Once upon a time, in a land far, far, away, I worked for a ginormous corporation. Every few weeks, I was given the opportunity to visit clients and speak regarding investments. I especially adored flying to New York City. Limo ride to Manhattan, strolling 5th Avenue. What a rush of adrenaline, just BEING there!
I grin when I think how wonderfully different life is now. Tonight we took The Bug and The Pea to a Dairy Farm in town. (The Pea had won a $1 gift card from school, and she was going to treat us to ice cream, by golly.) My evening was spent slurping homemade Cookie Dough Ice Cream from a cake cone. The Bug and The Pea inhaled their treats, climbed on tires, and chased each other through the freshly mowed grass surrounding corn fields. At sunset, we loaded back in the car...sweaty, covered with dirt, and I daresay a few mosquito bites. Sticky fingers, wrinkled clothes, and the world's biggest smiles...
Friday night in Kentucky, ya just can't beat it...
Friday, August 14, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
A Script For Posterity
Nightly tuck-ins with my youngest are quite the event. I still believe firmly that the soul of an 80 year old resides in my little Pea's body. Bedtime conversations generally range from spiritual warfare to the 'fall of man' to philosophical debates on the flesh versus love. (And those were the topics we touched on when she was a kindergartener...Oy.) Tonight her thoughts drifted to the future, not really theological or philosophical at all. Nevertheless, I thought I might script tonight's conversation for posterity. I know my sweet child will feel differently a decade from now...in fact, my husband and I are banking on it! But let the records show that these words came from her mouth.
The Pea, upon realizing that I haven't lived in the same house, or even the same city, with my parents for over 19 years...
Pea: Mommy, are you glad that you live with me so that I can cheer you up?
Me: What do you mean sweetie?
Pea: Since you don't live with your Mommy and Daddy anymore...
Me: Of course I'm glad you live with me!
Pea: I'm always going to live with you!
Me: When you get older, I bet you'll want to have a husband of your own and maybe children! Won't you want your own house then? (Merciful heavens...when you turn 18 you are outta here!)
Pea: No, I'm not going to have a husband, and if I have kids, you can raise them! You know how to feed them and get their clothes on and change their diapers.
Me: You'll love going to college and living in one of those pretty buildings! Maybe even in the ADPi house like I did!
Pea: I'll go to college, but I'll live with you.
Me: Of course honey. (When pigs fly! Your Daddy and my cruise ship sets sail the moment we drop you off freshman year...)
Pea: And then after college, I'll get a job as an actress because they make lots of money. And then I'll buy a house. Next door.
Me: I would love that sweetie pie! (Fabulous...shouldn't be too hard to get a high paying job as a movie star...)
Pea: Give me big hugs Mommy! We're gonna live together forever! Even when you're really old!
Me: I can never have too many hugs from my Sweet Pea!
(Soooo NOT lookin' good for the home team!)
The Pea, upon realizing that I haven't lived in the same house, or even the same city, with my parents for over 19 years...
Pea: Mommy, are you glad that you live with me so that I can cheer you up?
Me: What do you mean sweetie?
Pea: Since you don't live with your Mommy and Daddy anymore...
Me: Of course I'm glad you live with me!
Pea: I'm always going to live with you!
Me: When you get older, I bet you'll want to have a husband of your own and maybe children! Won't you want your own house then? (Merciful heavens...when you turn 18 you are outta here!)
Pea: No, I'm not going to have a husband, and if I have kids, you can raise them! You know how to feed them and get their clothes on and change their diapers.
Me: You'll love going to college and living in one of those pretty buildings! Maybe even in the ADPi house like I did!
Pea: I'll go to college, but I'll live with you.
Me: Of course honey. (When pigs fly! Your Daddy and my cruise ship sets sail the moment we drop you off freshman year...)
Pea: And then after college, I'll get a job as an actress because they make lots of money. And then I'll buy a house. Next door.
Me: I would love that sweetie pie! (Fabulous...shouldn't be too hard to get a high paying job as a movie star...)
