Little Bug and Pea, you are probably waiting for me to tell you how I passed the course with flying colors! Unfortunately, that was not the case. I kissed the Dean's List goodbye when your Daddy started helping me with business classes. (How could I concentrate? it was impossible to tear myself away from those syrupy eyes, from that grin, that laugh!) From that point forward, we were inseparable.
With Christmas approaching, I set up a tiny artificial tree in my dorm room. I wove a strand of colorful lights around the branches. When the room was dark, the tree glowed as if lit up by stars. I remember your Daddy knocking on the dorm room door one evening. The Christmas tree was shining and he took me in his arms and we danced in the silence. In that moment, I was certain - beyond a shadow of a doubt - we were destined to spend our lives together. Fate revealed in that ordinary moment...in the quiet of a dormitory, before a tiny plastic tree.
A few years later, your father and I spoke our wedding vows. The Twins were attendants that Valentine's Day weekend. Glittering strands of lights adorned the ceremony. It was as if tiny stars were woven through the greenery, the trees, even the bridge just outside the church. Peering back through the years, if it hadn't been for that particular Advisor, I would never have signed up for Astronomy. If it hadn't been for Astronomy, I never would have noticed the Twins. If it hadn't been for the Twins, I never would have met Drew. And to this very day, my heart skips a beat when he enters the room. So you see, the stars did lead me to your Daddy.
You two are growing up so fast. You'll always be my little Princesses, my Bug and my Pea. I pray you'll fall in love with your own Prince someday. I pray God will place a soul mate in your path. I can't wait to hear your stories of fate, destiny and stars aligning for the sake of true love. Perhaps your story will begin on a very normal day, in a very ordinary moment. An ordinary moment you'll fondly recall as the most magical moment of all...
I love you,
Mommy
Monday, August 31, 2009
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Star Struck: Letter to the Bug and the Pea
Every time I blink, another year passes. I watch as the two of you stand before the mirror on a Sunday morning. Helping each other button church dresses, slip on sparkly earrings, try new lip gloss. I lean back against the door frame, and remember endless days of "Princess" dress up. Make believe stories of mystical magical times. Fairies with wands, witches with spells and the Frog you just knew was a Prince. Fate and destiny and stars aligning for the sake of true love. I'd definitely advise against kissing frogs. But the 'stars aligning' part? That part is real. The stars led me to your Daddy.
You're probably picturing the Wise Men and baby Jesus, am I right? How the Wise Men from the East followed the star to Bethlehem, to worship the Lord. Well, it didn't quite happen like that with me and your Dad. Often fate and destiny reveal themselves in a very ordinary way. We make regular choices on a regular day, and our lives are changed forever. Just because the choices are normal, that doesn't mean they are any less magical. I'm certain God played a big role in matching us up. He knew, even before we were born, that our paths would cross and we would fall in love. God is in the business of placing people in our paths for a reason, it's up to us what we do with that opportunity.
Your Daddy moved to the southwestern part of Kentucky in August of 1988. That very same week, I moved to the northwestern part of Kentucky. Looking back, we figure we had to have crossed paths at school soccer games, but the stars weren't yet aligned. When I was 17, I registered for classes at the University of Kentucky. I declared a Business Major and I suppose it was less by chance and more by test scores that I ended up at the University for early registration. I sat in a small desk in the midst of a gigantic classroom. I fiddled with my pencil, hoping my expression didn't betray my nervousness. My schedule was complete, I needed only choose a science credit to satisfy undergraduate requirements. The advisor suggested Astronomy, sounded good to me. I signed up without a second thought and headed on to the next session.
Fast forward to Astronomy Fall midterms, I always managed to walk into class at the same time as those identical twins! Fast forward to February, I head into the cafeteria for a quick bite to eat. I make a bee-line for the one empty chair in the place. Of course it's a table with the twins and another fellow. (Why are we always at the same place at the same time?) "Oh, this is Drew. We grew up together in Bluefield." I look up from my tray and my heart skips a beat. I'm lost in his syrupy brown eyes, dark curly hair and impish grin. He has a laugh that comes from the depths of his soul. I would love to say something, but can't remember how to speak.
