Conserving Energy can be Hazardous to your Health

I have always turned lights on as I’ve walked through the house. I suppose it was probably about 30% imagination and 70% klutz factor. My eyes seem to bring shadows to life, but more importantly, my feet seem to find every obstacle in the dark. After I married Paul he always laughed at my light turning on tendancies and began shutting lights off on me (lovingly of course) and I began calling him (lovingly of course too) the Light Nazi.

Well, over the years, I have become quite used to walking around in the dark and have convinced my imagination to leave me alone (actually, I just sing primary songs when my imagination starts to get the better of me).

The other night Paul was at the priesthood session of General Conference and Murdoch was barking in the backyard on his dog run line. He was barking like crazy and driving me mad. So, I decided to go down and let him in. I laid the baby in his cradle/bassinet at the side of my bed and went down the stairs. As I moved through the house there was a little light streaming in through the small front windows beside the door from our front outdoor lamp, so I didn’t feel the need to flip any lights on.

As I moved to the back of the house toward the back door I applauded myself on the fact that even though it was darker I still hadn’t turned on a single light. Wouldn’t Paul be proud? I grabbed the leash and flipped on the outside light. It didn’t turn on, but knowing it was a motion sensing light, it didn’t bother me. I opened the door. I couldn’t even see the dog it was so dark, but I knew the light would come on soon.

Stepping carefully, I made my way down the stairs, all the time hoping the light would turn on soon. All was going well until the world dropped out from under me. Literally. Okay, it wasn’t the world, it was just a step. I had misjudged how many steps there were in the dark and I missed the final stair.

With a startled, “Oh crap! (yes, I know, I need to watch my phrase-ology, but in my defense I was caught by surprise and there were no children around), I found the deck rushing up to meet me. I hit with such a resounding clatter that the dog took off yelping in terror. It quickly turned to a defensive frenzy of barking as my arm did a complete windmill and released the leash, which went sailing past his head.

Because it had just rained, the deck was unusually slippery. My knee met the deck first. The rest of me quickly followed, causing my leg to go shooting backwards along the deck, leaving streaks of brown dirt up down my pants and shins. With my legs shooting out behind me, I put my hands out to catch myself. This was rather pointless as they went skidding off in front of me, leaving me with little other course than to complete the belly flop on the deck.

After telling Murdoch to be quiet (actually I said shut-up – I was not in the best of humor at this point) I listened in satisfaction as the barking came to an immediate halt. I stumbled to my feet and scanned the dark deck in front of me.

Still, leash flying through the air and all, the light on the back porch had failed to come on. I felt around blindly and could find no leash. Finally, as I turned back to scowl at the light that failed, it flared to life bathing the backyard in welcomed light. I spotted the leash a good 3 or more feet off the deck laying in the grass. After fetching the leash, I limped my way to the dog and led him inside.

When Paul got home I looked at him rather crossly. “Conserving energy is hazardous to your health.”

He gave me a puzzled look and I told him of my adventure. He didn’t even try to mask the laugh or hide the smile. “Oh, I always turn the light on inside before taking the dog out.Why didn’t you?”

“Because you’re the light nazi!” I shook my head, starting to laugh. “I was trying to be all cool walking around in the dark like my hubby. Dork.”

So, if you drive by our house in the very late evening and find it blazing with lights – I’m only taking the dog out. 😀 Maybe the higher electric bill will be worth not having higher medical bills.

And the rain (or croissants as the case may be) comes down

It was a dark and dreary day. It really was. It had been raining quite heavily all day long. A trip to Costco was required though, so I had bundled up the boys (the girls were still in school at the time) and drove to the nearest store, about 20 minutes away or so.

There is one thing I am a sucker for at Costco – and that is croissants. I LOVE them. I love to use them for sandwiches, or just eat them plain. This trip was no different than the others, I purchased a package of croissants along with the rest of the groceries.

I got home and, dodging the rain, hurried inside with James in my arms and pulling a reluctant Jacob behind me hollering “I holp! I holp!” I tried to explain to him that things were too heavy and it was raining to hard to help, and though he consented, he was not happy about it.

It was James’s nap time, so I punked him in his crib and hurried back out the door and into the rain to bring the rest of my purchases. In one hand I carried dishwasher detergent, in another I carried a box of frozen hashbrowns. Perched atop the box of hashbrowns was the coveted package of croissants.