Pea: Give me big hugs Mommy! We're gonna live together forever! Even when you're really old!
Me: I can never have too many hugs from my Sweet Pea!
(Soooo NOT lookin' good for the home team!)
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Straws, Thanksgiving Dinner and Dental Work...
I have a whole new appreciation for those unfortunate souls with jaws wired shut for a period of time. Tonight, I practically sucked my supper through a straw. Clearly, I wasn't thinking straight when I scheduled my dental appointment on a Wednesday afternoon. (Generally Wednesday afternoons are a time of reflection...reflection upon the yumminess that IS Crystal's church supper cooking, served at 5pm.)
The whole dental experience itself was as wonderful as a dental experience could ever be. I mean, barring sado-masochists, you'd be hard pressed to find patients who look forward to needles and drills. The problem was my tooth, or rather, lack of one. The tooth already had a filling (actually, it's second filling from a zillion years ago), but pieces were breaking off. (Word to the wise: bits of tooth and metal breaking off in your mouth...not a good thing.) In lieu of a third filling, my choices were: crown or potential extraction of the molar by an oral surgeon. I chose in favor of the crown - which I envisioned to be a shiny (perhaps gold?) ornament that would be placed on my tooth. Very royal, very princesslike...I knew the girls would get a kick out of it!
My dentist was impressed that I didn't flinch with the shots. He said his women patients always did better with the pain. (Well, duh...after delivering 2 children sans epidurals...a little shot of Novocaine is like a day at the spa.) An hour of drilling later (OK, maybe not quite an hour...) the old filling was removed, and the tooth was whittled down to allow for the temporary crown.
Thankfully, the dental technician offered me her Walk-Man so that I could listen to tunes while the drills churned and metal shrapnel from the previous filling exploded in my mouth. The crown was nothing like I expected, no gold, no jewels, nothing shiny. In fact, it looked very much like a costume for a small tooth dressing as a grown-up tooth.
I was still completely numb once I reached the church, but thankfully there was a long line for supper. There is always a long line for Wednesday night supper when the menu is Thanksgiving Dinner! (Well, that's my name for this particular menu selection...) Turkey and stuffing with gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn casserole, seven layer salad and pecan pie! The line was so long that my numbness subsided by the time I reached for my tray. I was ready to dig in! I grabbed my fork and got a smattering of everything. I put the fork to my mouth, and my mouth would NOT open all the way. I tilted my head sideways and shoved in the forkful of food and took a bite. Had I been able to open my mouth, I would have screamed out in pain. Apparently you are NOT supposed to chew on your new tooth immediately. Good to know. I mushed up the rest of my dinner with a fork. I took spoonfuls and slid them through the tiny opening of my lips to the far left hand side of my mouth and slurped it down. (The only straw I could find was a coffee stir and I couldn't suck up the stuffing through it...)
When we got home, I did take a straw to the bottle of Children's Motrin. I have high hopes for a night of painless sleep...
The whole dental experience itself was as wonderful as a dental experience could ever be. I mean, barring sado-masochists, you'd be hard pressed to find patients who look forward to needles and drills. The problem was my tooth, or rather, lack of one. The tooth already had a filling (actually, it's second filling from a zillion years ago), but pieces were breaking off. (Word to the wise: bits of tooth and metal breaking off in your mouth...not a good thing.) In lieu of a third filling, my choices were: crown or potential extraction of the molar by an oral surgeon. I chose in favor of the crown - which I envisioned to be a shiny (perhaps gold?) ornament that would be placed on my tooth. Very royal, very princesslike...I knew the girls would get a kick out of it!
My dentist was impressed that I didn't flinch with the shots. He said his women patients always did better with the pain. (Well, duh...after delivering 2 children sans epidurals...a little shot of Novocaine is like a day at the spa.) An hour of drilling later (OK, maybe not quite an hour...) the old filling was removed, and the tooth was whittled down to allow for the temporary crown.