Fast forward to Fall semester, moving into the dorms. My roomie and I chose the air conditioned co-ed dorms. In the sweltering Kentucky sun, air conditioning is a luxury worth requesting. Our room is on the first floor, the boys head past our room and up a flight of stairs. I look up from unpacking, it's HIM. HE lives here, too.
Accounting 101, my personal nightmare. I absolutely have to pass to continue in Business. Enter Drew, blue button-down oxford, Levi jeans, down the stairs and through the hall. "You know, I'm not bad at accounting. I could help you out." Gulp. Can't speak. It's so hard to concentrate on accounting. I can't tear myself away from those eyes, from that grin. First time I ever scored below an A.
Goodbye Dean's List...
Hello love...
(to be continued!)
You're probably picturing the Wise Men and baby Jesus, am I right? How the Wise Men from the East followed the star to Bethlehem, to worship the Lord. Well, it didn't quite happen like that with me and your Dad. Often fate and destiny reveal themselves in a very ordinary way. We make regular choices on a regular day, and our lives are changed forever. Just because the choices are normal, that doesn't mean they are any less magical. I'm certain God played a big role in matching us up. He knew, even before we were born, that our paths would cross and we would fall in love. God is in the business of placing people in our paths for a reason, it's up to us what we do with that opportunity.
Your Daddy moved to the southwestern part of Kentucky in August of 1988. That very same week, I moved to the northwestern part of Kentucky. Looking back, we figure we had to have crossed paths at school soccer games, but the stars weren't yet aligned. When I was 17, I registered for classes at the University of Kentucky. I declared a Business Major and I suppose it was less by chance and more by test scores that I ended up at the University for early registration. I sat in a small desk in the midst of a gigantic classroom. I fiddled with my pencil, hoping my expression didn't betray my nervousness. My schedule was complete, I needed only choose a science credit to satisfy undergraduate requirements. The advisor suggested Astronomy, sounded good to me. I signed up without a second thought and headed on to the next session.
Fast forward to Astronomy Fall midterms, I always managed to walk into class at the same time as those identical twins! Fast forward to February, I head into the cafeteria for a quick bite to eat. I make a bee-line for the one empty chair in the place. Of course it's a table with the twins and another fellow. (Why are we always at the same place at the same time?) "Oh, this is Drew. We grew up together in Bluefield." I look up from my tray and my heart skips a beat. I'm lost in his syrupy brown eyes, dark curly hair and impish grin. He has a laugh that comes from the depths of his soul. I would love to say something, but can't remember how to speak.
Fast forward to Fall semester, moving into the dorms. My roomie and I chose the air conditioned co-ed dorms. In the sweltering Kentucky sun, air conditioning is a luxury worth requesting. Our room is on the first floor, the boys head past our room and up a flight of stairs. I look up from unpacking, it's HIM. HE lives here, too.
Accounting 101, my personal nightmare. I absolutely have to pass to continue in Business. Enter Drew, blue button-down oxford, Levi jeans, down the stairs and through the hall. "You know, I'm not bad at accounting. I could help you out." Gulp. Can't speak. It's so hard to concentrate on accounting. I can't tear myself away from those eyes, from that grin. First time I ever scored below an A.
Goodbye Dean's List...
Hello love...
(to be continued!)
Thursday, August 27, 2009
You Say It's Your Birth-day? It's My Birthday Too, Yeah!
Today is the husband's birthday. I had no trouble rousing the Bug and the Pea in the wee hours of the morning. As soon as their eyelids opened, they sprung into action. The Bug - much more a 'morning person' than, well...anyone I have ever met in my life - raced downstairs. The Pea followed close behind, albeit a bit groggily.
