter along. heh πŸ™‚

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I have been walking daily (week days) now for a long time, I average about 3 miles a day and some times I get in 4 if time alows. I start off in the morning by walking the two older kids to school, then I just continue on my own walk from there. I walk past the school and then down the road behind the school passing the playground. The first time they did it, it caught me by surprise. The girls decided to lie in wait for me, crouching down at the bottom of the fence. As soon as I reached their spot they popped up, giggling and laughing, and raced me to the end of the field. Shouts of “Hi Mom!” (from multiple kids, not even my own), “Hi Julia!”, and “I love you mom!” filled the air as I watched their hair streaming out behind them, often times their hands joined forming a chain. It became quite the game and I always looked forward to racing my kids and their friends the length of the fence, but now they aren’t allowed to anymore. *sigh* I’ll miss my little fan club. They do wave to me still, and I can still hear an , “I LOVE YOU MOM!” floating above the playground chatter and squeals. πŸ™‚

~~~~~~~~~~~

I was driving, again, I do a lot of that, but this time I was alone, down a main highway on a very beautiful sunny day. I noticed that a short distance in front of me was a dark shadow cast by ominous looking clouds. There was a distinct line, a precipice, I almost felt like I was plunging ahead into unknown darkness and wanted to hold my breath. I didn’t want to surge into the storm, but linger peacefully in the sun. I drove into the shadow and here and there I could see the sun trying to peek through. I couldn’t see the end, but I knew if I drove long enough I would find it. I thought about life, it is a lot like life. I decided that I would rather face a storm head on than to let it creep up behind me and catch me unaware. I would rather move through a storm, rather than waiting for it to move away from me.

~~~~~~~~~~~

We have a dog. Well, really it’s my parents dog, but we take care of her now. She is a Corgi and her name is Susie. She is very sweet, but has one major defect. She is way to hairy and sheds a ton! I never knew so much hair could come off one little dog. During this time of year I need to brush her daily, so there is a constant supply of dog hair all over the back yard and on the deck. Yesterday I watched a little bird as it hopped across the deck. I hadn’t filled the bird feeders lately, so I was curious to see what it was up to. I snuck up to a window and watched quietly out of sight. I was rather fascinated as I watched him hop from place to place gathering dog hair in his beak, no doubt to build up his little nest. He flew off to some corner in the yard and a minute or two later he was back, gathering the hair. Something so simple, so much beauty, I was entranced.

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Filed under Children, Dot, Em, Humor, Lizy, Parenting, Philosophy, Things Kids Say

Accord

Weekly Anamnesis #22

With 4 children ages 7 and under things get pretty chaotic. Words like accord and harmony, just make me chuckle and think, “yeah, okay when the kids are sleeping maybe.” But there is a time everyday, when even if it is for just a brief moment we experience those moments of peace. About fifteen minutes or so before Dad comes home we gather in the living room. I pull out my towering piles of music and shake off the dust while Elizabeth hauls out the box of rythm instruments for the kids. I check to be sure that Paul’s spoons are sitting on top of the piano and then I sit myself down on the piano bench, flex my fingers, and begin to play.

It definitely isn’t quiet accord, but there is an element of peace to it. The peace that comes with joy. I usually start with Joplin to get the kids going, everyone grabbing instruments and playing and dancing around the room waiting for Dad to come home. Even Jacob joins in, playing and singing with the best of them. The house is full of joyous music, laughter, and singing and then I feel it, that moment of harmony when everything is just right in the world, and I see my kids all around me sharing my love, my passion. The sparkle in their eyes, the curves of their mouths as they grin from ear to ear, the joy spilling forth from every crack and I know that this old house is rejoicing with us. Then Daddy walks in and admist hugs and kisses picks up his spoons and joins the frey. Jacob tries to copy him whacking the little children’s set of spoons against his legs, singing all the while.

If I could take a spontaneous picture of my family, when none of us were looking or aware, it would be in that moment. All of us united sharing a passion that only we can share and experiencing the love and harmony in our home. Love, laughter, accord.

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Filed under Anamnesis, Family, Music, Writing

Plunger Avenger

ABQ mom and I were IMing yesterday about our bathroom ventures and decided that we would storm the blogging community with our toilet stories, you know, flush them out, per say. ABQ wrote about her toilet story yesterday, so today it is my turn, an expose of the sordid doings of our household toilet.