Thankfully, the dental technician offered me her Walk-Man so that I could listen to tunes while the drills churned and metal shrapnel from the previous filling exploded in my mouth. The crown was nothing like I expected, no gold, no jewels, nothing shiny. In fact, it looked very much like a costume for a small tooth dressing as a grown-up tooth.
I was still completely numb once I reached the church, but thankfully there was a long line for supper. There is always a long line for Wednesday night supper when the menu is Thanksgiving Dinner! (Well, that's my name for this particular menu selection...) Turkey and stuffing with gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn casserole, seven layer salad and pecan pie! The line was so long that my numbness subsided by the time I reached for my tray. I was ready to dig in! I grabbed my fork and got a smattering of everything. I put the fork to my mouth, and my mouth would NOT open all the way. I tilted my head sideways and shoved in the forkful of food and took a bite. Had I been able to open my mouth, I would have screamed out in pain. Apparently you are NOT supposed to chew on your new tooth immediately. Good to know. I mushed up the rest of my dinner with a fork. I took spoonfuls and slid them through the tiny opening of my lips to the far left hand side of my mouth and slurped it down. (The only straw I could find was a coffee stir and I couldn't suck up the stuffing through it...)
When we got home, I did take a straw to the bottle of Children's Motrin. I have high hopes for a night of painless sleep...
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
The Bug, The Pea, Moose and Some Pickles
It's hard to resist the sweet, sweet, pitiful faces of The Bug and The Pea when they plead for a pet. But I won't budge, I won't. I mean, they already have fish. Fish are pets, right? I know, I know...fish aren't exactly cuddly. But they are so easy to take care of...having any other kind of pet would be like having a third child. And I've barely got a grasp on this whole "raising two kids" situation!Besides, we have Moose. Well, we don't actually HAVE Moose, our neighbors do. Every now and then he wanders over to check out the craziness that is our yard. The Bug and The Pea drop everything to entertain their guest. They don rollerskates and circle around the driveway blowing bubbles as they skate. Moose leaps up to pop each bubble and then skitters out of the way to avoid becoming rollerskate road kill.
This particular afternoon, The Bug and The Pea decided that Moose ought to try out for Flag Football. Well, not exactly try out, but go through the particular exercises and obstacle courses they endured last night during their own evaluations. The Bug set out 15 neon orange cones and The Pea tried to lead Moose through the course. Moose ran through at top speed and then climbed up into our purple plum tree for a respite.
The Pea scooted inside to grab a giant jar of pickles. She thought Moose might want a snack. Surprisingly enough, he wasn't interested. Thankfully for our little Siamese friend, the sky opened up and the rain started to fall. The Bug opened up the gate and Moose ran back to the solace of his home...
Monday, August 10, 2009
I Vant Yore Blood...
This morning I kissed the phlebotomist 'goodbye' for another year. Well, I didn't literally kiss her, in fact, she probably didn't even see me as I raced out of the lab. If she had, I'm sure she was muttering, "Good riddance," under her breath. Anyhoo. To say that I HATE getting my blood drawn, is an understatement. I realize that no one really looks forward to it, but I am among a group who could benefit from sedatives prior to entering the clinic's laboratory.
I begin feeling woozy about a week before my appointment and the nausea fades only at the point where the entire glass of orange juice is consumed. Either my husband or my dear friend Mel, accompanies me to the lab. I tried to be brave and go by myself once. Bad decision. I do remember the phlebotomist shouting, "Oh God! Her eyes are rolling back in her head! AMMONIA!"
When Mel accompanies me, she becomes a Spider Monkey (a favor I return when she has her blood drawn...). I always go to what the technicians refer to as "the bed," which is essentially a gurney in a side room, reserved for those of us with a record of screaming, fainting, sobbing, or vomiting. I lay on one end of the gurney and Mel crawls on the other end so that she can hold my hand tightly. Neither one of us can actually watch the process, so we both turn our heads toward the wall and talk non-stop so as to distract ourselves from the process we cannot possibly distract ourselves from. (I imagine we make good fodder for stories told later in the clinic's break room). One time we waited patiently for my name to be called and we noticed that one nurse had chosen to wear red scrubs. I couldn't bear to look at her. When I did, her human features faded and all I saw were two long vials of blood walking to and fro. I stumbled to the restroom to splash cold water on my face, in an attempt to make those circling stars go away.