I was trying to hurry and I was soaked. I only ever wear flipflops unless I am doing a lot of walking and I didn’t think about the fact that the floor would be wet from my earlier entrance. I hit the damp wood floor in front of the door and my right ankle shot out, wrenching beneath me. I felt the crunch as I pitched forward. The Dishwasher soap bounced across the carpetted part of the floor as the hashbrowns and croissants became airborn. Luckily, the box of hashbrowns landed on the couch beside me, gently bobbing up and down on the plush cushions.

I layed on my stomach in agony as the soft patter of croisants rained around my still form. After a moment of silence I heard a tentative little voice.

“Mommy? You fall mommy?”

“Yes, Jacob. I fell.”

“I holp now?”

“Yes. You can help now.”

He happily gathered up the croissants as I pealed my wounded self off the ground. It is one thing to say you sprained your ankle doing sports or saving a child from a speeding train – but slipping on a puddle of water? Come on! 😀

(By the way – this was a couple months ago – after gimping about for a couple weeks the ankle was better. It didn’t even swell – of course I think my ankles are so used to being wrenched, sprained, and twisted that they have long since given up swelling 😀 heh)

I Should Have Been a Pole Vaulter

Maybe I was in another life. hah! So, this is what happened. A few weeks ago the kids had a school talent show. Dorothy decided she was singing in it and Liz wanted to play the piano. It isn’t a really well organized thing and kids run around willy-nilly and you can hardly anything, but hey, its fun.

It is also a silent auction, so at one point I was walking back towards my family, seated on the floor, after having browsed past the tables showcasing the baskets and items up for auction. Paul had both boys on his lap, and Dorothy and her friend were sitting a little in front of him.

I could tell my marvelous husband was struggling with both boys, so I offered to take the baby – walking up between him and the two girls. He hands me James.

You know how when someone hands you something rather large and you suddenly feel like you are two close to that person and you take an unconcious step backwards? Well, that’s how I felt and what I did.

I realized, with horror, that I was standing on my Daughter’s hand – all my weight standing. In order to get off her hand I need to move my right leg so it was more underneath me. As my leg moved back it met an obstacle – Dot’s friend. Before I knew it I was falling backwards – baby in arms, camera around neck.

The first thought that flashed through my mind was “I can’t fall on her” – she has cancer it would kill her – or just break every bone in her body – since they are weaker because of the chemo and treatments and stuff.

So I jumped. I twisted my body to the side, shielded the baby and held him in front of me and jumped backwards – up over the little seated girl. Yup, I am that good. I landed flat on my back – well more on the left side of my back as I had the baby in my right arm and was holding him up higher so he wouldn’t hit the floor. The camera, still around my neck, crashed on the floor and bounced.

I lay there half laughing, thinking, “This only happens to me.” and “Thank goodness most everyone else is too engrossed in the talent show to notice what just happened.”

The baby was fine – he wanted to go for another fun ride, in fact. Camera was fine *whew*, and the little girl – we hoped was fine. I cleared her mostly – but caught her shoulder. The grandparents were panicked about me (I did kinda hit my head when I landed) and I insisted I was fine. (Though the next couple days were excruciatingly sore ones)

Turns out the little girl was fine except for a broken shoulder. I felt horrible, the parents and grandparents assured me it wasn’t my fault and they were amazed at my ability to high jump backwards. The awesome news is that the should is healing fine without surgery or pins or anything – such a relief. 😀

I have to say though, I think this is a sport I should leave to the professionals – they have those cushy little cushions to land on!

Doing What I Do Best

A faint gray light filtered into the bedroom and I groaned as the alarm sounded. Morning had come too quickly and I could hear the girls moving about in their room, beginning to wake and get ready for school.  I staggered to the bathroom and stuck my eyeballs in, then searched for my walking pants.  I spotted them tossed on a chair in the bedroom.  I quietly slipped back into the dark room, being careful not to wake James who was still fast asleep in his crib. (Because we are in my parents house and have two households worth of stuff crammed in there, James’ crib is in our bedroom).  I tugged my walking pants on and exited the room into the brightly lit hall, greeting four smiling faces before dissapearing into the kitchen to ready breakfast.