They pounced on their Daddy, who is most decidedly NOT a morning person, waking him up with tickles and kisses and hugs and LOUD singing. Once he realized A.) it was his birthday B.) he was not under enemy attack and C.) the kids would be off to school in a few minutes...he arose from the bed like Lazarus from the dead. The husband staggered into the den, willing his eyes to open. The Bug led him to a spot on the couch, and The Pea ran to the stash of gifts. The two agreed he may open a few presents in the morning and the rest at supper. (After all, he had clearly been waiting with baited breath for a WHOLE YEAR for this!) I told them they may choose any gift except the one in the very center of the table. At which point The Pea yelled out, "Good idea! Let's SAVE THE UK SNUGGIE FOR DADDY TO OPEN TONIGHT!" (So much for the kids' uber-surprise gift...)
The husband opened two packages, a belt and an oxford button-down shirt. The girls squealed with excitement, Daddy was still trying to remember his name. (Hadn't had his coffee yet.)
Before we knew it, the time came to leave for school. The Bug and The Pea hopped happily to the car, dreaming of Daddy's imminent joy upon opening the 'surprise' present tonight at dinner.
They pounced on their Daddy, who is most decidedly NOT a morning person, waking him up with tickles and kisses and hugs and LOUD singing. Once he realized A.) it was his birthday B.) he was not under enemy attack and C.) the kids would be off to school in a few minutes...he arose from the bed like Lazarus from the dead. The husband staggered into the den, willing his eyes to open. The Bug led him to a spot on the couch, and The Pea ran to the stash of gifts. The two agreed he may open a few presents in the morning and the rest at supper. (After all, he had clearly been waiting with baited breath for a WHOLE YEAR for this!) I told them they may choose any gift except the one in the very center of the table. At which point The Pea yelled out, "Good idea! Let's SAVE THE UK SNUGGIE FOR DADDY TO OPEN TONIGHT!" (So much for the kids' uber-surprise gift...)
The husband opened two packages, a belt and an oxford button-down shirt. The girls squealed with excitement, Daddy was still trying to remember his name. (Hadn't had his coffee yet.)
Before we knew it, the time came to leave for school. The Bug and The Pea hopped happily to the car, dreaming of Daddy's imminent joy upon opening the 'surprise' present tonight at dinner.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
The Night Before Shelving...
'Twas the night before my new library job,
And all through the house...
not a creature was stirring,
unless you count my snoring husband...
(who is MUCH louder than a mouse).
The Pea and the Bug are tucked safely in bed,
dreaming, no doubt, of the stories we just read.
Policies and procedures, insurance and W-4s,
are scattered on tables, stacked on the floor.
Clean clothes are laid out, and backpacks are full.
After all, tomorrow is Picture Day at school.
Can't wait to arrive in that place I'm so fond...
To shelve books and read with kids in hallowed
halls of The Pond.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Spiritual Magnetism & A Car Ride To First Grade
I suppose it's a sad state of affairs, but many thoughts swirling around the mind of my first grader baffle me. I give her only honest answers, and many times I concede "I just don't know, sweetie." (Once, on the drive to school, she asked yet another confusing philosophical question. Upon my admission of ignorance, The Pea matter-of-factly commented, "You really don't know too much do ya Mom?" But I digress...) Nevertheless, she challenges me to further ponder spiritual questions in the hopes of conveying some semblance of understanding.
Tonight's "tuck in" was no exception. She threw out a metaphor I'll have to explore further. Love and human flesh and instinct and choice, on many different levels.
The Pea tackled me with a Good-night hug. (Complete with giggles, the best kind!)
"Oh, what a super hug that was Little Sweet Pea!"
"Of course Mommy! They always are, because of the magnets!"
"The magnets?"
"Our HEARTS Mommy" (Insert eye roll from first grader...)
"Our hearts?"
"MOM!" (Insert, 'You really don't know too much do ya?' look) "Our hearts are the magnets that bring us together. That's why we can't help but give really good hugs!"
Sometimes I could gobble that precious little girl right up!
Tonight's "tuck in" was no exception. She threw out a metaphor I'll have to explore further. Love and human flesh and instinct and choice, on many different levels.