This morning, my husband accompanied me to the clinic. We drove separately as he dropped the kids off at school. I arrived first to sign in...we figured the wait would be at least 30 minutes. To my terror, the lot was empty and the lab was empty and I was the ONLY patient who had signed in. As I was walking back up to the clipboard to unsign my name and run for my life, the husband strolled in. Foiled! I smiled at him and pretended I had been walking to the restroom, and kept on walking. I splashed cold water on my face, washed my hands (already drenched with sweat) and headed back out as my name was called.
We were guided toward "the bed"...is it a bad sign when phlebotomists recognize you and you are only there once a year? I climbed on the gurney and began to curl up in the fetal position, my husband grabbed my hand and I squeezed for dear life. The technician probably frowned...I wasn't sure as I already had my head turned squarely toward the wall. I asked for orange juice at the ready, and felt it my duty to warn her of my past history of sobbing/vomiting/fainting combos. She calmed me by telling me a story of a physician who had a particularly hard time having his own blood drawn, and would curl up in a ball on "the bed" once a year, as well. This piece of information comforted me greatly. Before I knew it, the blood was drawn and the icy bottle of orange juice was in my hand.
As I pulled out of the parking lot, I could have sworn I saw Nurse Vial Legs slipping into the building, and I didn't even feel woozy! Well...maybe just for a second...
I begin feeling woozy about a week before my appointment and the nausea fades only at the point where the entire glass of orange juice is consumed. Either my husband or my dear friend Mel, accompanies me to the lab. I tried to be brave and go by myself once. Bad decision. I do remember the phlebotomist shouting, "Oh God! Her eyes are rolling back in her head! AMMONIA!"
When Mel accompanies me, she becomes a Spider Monkey (a favor I return when she has her blood drawn...). I always go to what the technicians refer to as "the bed," which is essentially a gurney in a side room, reserved for those of us with a record of screaming, fainting, sobbing, or vomiting. I lay on one end of the gurney and Mel crawls on the other end so that she can hold my hand tightly. Neither one of us can actually watch the process, so we both turn our heads toward the wall and talk non-stop so as to distract ourselves from the process we cannot possibly distract ourselves from. (I imagine we make good fodder for stories told later in the clinic's break room). One time we waited patiently for my name to be called and we noticed that one nurse had chosen to wear red scrubs. I couldn't bear to look at her. When I did, her human features faded and all I saw were two long vials of blood walking to and fro. I stumbled to the restroom to splash cold water on my face, in an attempt to make those circling stars go away.
This morning, my husband accompanied me to the clinic. We drove separately as he dropped the kids off at school. I arrived first to sign in...we figured the wait would be at least 30 minutes. To my terror, the lot was empty and the lab was empty and I was the ONLY patient who had signed in. As I was walking back up to the clipboard to unsign my name and run for my life, the husband strolled in. Foiled! I smiled at him and pretended I had been walking to the restroom, and kept on walking. I splashed cold water on my face, washed my hands (already drenched with sweat) and headed back out as my name was called.
We were guided toward "the bed"...is it a bad sign when phlebotomists recognize you and you are only there once a year? I climbed on the gurney and began to curl up in the fetal position, my husband grabbed my hand and I squeezed for dear life. The technician probably frowned...I wasn't sure as I already had my head turned squarely toward the wall. I asked for orange juice at the ready, and felt it my duty to warn her of my past history of sobbing/vomiting/fainting combos. She calmed me by telling me a story of a physician who had a particularly hard time having his own blood drawn, and would curl up in a ball on "the bed" once a year, as well. This piece of information comforted me greatly. Before I knew it, the blood was drawn and the icy bottle of orange juice was in my hand.