The morning went fairly smoothly, as far as mornings with 5 young children go, with James waking and eating not too long before it was time to leave.  I walk the kids to school in the morning and then continue on my own walk, going anywhere from 2 to 5 miles depending on time.  This morning was no different as I loaded Jacob and James into the bike cart that doubles as a stroller.  (Their combined wait is close to 60 pounds).  We walked down the street and said good morning to the crossing guard as we made our way to school.  On our way there, we ran into a walking friend I had made just a few weeks ago when school started. She was walking with her husband (usually she is by herself) with their first grader in tow, pushing the baby in their stroller.

We stopped to chat a moment – I had gone to highschool with both of them, and actually knew and remembered her husband.   Mid-conversation she leans toward me and says, “I want you know I do this all the time, but I think I should tell you – you’re pants are on inside out.”

I looked down and sure enough – no pink stripes were running up the side of my black exercise pants. They were indeed, inside out.  Fighting the urge to run home and hide I made a lauhging comment of the dangers of getting dressed in the dark.  I knew I would have no opportunity to change my pants rightside out if I wanted to get my walk in, so, with head high I marched to the school, deposited my children, and headed off (to the grocery store – as that was the planned walk) with my pants inside out. (At least they were black, and hopefully not Too noticable).

My friend and her husband were heading the same way, and as they didn’t seem too embarrassed to be seen with a women who couldn’t dress herself right, I walked with them.  All was going well until we got to the hill.

It is a big hill that goes under a railroad trestle.  I have to lean my body and the stroller back so it doesn’t get away from me – especially with all that weight in there from the boys. At this point I happened to be in the lead and was trying my hardest not to be pulled into a full out run as the stroller struggled to get away from me.

Suddenly my left ankle gave out beneath me and I found myself collapsing to the ground. I instantly clutched tighter to the stroller, desperate not to let go of it and send my children sailing down the hill into a ditch, or even worse – a car.  Stroller half dragging me, my knee dug into the pavement as my friend swerved her stroller to avoid running me down.   I jolt from behind let me know that her husband had just tripped over my back – or was he lunging to catch the stroller in case I let go? Finally my body stopped, sprawled on the ground, with one hand still clinging to the stroller.

“I’ve got it, you can let go now.”

I thanked him and got to my feet. Boy did my ankle hurt – but no way in heaven was I going to let on.  “I’m sorry you got hurt,” she says.

“Ahh – the only thing really hurt is my pride.” And I laugh it off – because, after all – even though I felt a twinge of embarrassment, it really was very funny.

“So, you’re having one of THOSE days,” she says laughing.

Yes, indeed I was.  I managed to walk all the way to the grocery store and home again – but my ankle has been bugging me since, so my husband commanded me to get a brace for it.  I figure I sprained it. 

Oh, and the day continued. Yup. That evening when I was making tacos for dinner, I reached into the cupboard to add more taco seasoning to the hamburger. Only, the container I grabbed wasn’t taco seasoning. It was CINNAMON. Yup. Cinnamon.  All over my taco meat and I wasn’t about to throw it out. So I did what every other Goofy prone mom would do. I added more cilantro and taco seasoning on top of it, and hoped it would taste ok.

Surprisingly enough, it did. And the kids loved it. So, if you ever want to try something a little different, toss a little cinnamon in your taco meat – you might be surprised at how good it really is.

That was my Friday – thankfully, the rest of the weekend wasn’t nearly so thrilling.

At Least the Swelling went Down By My Birthday

We had set the small dome tent up in the back yard for the kids to sleep in while my brother and sister-in-law were here.  The kids had enjoyed some fun nights out there during the week, but Paul and I decided on Thursday it was time to take the tent down.  Jacob had torn a small hole in the netting – which I am going to attempt to patch.  I figured I would be the good helpful wife and approached the tent.

I grasped one of the tent poles and pulled it out from it’s loop.  Quicker than I could blink the pole slipped from my hand and whisked through the air – a deadly arc slicing the air. As it lept toward the sky it caught my upper lip and flipped it up so fast, I thought it was going to be sitting there vibrating back and forth for the entire evening. My lipped swelled up bigger than a cherry, bruised, and bled a little. 

