It must run in the family

A long time ago, when I was but a wee little lass, my big sister, Heidi, melted one of those plastic cake/jello pans in the oven.

OOPS!

In her defense, she didn’t know it was in there when she turned the oven on. At least, I don’t think she did. Heidi? (She’ll correct me if I’m wrong, believe me! :-D) I don’t remember why it was in there. I just remember copious amounts of baking soda being flung all over the kitchen when it was found.

If there had been Christmas music playing (and something wasn’t on fire) we probably would have started shouting,

“It’s snowing! It’s snowing.”

But, no one did, because we didn’t want to go up in flames. The fire was quickly estinguished and who knows what happened to the rack and the oven. I was too little. I probably scampered out to the barn after all the excitement was over to avoid being roped into the clean-up.

***

So, today is Dot’s birthday.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DOT!!

She decided to make us all eggs on her birthday. She cooked them herself and made orange juice and brought mine to me in bed (because I was REALLY slow waking up this morning – ok, well it was only 6:30 at that point, but still I was half an hour late waking up). I grinned at her, wished her a happy birthday, scarfed my eggs down and went to hang out with the family. The boys were still in bed and the girls were just finishing eating.

We chased Lizard out the door for school and greeted a sleepy-eyed, stumbling Jacob who plopped down at the table. Dot promptly delivered his breakfast. Maybe if I had been paying closer attention I would have noticed where she got his breakfast from, but, I wasn’t.

I decided to be extremely efficient. I was going to get that cake baked right away and run to the store, all before my three elementary kids went to school and Dad took off to work. So, I flipped on the oven to preheat and went happily about mixing cake batter as Dot giggled and peeked around me.

I was just about ready to pour the batter into the pan and fling it in the oven (and feeling very proud of my efficient-ness), when James came downstairs.

“Where’s his breakfast?” Dot asked me.

I was thoroughly confused, staring at the empty frying pan that had obviously cooked eggs this morning. “Ummm. I have no idea.” (I swear, I did not eat the eggs.)  I was on the verge of questioning my sanity when Dot began freaking out.  I quelled her with a look. “I don’t know where the eggs are, Dot. I didn’t eat them. No one ate them. There are no eggs.” I pointed to the pan in emphasis, but her wild gesticulations just became wilder.

She frantically waved her hand in the direction of the oven. “THEY’RE IN THERE!!!!!”

“Oh, CRAP!”

(unfortunately, as much as I really hate to admit it, I did use that word)

I yanked the oven door open and there, partially melted and just beginning to drip onto the bottom of the oven, was a green plastic plate holding James’s eggs. Poor eggs. Poor plate. POOR OVEN!! YIKES!

“Why didn’t any one tell me?” I cry as Dot goes racing upstairs crying (poor Dot) and Paul comes racing downstairs.

He looks at my disaster. “Oh, shoot. Sorry about that. I told her to put them in there. Maybe next time we’ll stick them in the microwave to keep them warm. Might be a better idea.”

“Ya think?” 😛

Anyway, he was able to nimbly clean up the melting plate, nothing was ruined (except the plate… and the eggs – I didn’t think plastic coated eggs would be too good for James’s digestion)- heck! I didn’t even catch anything on fire (take that plastic oven disaster!), Dot was comforted and cheered up and we assured her it wasn’t her fault, and I was still able to get to the store and back before the little people left for school.

Moral of the story?

Don’t put plastic stuff in the oven….

EVER!!!

(oh, and it might not be a bad idea to look and see what’s in there before you turn the thing on.)

Queen of the Sink

I knew this day was coming. The day when I’d have to vie for my space in the bathroom. The day of crowded sink tops and competing for mirror time. The day when my make-up would be unceremoniously knocked onto the floor or into the garbage or treated like toys, just to be batted about. The day when my hairbrush and curling iron would be tackled to the ground. The day when I’d have to push someone out of the way just to wash my hands in the sink or kick them off the throne.  It took me ages to find my glasses the other day because they were knocked down behind the garbage (I know, I know, I should have put them away better).   My favorite lipstick was carried to unknown territory and I couldn’t find it for weeks.

My bathroom is becoming a war zone!!

I have three girls – three who will be all teenagers in just a few short years – so I knew this day would be coming.

I just didn’t expect it

NOW

And I didn’t expect it to be my

CAT!

When You Can’t Stand it…

Murdoch, a lovable bundle of energy that rivals even Jacob, came to us last August. A relative of one of Paul’s co-workers was needing to find a new home for him. We hadn’t planned on even considering a dog until sometime after the new year – After all we had just moved out here and I was pregnant. REALLY pregnant! We discussed it and prayed about it. The answer came and it was a yes.

Well, if I thought that a yes answer meant that Murdoch would be peaches and cream and perfectly trained, then I was in trouble. Because….

He’s not. He was potty trained – sort of – mainly it was an adjustment of new surroundings and owners I think. But even with that fixed mostly, he chewed on stuff, didn’t know any of the most basic commands and has a stubborness that rivals all six of my kids put together. Maybe he was sent to teach me patience – haha. Oh and he jumps on people – and did I mention he’s HUGE? The jumping is getting better – sort of – he seems to go in spurts.

All his annoying quirks aside, he’s a lot of fun and, while the training is slow and sometimes agonizing, he’s getting better. The biggest problem is when he gets loose.

Trying to get Murdoch back is like trying to catch a giggling toddler playing keep-away who can run as fast as a car… and he really can – I watched him pace several cars. He’ll let you get within inches and the moment you flinch, he’ll be half way down the street.

So, there I am this morning, in the rain, with two little boys and an escaped dog. The boys were inside – but I was nervous (for obvious reasons) to go very far to try to catch him. I tried dog treats, toys, patiently waiting and lunging for him, I had neighbors help. He knew all our tricks and wouldn’t have anything to do with it.

My laundry went undone, the store went unvisited, fun with my two littlest boys went unhad all while I tried to get the dog back. I was frustrated beyond belief and even told Paul to call the pound on our own dog cause I didn’t care anymore. I had tried everything and nothing had worked.

But then as I sat upstairs at my computer – seething in anger – I glanced at my Mom’s facebook profile and saw this:

I thought, “Did you pray?” Uh. Gee. Duh. I felt a little silly about not having thought about that solution. So I prayed. I prayed that if it be His will that we keep the dog (and half of me by now was hoping it wouldn’t be His will) that when I walked outside this time I’d be able to catch him without a problem.

I finished my prayer and walked outside. I couldn’t see him and wondered if the pound had already snagged him (it happened once before). The I saw him two houses down. He raised his head, looked at me and started walking towards me, just a slow sauntering walk.

I continued to pray. Murdoch walked right up to me and didn’t even flinch as I patted his head and hooked the leash to him. I suppose that means were supposed to keep him. 🙂 He’s a good dog (even if he refuses to get along with the cat – ha ha) and is improving every day. And I do love him, but sometimes…. grrrrrrr. 😀

I am grateful for prayer. I am grateful for a loving Heavenly Father who answers my prayers no matter how big or how little.