As I pulled out of the parking lot, I could have sworn I saw Nurse Vial Legs slipping into the building, and I didn't even feel woozy! Well...maybe just for a second...
Sunday, August 9, 2009
A Daddy Kind of Love...
As my pregnant sister-in-law counts the minutes until the birth of her son, my thoughts turn to parenthood.
Here's a little something I'll dedicate to my soul mate:
I believe in love. Syrupy sweet, kiss on the cheek, giggly, ticklish, "did that get your tummy?" on an amusement park ride love. I believe in 'heart skips a beat when he walks in the room' kind of love. Dancing in front of a miniature Christmas tree with multi-colored lights love. Waking up with wedding rings on your honeymoon -- Have you met my husband? Proud love. Cabin on the lake, short getaway kind of love. It's A Girl! Born the eve of your first Father's Day kind of love. Tiny little body in the palm of your hand. Oh my stars! What do we do now? Kind of love. Love you Daddy, Ladybug kind of love with big brown eyes and butterfly kisses. It's A Girl! Brought home on Easter Sunday -- resurrection of our Savior -- kind of love. Dark curly hair, shiny blue eyes, Sweet Pea kind of love with extra tickles and slobber kisses. I believe in two beautiful daughters, whose cup runneth over from their Daddy's unconditional love. I believe in you...
Here's a little something I'll dedicate to my soul mate:
I believe in love. Syrupy sweet, kiss on the cheek, giggly, ticklish, "did that get your tummy?" on an amusement park ride love. I believe in 'heart skips a beat when he walks in the room' kind of love. Dancing in front of a miniature Christmas tree with multi-colored lights love. Waking up with wedding rings on your honeymoon -- Have you met my husband? Proud love. Cabin on the lake, short getaway kind of love. It's A Girl! Born the eve of your first Father's Day kind of love. Tiny little body in the palm of your hand. Oh my stars! What do we do now? Kind of love. Love you Daddy, Ladybug kind of love with big brown eyes and butterfly kisses. It's A Girl! Brought home on Easter Sunday -- resurrection of our Savior -- kind of love. Dark curly hair, shiny blue eyes, Sweet Pea kind of love with extra tickles and slobber kisses. I believe in two beautiful daughters, whose cup runneth over from their Daddy's unconditional love. I believe in you...
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Madcap Adventures of The Bug & The Pea
In every writing class, conference and seminar I've attended...one piece of advice always comes to light, "Write What You Know." And so I shall. What I know is kids. Well, not all kids, but two specific ones. I'll call them The Bug and The Pea. You must promise me this - that you will never repeat to them what you have read in this journal of love and laughter. Repeating the antics you may henceforth read, will do nothing short of mortify The Bug and The Pea. (Who truly believe I live to embarrass them. "MOM! You are ALWAYS EMBARRASSING me!" Heaven only knows what a mortification I will become once they're teenagers...but I digress.)
I awoke to Superhero Cat Girl and Monkey Warrior Girl saving the world while Daddy made pancakes. The Pea donned a black leotard, a black skirt, a hooded "kitty cat" towel, and some threadbare tights. The Bug wore her pink monkey PJs, and carried a plastic backpack of "ammunition." They had both fashioned types of bow & arrows...or rather sling-shots out of hairbands. They were launching said hairbands from long sticks. I recognized one of the sticks as the bamboo cane from the bottom of a butterfly net (well, formerly our butterfly net). The other stick was the extended blue pole of a Swiffer - the kind you use to clean ceiling fans and blinds. Once Superhero Cat Girl or Monkey Warrior Girl descended upon an enemy, the sticks became swords instead of bows. Paranoid as I am, I told The Bug and The Pea to cease and desist. However, the exact terminology was, "Stop! Stop! You're gonna put an eye out!" And then, oh yes, I sat them down and told them a story. Not just any story. But a true story.