Once Paul knew I was allright, he was trying his hardest not to bust up laughing – until I finally said, “It’s okay dear, you can laugh – it was pretty funny. But, if the swelling doesn’t go down by Saturday you are not taking a photos of me & I am not going anywhere.  Well – Friday the swelling was way down, and today it was nearly gone – it turned pretty colors, but at least it didn’t look like I had some sort of abnormal growth on my lip.

So, I can add another item to the “Be careful or you might poke your eye out” list.

So, the birthday was a lot of fun – the funniest gift (my present from James, of course):

The Bestest B-day present: My beloved backwards goofy watch was loosing time – my faithful husband managed to track me down a new one – a near impossible feat. 🙂

Blame it on the Soy Sauce … or … Soy Sauce is Evil

The second and fourth Wednesday of every month finds me hosting a writing group in my home. There are anywhere from 2 to 4 ladies besides myself who attend. Usually I try to make sure my house looks semi-decent, ie: avoid the bomb just went off look. This Wednesday found my house looking just the opposite. All the effort I put into getting the house straightened yesterday had evaporated into a fine mist, leaving not even the slightest trace behind.

The morning was packed, rushed and busy with little time for feeding the baby, let alone cleaning anything. Upon picking up Emily from kindergarten I plead with her to be my super-duper helper, and she happily agreed.

I should have known based on the powers of destructiveness in the morning – what small things I did get done were immediately undone – that success in presenting a clean home was not meant to be. I was chatting with one of the writing group members on the phone when Emily walked up to me in near tears.

She held up the glass syrup container that we keep soy sauce in. “This spilled. It was an accident.”

I told her that was find and came to clean up the mess. It hadn’t just spilled – it had been accidently knocked out of the fridge. There was a massive puddle of soy sauce that Jacob was dropping napkins in in an effort to “Holp.” (There is nothing cuter than to here his little three-year-old self say, “I holp you, Mom! I holp you!”) The napkins would quickly turn black and drip their way across the floor as Jacob carried them to the garbage can on the other side of the room. Obviously this was not working.

I quickly grabbed a towell and mopped up the soy sauce mess. Then I snagged the mop and zipped it around. Emily was trying to make peanut butter and jelly sandwhiches, and I was try to clean things up when I happened upon a phone that needed to be charged. I walked into the kitchen – momentarily forgetting that the floor was wet from mopping because of the blasted soy sauce.

I was not walking slowly, nor carefully. I was on a mission! I hit that wet floor and I knew in an instant I was in trouble as my feet did this crazy side step/ slide move that would have impressed the best dancers and I found myself momentarily suspended in air.

I felt like a cartoon. It seemed to me that I hovered in the air above the floor – looked down and thought “This is going to hurt,” just before slamming into the kitchen floor on both knees – my arm coming down on the top of an open cupboard. I think a nice sized crater could have been made by those knees – I hit that hard.

Emily and Jacob looked on with awe as I tried to gingerly move off my knees. The minute I eased off the knees the pain sensors hit my brain and with a sharp intake of breath I uttered, “Yep. That hurt.” And promptly laid down on my side wishing the pain away.

“Are you ok?” an anxious Emmy asked.

“Mommy die, Emmy,” Jacob answered in hushed tones.

At that response I couldn’t help a hearty chuckle. (we frequently have death scenes in our house – he didn’t think I was REALLY dead) “I’m not dead Jacob.”

“I think we should jump on her,” says Emily. (we also have frequent jump on and wrestle sessions in our house when people are dying on the floor)

That comment got me moving – pain or not – and lauging too. Maybe I shouldn’t have put the Goofy display up on the piano this month. That’s two goofy momments in less than a week. Personally though, I blame it on the Soy Sauce.

Evil, evil soy sauce.

Waking Up Hubby

People have always enjoyed waking me up in the most interesting ways; In college, Paul’s favorite method of waking me while I slept in the “fishbowl” of the music building was to drip water on me from the balcony above. Well, Sunday it was my turn for revenge.

We started out the afternoon after church and lunch by having the kids do a quiet time, the two older ones being asked to read quietly, and the younger ones sent to play in their rooms for a bit. Paul and I relaxed in the family room, each with out computer – he on the couch, and me in the recliner. It wasn’t long before the peaceful sawing of his snores filled the room. I continued to fool around on facebook and other places while he slept, until I decided it was time to make dinner. I closed my laptop and went to set it on the little table between the chair and the couch.