I was hoping I could blame all of our toilet woes on my parent’s house, where we currently live while they are out serving missions and gallivanting across the country side, saying that a curse was laid upon the house when the squirrel died in the toilet. But to no avail, I am afraid our toilet woes start long before we ever got to this house. In fact, I think we can blame it on genetics. Yup ladies and gentlemen, our children were born of a toilet drinker. Oh? What’s that you say? Me? How could you think such a thing! I was much too much a little lady to ever consider drinking from the toilet. You raise your eyebrows? Ok, maybe the little lady part was a little too much. Truth be told, it never crossed my mind to refresh myself of the cool clear water in the porcelain throne, though I might have tried to sail a boat across the stormy sea once, not really sure. No, it was my darling husband who was the toilet drinker of the family. (I wonder if he’ll read this one . . . hee hee hee)

I have come to the conclusion that the drinking of toilet water alters ones genes in such away that they are passed on to the children who inherit this toilet savviness. Let’s just say that I have become an expert with the plunger. If I were to ever attend a jousting tournament I would use the plunger as my weapon choice. Those things can do serious damage I hear, suck your face right off! If I were Little John I would not need a yew cudgeling, not with my trusty plunger! All the pirates upon the stormy seas would fear the “Plunging Pirate!” and the ninjas would . . (ok, going a little too far here?) You get the point. I put plumbers out of business with my plunger saviness. heh.

The girls have mainly been toilet paper stuffers. Each one of them has tried to see just how much toilet paper fits into a toilet bowl and how many flushes they need to get rid of it. It is quite the scientific experiment, and a great lesson in math and physics I am sure. Though one daughter (and I bet you know who) has tried the experiment multiple times, she likes to test her theory before coming to any outstanding conclusions.

She once tried the theory of gravity and flush ability with her toothbrush, and watched in dismay as it settled beneath the water surface, just out of sight. Worried that mommy would be mad that she dropped her toothbrush in the toilet she decided to flush it. This was the one time my plunging failed me. Though we did manage to make the toilet last a little longer by plunging toilet paper past the toothbrush blockage, we finally had to buy a new toilet. Which was good, because upon removal we found that the girls had been trying to flush the toilet paper tubes down the toilet as well! Hopefully, we can avoid anymore such gravity experiments.

Elizabeth however decided to stand on the edge of the toilet in order to wash her hands. Did she close the lid before doing so? Of course not! She was rather dismayed when she proved the theory that Moms might just know what they are talking about when her foot slipped and she plunged into the toilet. I have found that human plungers do not work as well as the conventional kind.

Now, Jacob, he is the one however that has caught Paul’s gene to the strongest degree. I think a father to son combination is the most potent passage of the toilet gene. Should the bathroom door be left open and the toilet lid be left up (heaven forbid!) you will surely find Jacob perusing the mysteries of the said porcelain throne, trying to discover the treasure that it beholds. I have found him happily splashing, amazed at the arc of the droplets flying through the air. His finest occasion to the date was his resourcefulness at brushing his teeth. He could not reach the sink, way to short for that, but he could dip his toothbrush into the toilet bowl! Now, those are some impressive problem solving skills there people. I’m pretty sure that I caught the toothbrush before it ever entered his mouth, but one can never be to sure.

So if you see a strange woman walking down the street wielding a plunger, you can be assured that it is I masquerading as my other secret identity, “The Plunger Avenger.”

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Filed under Children, Dot, Goofs, Humor, Jacob, Lizy, Parenting

Golden Ground Squirrel

Here I sit, a turban upon my head (I just got out of the shower – a day when you’re lucky to even make it to the shower with kids about), a plate of brownies, and a tall glass of iced milk as my companions. (I know, my husband has already declared me the strangest person he knows because I put ice in my milk.) My turban makes me feel wise, all-knowing, ok, well extremely goofy, but I like the all-knowing part. The brownies help balance out my vigorous walk this morning, and the milk is the healthy part of my diet. heh. Ahh, but I forget myself, this is all to set the mood for the story I am about to write. The failing fluorescent light flickers dimly above me (apparently I’ve forgotten to turn it off) and the warm yellow glow of the desk lamp illuminates the keyboard, as I type this very sentence.

The tale I am about to tell is a tragic comedy, or a comedic tragedy, and takes place some 15 years ago or so, when I was but a young lass on summer vacation during high school. (mmm, you should try these brownies . . . )

The little black nose sniffed delicately at the crackers and glanced suspiciously around. Free food? A hesitant paw reached out and snatched up the first one and then began to follow the trail. A small delicate golden figure weaved drunkenly between the trail of crackers, no doubt suffering from an overdose of cracker preservatives. At one point the little figure stops and eyes the end of the trail warily, the last of the crackers is sitting in a soft squishy cup, the color of pale peach roses. It seems to be attached to something large with big eyes (and rather ferocious teeth behind the attempt at a smile). It can’t understand the strange babble coming out of its mouth. He eyes it warily, stationary, still. The strange thing quits making noises and sits quiet, and motionless. Cautiously the little figure creeps up, slower and slower, until it is eating out the soft squishy cup and doesn’t even realize the box being placed around it.