I met the McK's when they were on furlough from Bangladesh. They were one of the first missionary families I ever knew, and they seemed awfully mysterious. (Of course, I was 5 at the time, so most everyone seemed mysterious to me.) They had a little girl, J, who was my age. The McK's stayed in a white house beside our church. And sometimes on Sundays or Wednesdays, J and I would play in the yard surrounding the house. Outside of her beautiful red hair, the first thing I noticed about J were her eyes. One eye would follow you, darting here or there. But the other eye never moved, never. This was a very curious thing to me, but even as a youngster I knew it would be impolite to ask J why. My mom, realizing my curiosity, told me that J had a glass eye. (A GLASS eye?!) Apparently J and her brother were playing bows & arrows one afternoon, and a wayward arrow pierced her eye.
Upon hearing this story, The Bug and The Pea relinquished their sticks--as quickly as they could with their jaws still on the floor. Thankfully, pancakes were soon finished and consumed (with a ginormous amount of butter and syrup). Rarely deterred, Superhero Cat Girl and Monkey Warrior Girl morphed into Special Agent Spies. They grabbed scotch tape and a notepad and a pencil. The Bug scrawled several important signs and taped them to the wall. ("apslootly NO prents aloud here" and other frightful warnings.) The Pea built a blanket fort for quick cover. The two were as stealthy as elephants plodding back and forth upstairs.
The husband and I gobbled up the rest of the pancakes. We began plotting our own special agent mission...one that would involve beach towels, sun tan lotion, and two pint-sized super heroes...
I awoke to Superhero Cat Girl and Monkey Warrior Girl saving the world while Daddy made pancakes. The Pea donned a black leotard, a black skirt, a hooded "kitty cat" towel, and some threadbare tights. The Bug wore her pink monkey PJs, and carried a plastic backpack of "ammunition." They had both fashioned types of bow & arrows...or rather sling-shots out of hairbands. They were launching said hairbands from long sticks. I recognized one of the sticks as the bamboo cane from the bottom of a butterfly net (well, formerly our butterfly net). The other stick was the extended blue pole of a Swiffer - the kind you use to clean ceiling fans and blinds. Once Superhero Cat Girl or Monkey Warrior Girl descended upon an enemy, the sticks became swords instead of bows. Paranoid as I am, I told The Bug and The Pea to cease and desist. However, the exact terminology was, "Stop! Stop! You're gonna put an eye out!" And then, oh yes, I sat them down and told them a story. Not just any story. But a true story.
I met the McK's when they were on furlough from Bangladesh. They were one of the first missionary families I ever knew, and they seemed awfully mysterious. (Of course, I was 5 at the time, so most everyone seemed mysterious to me.) They had a little girl, J, who was my age. The McK's stayed in a white house beside our church. And sometimes on Sundays or Wednesdays, J and I would play in the yard surrounding the house. Outside of her beautiful red hair, the first thing I noticed about J were her eyes. One eye would follow you, darting here or there. But the other eye never moved, never. This was a very curious thing to me, but even as a youngster I knew it would be impolite to ask J why. My mom, realizing my curiosity, told me that J had a glass eye. (A GLASS eye?!) Apparently J and her brother were playing bows & arrows one afternoon, and a wayward arrow pierced her eye.
Upon hearing this story, The Bug and The Pea relinquished their sticks--as quickly as they could with their jaws still on the floor. Thankfully, pancakes were soon finished and consumed (with a ginormous amount of butter and syrup). Rarely deterred, Superhero Cat Girl and Monkey Warrior Girl morphed into Special Agent Spies. They grabbed scotch tape and a notepad and a pencil. The Bug scrawled several important signs and taped them to the wall. ("apslootly NO prents aloud here" and other frightful warnings.) The Pea built a blanket fort for quick cover. The two were as stealthy as elephants plodding back and forth upstairs.
The husband and I gobbled up the rest of the pancakes. We began plotting our own special agent mission...one that would involve beach towels, sun tan lotion, and two pint-sized super heroes...
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