The Pea tackled me with a Good-night hug. (Complete with giggles, the best kind!)
"Oh, what a super hug that was Little Sweet Pea!"
"Of course Mommy! They always are, because of the magnets!"
"The magnets?"
"Our HEARTS Mommy" (Insert eye roll from first grader...)
"Our hearts?"
"MOM!" (Insert, 'You really don't know too much do ya?' look) "Our hearts are the magnets that bring us together. That's why we can't help but give really good hugs!"
Sometimes I could gobble that precious little girl right up!
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Amen Kind of Sunday - The Day in Phrases...
Rise and shine!
Get on your dresses, go potty and load up.
"I can walk to my own class! You're embarrassing me!"
Passel of girls in the pew.
World's LOUDEST whispers during worship.
Taco lunch with family friends on patio tables.
Cloudy breezy Sunday.
Two little ducks trailing their Mamma.
Only it's their Daddy.
And everyone is on a bike.
Tomato harvest.
Sidewalk chalk masterpieces.
Chocolate chip cookie dough, three dozen cookies, hot from the oven.
Hamburgers, hot dogs, new faces, church picnic.
Singing Deacons, Preacher preachin', Brothers and Sisters of all different colors.
Can I get a witness?
Amen.
Get on your dresses, go potty and load up.
"I can walk to my own class! You're embarrassing me!"
Passel of girls in the pew.
World's LOUDEST whispers during worship.
Taco lunch with family friends on patio tables.
Cloudy breezy Sunday.
Two little ducks trailing their Mamma.
Only it's their Daddy.
And everyone is on a bike.
Tomato harvest.
Sidewalk chalk masterpieces.
Chocolate chip cookie dough, three dozen cookies, hot from the oven.
Hamburgers, hot dogs, new faces, church picnic.
Singing Deacons, Preacher preachin', Brothers and Sisters of all different colors.
Can I get a witness?
Amen.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Kazoo-ology 461: Graduate Course
It's fun to live in a college town, especially during August. There's a certain excitement in the air as thousands of new students descend upon the university. The Bug and The Pea are perpetually immersed in college life. Their sitters are kids from our church's university ministry, many of their friends' parents are on staff. Between holiday events, football & basketball games, choir concerts, school programs, and summer camps...the Bug and the Pea know their way around campus better than I do.
Today we ventured to the Alpha Delta Pi house to help members practice for the Formal Recruitment "Getting to Know You Party"...or what was called Rush Open House in the olden days! I told the girls we were playing a dress-up game where we pretended to be college kids ourselves. (This thrilled them to no end as they ADORE college students.)
They immediately concluded irrevocable career decisions MUST be made...now, this instant! If we were going to pretend to be college students, we must decide what we were going to be! You know, when we grow up! And thus, the Bug and the Pea fell to narrowing down a field of study as they pinned back their hair and donned party dresses.
The Bug decided to pursue art...or teaching...chemistry...or that ol' standby: dentistry. The Pea was not so sure. Her first thought was theater and then possibly ice skating. She was more concerned about the amount of undergraduate credits necessary to achieve a degree. "Mommy, do I have to go to school as many years as my uncle?" (Who is the resident geneticist at a different university...) "No, baby doll, for many careers four years worth of college study does the trick!" She pondered this. "Well, Mommy, there are some things I already KNOW how to do, so I might not need to go so long." The Pea disappeared upstairs to her room and I continued getting ready.
A few minutes later, the Pea reappeared with a laundry basket full of toys. "See, Mommy? Look at all of these!" She proceeded to explain she had decided on a career in music. When I asked which instrument was her favorite, she hesitated. "I'm quite good on this thing you tap." (She held up a toy xylophone.) "And I can sure play the guitar." (She held up her cardboard ukulele from a previous Vacation Bible School program.) "Well, and the Bongo drums." (I have no idea where THAT came from...) "But what I think I'll choose is that instrument that you blow into!" I replied, "A flute? Clarinet?" "No, no," said the Pea. She reached deep into the laundry basket. "This!" she proclaimed, "A Kazoo!" Pleased with herself, she paraded out of the room.