There was a large blue cup on that table. A large blue cup on the edge of that table. The edge towards the couch. Did I say that it was perched precariously on the edge of that table? I set the computer down and barely touched the cup. That slight little nudge sent that large blue cup right over the edge. I thought it was empty.

But the way my husband jumped and the subsequent splash informed me that it was not. The mes it made informed me that it was still quite full. He dumped his computer none to reverently on the floor and yanked out the cord – thankfully none got on the computer. As he stood his arm was litterally dripping – plip, plip, plip, as he stood there with semi groggy and confused look.

“Sorry.?.” I offered with a sheepish grin. “I just thought it was, uh, time for you to wake up. Ya, that’s it. You know usually you have such a hard time waking, I thought I’d do the job throroughly this time.”

By the time I finished my longwinded explanation we were both chortling hartily.

Did I mention that the cup was full of juice?

Yeah, it was.

One of THOSE Moments

I usually don’t mind drop-ins.  Mainly because it is almost always my friends, and they have lots of kids too and know that the house isn’t always perfect, though I usually try to keep it at least decent.

Today it looks like a bomb hit my house. Jacob was especially destructive, Emily starving, and the baby howling.  I had Emily make a couple of quick PB&J sandwiches, and managed to keep the baby happy while the kids ate a half-hearted lunch. I sent them off to quiet time and sank into my chair, baby in arms to nurse.

Wouldn’t you know it, as soon as the baby finishes eating, spits up on me as is his habbit, and I stand to go get something done, there comes a happy tapping on my door.  Uh-oh.  My friends don’t knock, they just walk in and announce themselves – that’s the way I like it.  Door salesmen knock, which are easy to get rid of, and old friends of my parents.

So, I open my door to find a very sweet lady who is the mom to one of my mom’s old piano students.  Me with toys flung far and wide, jam dripping off the counter and a half eaten PB&J sandwhich smashed into the table.  Me with spit-up stains all over my shirt, my hair disheveled, and clutter on the couches. Me with dishes in the sink, the art drawer open and masses of coloring books hanging out limply -loosing papers to the floor, and shoes boxes flung far and wide from kids playing with them. Why oh why can’t I have that kind of a drop in when my house, and myself for that matter, look good? Why just the other day the house was looking quite spic and span, and my hair was done, though I don’t think I ever appear without spit up on me these days. It was fun to see her, I remember her son quite well – he was very talented – but oh, how I wanted to hide as I invited her in while I found a pen and paper to write my parent’s adress on. 

There she stands patiently, as I frantically search for pen and paper, looking around. I am sure she is not thinking anything mean about how crazy the house looks right now, but I am SO embarrassed.  Then as I hand her the scrap of paper with the adress scibbled on it, Jacob starts banging on the wall – very loudly. “Um, that would be my son, the three old, who is SUPPOSED to be taking a nap.”

“Loud napper,” she chuckles.  I am sure she remembers the times when she had little tykes banging away, but I can’t help feeling moritfied.

Why does it matter that someone should see us at less than our best? Don’t we all have moments like this? I know we do. Maybe it was that I was thinking about how clean my Mom’s house was (I am the youngest, so she had no children at home when this lady’s son was taking lessons) when they would come for lessons, and how not clean it was today.

All I know is how horribly embarrassed I felt, and how the minute she left I wanted to clean from top to bottom, and then the baby started in to cry. And here I am pondering on why we worry so much about what others think, and typing it all with one hand.

 P.S. The repetition of “me with” is a literary device called ‘anaphora’ – I learned about it today in my online poetry class – I didn’t even realize I was using it, until I came back to edit something. How cool is that? 🙂 Well, baby appears to be happy, so off I go to get something done. 🙂

Why My Parents Didn’t Name Me Grace

I teach a primary class at church – a large group of girls from the ages of 9 turning 10 this year up to just barely turned 12 this year.  I’ll have anywhere from 12-15 girls a week.  We have a lot of fun, they are a hoot to teach.