“We got it!” I was excited as my mom dusted off her hands. We had entertained a number of the small rodent society, namely chipmunks, but here I had a Golden Ground Squirrel (which looks amazingly like a chipmunk). We weren’t being mean, the squirrel had been dashing about the parking lot from one car to another begging and had become so tame it was going to be killed, so we had decided to capture it, enjoy it at home for a while and then let it go in some wild place far from cars. My mother lovingly built a giant tower cage with branches of all shapes and sizes, and a food shute that closed from the outside. The little squirrel seemed very happy among the giants he was so curious about.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ahh, we’re home!” I sighed as we pulled up in the driveway, home was a beautiful sight after 14 long hours in the car. We extricated our legs from the pressing confines of our automobile and stretched our weary muscles. I eyed my mom as she and dad walked into the house. I knew where they were headed . . . I believe in honoring your mother and father but when it comes to hitting the bathroom after a long road trip, it’s every man for himself, and I charge in the house, exclaiming, “Gotta go! Gotta go!” The wild race was on. Dad hit the main bath first and Mom and I surged on to the master bath. She beat me by a tenth of an inch. I turned laughing, to dance before either door until they opened, when my mother gave a surprised exclamation, “Oh dear!”

“What’s up?” I asked inquisitively.
She pointed to the toilet. There floating sadly in the toilet was our sweet little ground squirrel. The only thing I could think to say was, “He had to pee? I didn’t realize he was house broken!”
When greeted by a dead squirrel in your toilet, it is a bit hard to be sad and sympathetic. Things like, “his poor little legs couldn’t reach”, “I didn’t think you ate squirrel, let alone whole!” or “mom! I didn’t think you had it in you” etc, kept floating to my brain interchanged with bursts of laughter. I charged through the house sounding the alarm, “The squirrel drowned in the toilet!” Soon the family was gathered in a solemn memorial around our toilet, gazing into the bowl, with somber expressions upon our faces, an intermittent chuckle scattered here and there. It was discovered that the young man watching our animals while we were away didn’t fasten the food hatch securely and the squirrel wanted to explore his new home a little more extensively than he was preciously permitted. The cause of death was drowning. But I have yet to decided if he was trying to pee, or just thirsty.

In the end, all I can say is, (quoting ‘Anne of Green Gables’) “I suppose it was a romantic way to die, for a squirrel.”

This post was inspired by Perpetual Chocoholic (and follow up) Oooh, and “to pee a squirrel” has an entire different meaning to me! lol! πŸ™‚

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Filed under Goofs, Humor, Memory, Youth

Surface

Weekly Anamnesis #21

I’m a day late on the deadline to this one . . .

I don’t know when I developped the knack for it. I do know that as a child and a tomboy I decided that crying was for wimps and I began to bury emotions beneath the surface. Most of my memories of childhood are happy, rosey golden ones. I know that my childhood wasn’t perfect, but it was far better than most of my friends and I loved my childhood. I burried sad memories with my desire to cry. (I don’t mind the burrying of sad memories, I think it is important to move on, but along with some of those memories I burried the ability to show more emotion than just happiness.) Maybe I had experienced just enough hurt to not want to face it, maybe I was trying to be tough, I’ll never really know. I remember in college wishing that I could “feel ” more and I worked on it some. But it hurt – a lot. So I reburried emotion and continued on my life. But, once you excavate something and try to reburry it, often you don’t do as good as a job. My feelings were a little easier to tap into, a little easier access. I started showing more than one feeling without my even knowing it. (I was the always with a smile on her face girl.)

Paul was the one who taught me how to cry, really cry and to really feel. I remember after my Grammy died and I couldn’t go to her funeral that I was trying to assure him that I was fine, everything was fine. He looked at me odd and knew what my true feelings below the surface were, but I couldn’t cry or show my emotion in front of people, even him, and tears slipped quietly down my face while we were sleeping. He knew.

I have since become a watering pot, or at least I feel like it sometimes, with him. I still work on not burying all my emotions below the surface, but I still have a hard time letting hurt and pain and fear show. Though sometimes, I wish I could have the always happy girl back, but that just doesn’t work in parenthood. heh πŸ™‚

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Filed under Anamnesis, Love and Marriage, Memory, Writing

Happy Birthday Dot!

Dorothy turned 6 yesterday, I did not have a chance to do her birthday tribute then, so I am doing it now . . .

Even at just a couple months old Dot had that mischeivious grin . . . :)(and lots of curly, curly hair)

I should have known even then, what a true little darling pea she was . . . πŸ™‚

Eager to meet adventure head on . . .

And charm us all with your endearing smile . . .

Thoughtful and loving with that mischievious twinkle in your eye . . .

A little lady set to turn the world on its head . . .

a commet rocketing through time and space . . .

filling my heart with love forever . . .

my daring delicious darling Dot! Happy birthday! My life will always be full of adventure with you!!


(for the story on this picture read this: Desitin and Other Misadventures)

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Filed under Children, Dot, Parenting