Kazoo-ology...I don't think there are graduate studies for that?
Today we ventured to the Alpha Delta Pi house to help members practice for the Formal Recruitment "Getting to Know You Party"...or what was called Rush Open House in the olden days! I told the girls we were playing a dress-up game where we pretended to be college kids ourselves. (This thrilled them to no end as they ADORE college students.)
They immediately concluded irrevocable career decisions MUST be made...now, this instant! If we were going to pretend to be college students, we must decide what we were going to be! You know, when we grow up! And thus, the Bug and the Pea fell to narrowing down a field of study as they pinned back their hair and donned party dresses.
The Bug decided to pursue art...or teaching...chemistry...or that ol' standby: dentistry. The Pea was not so sure. Her first thought was theater and then possibly ice skating. She was more concerned about the amount of undergraduate credits necessary to achieve a degree. "Mommy, do I have to go to school as many years as my uncle?" (Who is the resident geneticist at a different university...) "No, baby doll, for many careers four years worth of college study does the trick!" She pondered this. "Well, Mommy, there are some things I already KNOW how to do, so I might not need to go so long." The Pea disappeared upstairs to her room and I continued getting ready.
A few minutes later, the Pea reappeared with a laundry basket full of toys. "See, Mommy? Look at all of these!" She proceeded to explain she had decided on a career in music. When I asked which instrument was her favorite, she hesitated. "I'm quite good on this thing you tap." (She held up a toy xylophone.) "And I can sure play the guitar." (She held up her cardboard ukulele from a previous Vacation Bible School program.) "Well, and the Bongo drums." (I have no idea where THAT came from...) "But what I think I'll choose is that instrument that you blow into!" I replied, "A flute? Clarinet?" "No, no," said the Pea. She reached deep into the laundry basket. "This!" she proclaimed, "A Kazoo!" Pleased with herself, she paraded out of the room.
Kazoo-ology...I don't think there are graduate studies for that?
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Hooded Towels and Cozy Toes...
The owner of a restaurant the husband and I frequented...and when I say 'frequented,' I mean 'inhaled meals an average of 5 out of 7 days a week'...once shared a memorable insight: Every Age Is The BEST Age. I've thought of that often. When your kids are tiny, you think that it can't possibly get any better, and then they learn to walk and you think it can't possibly get any better! And then they are potty trained and you shout Hallelujah and know it can't get any better! And then they begin to have conversations with you, and become little ladies and you think...wait! It just doesn't GET any better than this! Every Age Is The BEST Age.
Those around me know that I am a HUGE fan of growing up. I LOVE that my girls are turning into independent young ladies, right before my eyes. Both of my children were in "big kid beds" soon after they turned one. Once they outgrow their clothes, said clothes are passed on to others. I gave away all of their "baby things" as soon as they were finished using them...high chairs, strollers, car seats, etc. I have never had the desire to hang on to those material things. I've applauded each new step...new schools, new milestones of childhood. I'm rarely sentimental about things. (Now, photographs I protect like Fort Knox. I have Baby Books, Scrapbooks, Photo Albums galore...those are among my treasures.)
This struck me as odd the other day as I was gathering up laundry. I picked the kids' towels off the hooks on the back of the bathroom door. Big Hooded Towels. My children are definitely old enough to have left the hooded towels behind. And yet, I can't bear to part with them yet. Following a sudsy bubble bath, I LOVE wrapping up my kiddos in their hooded towels. The Bug's towel has a duck on the hood, and the Pea's towel has puppy dog ears. (Stinkin' adorable!) Nothing like a clean and cuddly kid slipping into some PJ's at the end of a long day.
The only moment that might possibly top the towels, is the snuggly tuck-in moment. I'll crawl into bed with a little one to read a story. And she'll curl up against me, warm and cuddly with her cozy toes touching my knees.
Just doesn't get any better than that...