Sunday I was walking into our classroom while chatting with a friend when suddenly my right ankle turned (blasted high heels, though they are wider heels and pretty sturdy) and I went flying backward. I fell backwards across the hall, my legs shot out in front of me (at least I didn’t flash anyone in my sunday skirt) and I landed on my bum – HARD. The momentum of my fall caused my elbow to smash into the door (where a Sunday school class of teenagers was) behind me, followed my my entire back.  It was humiliatingly loud. My friend was caught between astonished, laughing, and concerned about my *condition*. And pronounced, “That was the strangest fall I have ever seen.” 

All of my girls heard my resonating crash and one of them popped out, “That was you???” In utter amazement and I was greeted by many giggles once I limped into the room – after they made sure I was all right, of course. Only one of the teenagers witnessed by glorious grace, thankgoodness, though he was kind enough to tease me about it heavily later on in the day.  My friend of course was kind enough to let my husband know, so he hunted me down later and renewed many giggles.  I don’t know that my lesson was terribly effective that day – the goofiness of their teacher seemed to occupy them for quite some time.

And, aside from being very, very sore, I – and baby- are just fine.  Feeling a bit wounded in the pride department, but fine just the same. 🙂

A Bone to Pick and a Carpet to Clean

I’ve got a bone to pick with you Deb.  I have been klutz and accident free for quite a while, until you asked me that question.  Today – a few short hours after I posted the answers to your questions I  executed a feat that would put all other feats to shame. But now I get ahead of myself, let me back up a few hours….

I finished writing my blog and got the kids ready to go out and run some errands, post office, bank, you know the kind. The rain had finally let up and the sun was out and I was feeling particularly cheery.  I was thinking about lunch and dinner and decided not to eat my leftovers for lunch, but save them for dinner so there would be enough for the whole family – and save me time and cooking.  I grabbed a yummy bag of pasta from the frozen aisle.  I usually don’t do this but it was on sale at a ridiculously cheap price and it had shrimp in it – mmmmm.  I figured it would make a decent little lunch.

I got home, fed the children and sent them off to quiet time while I straightened up the kitchen some, put things away, and cooked up my little bag of pasta. It smelled so devine and the shrimp called to me with their scintillating scents, begging to be eaten.  I poured myself a large (really large) glass of juice that I had given the kids (I know, it really should have been water, shame on me) and, resisting the urge to pop one of the shrimp in my mouth right then, dumped it on my plate.  With plate and book in one hand and giant juice filled cup in other hand I began to head into the family room.

I was in the process of trying to decide if I would watch a re-run of Matlock while I ate lunch or if I would work on my writing when I hit the patch of water on the floor.  Unbeknownst to me one of the children had spilled water this morning.  I was suddenly skidding across the remainder of the kitchen floor – the sudden jolt sending juice rushing over the edge of the cup in a wave onto our wood stove as I sailed past on my right foot – fighting for balance, and trying to save my food. 

My left foot hit the carpet leading into the family room and twisted at the sudden jolt of traction.  While my feet stopped suddenly I found that my upper body did not have any such resistance.  I was now launched on my final flight.  Just ahead I saw the plastic fence (our attempt to quarentine Jacob, though it really doesn’t do much good anymore) rappidly rushing up to meet my legs.  I plowed it down like the big bad wolf puffing away the house of straw.  In horror I watched my plate of beloved shrimpy pasta fly free and felt the giant cup of juice beginning to sail through the air.  With a resounding crash and postludial “Oomph!” I landed, skidding across the carpet on my stomach through my food, my arms out stretched before me. I suddenly had an insane urge to scream “SUPERMAN!!!” as I surged across the floor. I had juice dripping down the side of my head and was wearing pretty pasta, sauce and shrimp across my t-shirt.  The juice was kind enough to spray so well as it flipped and flew through the air that I found droplets running down the window all the way across the room, and I might be finding escaped shrimp for the next few days in the oddest places. The only comment I could manage to say to myself as I eyed the damage was, “Well, that hurt, I needed to clean the carpet anyway.”  But I must say, I lamented the loss of my pasta as I scooped it into the garbage – unsalvagable unless you care for pasta a la dog hair. 

So left-overs for lunch, and left-overs for dinner, and a carpet cleaner rental this evening.

And borrowing, and slightly altering a line from a much earlier post, I leave with you my final thoughts on the afore mentioned events of this (not so splendid) afternoon:

 “Oh my! How Juice, Pasta, and Goofy can fly!”