Those around me know that I am a HUGE fan of growing up. I LOVE that my girls are turning into independent young ladies, right before my eyes. Both of my children were in "big kid beds" soon after they turned one. Once they outgrow their clothes, said clothes are passed on to others. I gave away all of their "baby things" as soon as they were finished using them...high chairs, strollers, car seats, etc. I have never had the desire to hang on to those material things. I've applauded each new step...new schools, new milestones of childhood. I'm rarely sentimental about things. (Now, photographs I protect like Fort Knox. I have Baby Books, Scrapbooks, Photo Albums galore...those are among my treasures.)
This struck me as odd the other day as I was gathering up laundry. I picked the kids' towels off the hooks on the back of the bathroom door. Big Hooded Towels. My children are definitely old enough to have left the hooded towels behind. And yet, I can't bear to part with them yet. Following a sudsy bubble bath, I LOVE wrapping up my kiddos in their hooded towels. The Bug's towel has a duck on the hood, and the Pea's towel has puppy dog ears. (Stinkin' adorable!) Nothing like a clean and cuddly kid slipping into some PJ's at the end of a long day.
The only moment that might possibly top the towels, is the snuggly tuck-in moment. I'll crawl into bed with a little one to read a story. And she'll curl up against me, warm and cuddly with her cozy toes touching my knees.
Just doesn't get any better than that...
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
AAlll-abama...Alaaaaska...Ari-zona...AArkansas...
Songs are an ingenious way to memorize information. When I was eight, my Sunday School teacher taught me a song listing every single Old Testament book, in order. To this day, when I'm looking up scripture, I sing that tune in my head. Genesis, Exodus, Le-vi-ti-cus, Numbers and Dootrimy...(Deuteronomy was too long to sing all of the syllables, so we improvised.)Joshua, Judges, Ruth, Sam-u-el One and Two, First Second Kings...etc.
The Pea came home the first day of school, having already memorized the seven continents. She sang the Continent Song gleely the rest of the week...and the week after...and, but I digress. This week, she is learning the names of the 50 states in order. I'm quite impressed, and plan to learn along with her.
She's learning a song the Bug learned two years ago. "The Fifty Nifty United States." I actually remember my college roomie singing that song. (Shout out to LTP!)When she and the Bug are together, they sing The Fifty Nifty United States as fast as they can, racing through the state names, in alphabetical order, in well under a minute. I must admit that I frequently find myself humming about the "Thir-teen O-ri-ginal COL-O-NIES!"
I wow-ed my fourth grade teacher when the class was challenged to present a poem by heart. I selected a ginormous poem by A. A. Milne. I can still quote it from memory. The poem was also made into a silly song and sung by a group of brothers. My mother had the vinyl album. I would play the album over and over and over again on my little electric blue record player. (Quite the diva belting out verses in front of my dresser mirror). It was a complete coincidence that I knew the song (and consequently the poem) by heart when we were assigned the presentation. Instead of singing the song in front of my class, I spoke the words.
Tomorrow morning I have a root canal appointment. You may have guessed that I am NOT looking forward to said adventure. I've packed The Bug's hot-pink-silver-glitter MP3 player and I plan to jam to The Jonas Brothers, Hannah Montana and selected Patriotic Songs that The Bug has added...(The Pea will sing along, "You're a Grand Ol' Flag, You're A Hot Roddin' Flag!")Should the pain of the drill be too much for the tween repertoire, I may find myself racing through ginormous poems, Colonies and trusty Dootrimy...
The Pea came home the first day of school, having already memorized the seven continents. She sang the Continent Song gleely the rest of the week...and the week after...and, but I digress. This week, she is learning the names of the 50 states in order. I'm quite impressed, and plan to learn along with her.
She's learning a song the Bug learned two years ago. "The Fifty Nifty United States." I actually remember my college roomie singing that song. (Shout out to LTP!)When she and the Bug are together, they sing The Fifty Nifty United States as fast as they can, racing through the state names, in alphabetical order, in well under a minute. I must admit that I frequently find myself humming about the "Thir-teen O-ri-ginal COL-O-NIES!"
I wow-ed my fourth grade teacher when the class was challenged to present a poem by heart. I selected a ginormous poem by A. A. Milne. I can still quote it from memory. The poem was also made into a silly song and sung by a group of brothers. My mother had the vinyl album. I would play the album over and over and over again on my little electric blue record player. (Quite the diva belting out verses in front of my dresser mirror). It was a complete coincidence that I knew the song (and consequently the poem) by heart when we were assigned the presentation. Instead of singing the song in front of my class, I spoke the words.
Tomorrow morning I have a root canal appointment. You may have guessed that I am NOT looking forward to said adventure. I've packed The Bug's hot-pink-silver-glitter MP3 player and I plan to jam to The Jonas Brothers, Hannah Montana and selected Patriotic Songs that The Bug has added...(The Pea will sing along, "You're a Grand Ol' Flag, You're A Hot Roddin' Flag!")Should the pain of the drill be too much for the tween repertoire, I may find myself racing through ginormous poems, Colonies and trusty Dootrimy...
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
In Which The Bug and The Pea Become Scientists...
The Bug and The Pea have taken a siesta from yarn jewelry. Tonight was self-proclaimed Chemistry Night. My first clue should have been the absolute quiet, intermittently pierced with the sound of scurrying feet. I retreated to my room in search of Advil for a toothache. (Apparently a root canal is in my immediate future.)I gave in to the temptation of my pillow for what I told myself would be a 5 minute rest.
When I awoke, the house was a science lab. Bubbles were, literally, floating through the air in the den. Empty bubble bottles had been filled to the brim with new concoctions. The kitchen table and countertops were covered with various containers of liquid/gel. The Bug and the Pea gathered Baby Wash, Shampoo, Dish Detergent, Clothes Detergent, Aloe (heaven help me), Hand Soap, Hand Lotion and Sun Tan Lotion. They were measuring portions into the (formerly) empty bubble bottles, adding water, and stirring. Once the chemistry experiment was complete, the girls would dip the bubble blowers into the new solution and attempt to create sparkly floating orbs. When the results fell short of the hypothesis (read into this: few bubbles)the Bug and the Pea didn't lose heart. They grabbed several dishtowels and applied the solution. Hoping to surprise me with a "clean" kitchen, the kids scrubbed the floors...well, bits of the floor, bits of the table, bits of the countertop. And if it hadn't been for the aloe and the lotion, it probably would have worked.
Sweet, sweet baby girls. Sticky, sticky kitchen floor...
When I awoke, the house was a science lab. Bubbles were, literally, floating through the air in the den. Empty bubble bottles had been filled to the brim with new concoctions. The kitchen table and countertops were covered with various containers of liquid/gel. The Bug and the Pea gathered Baby Wash, Shampoo, Dish Detergent, Clothes Detergent, Aloe (heaven help me), Hand Soap, Hand Lotion and Sun Tan Lotion. They were measuring portions into the (formerly) empty bubble bottles, adding water, and stirring. Once the chemistry experiment was complete, the girls would dip the bubble blowers into the new solution and attempt to create sparkly floating orbs. When the results fell short of the hypothesis (read into this: few bubbles)the Bug and the Pea didn't lose heart. They grabbed several dishtowels and applied the solution. Hoping to surprise me with a "clean" kitchen, the kids scrubbed the floors...well, bits of the floor, bits of the table, bits of the countertop. And if it hadn't been for the aloe and the lotion, it probably would have worked.
Sweet, sweet baby girls. Sticky, sticky kitchen floor...
Monday, August 17, 2009
The Lure of The Craft Aisle...
Have you ever walked in Wal-Mart with a one item grocery list(juiceboxes)and walked out of Wal-Mart with, say... a dinette set? As you may have guessed, the leftover "cat needlepoint project" yarn met it's untimely demise last evening as I was showered with all sorts of yarn jewelry. I did need milk and butter, so living up to my nickname, I headed to the store that would also sell yarn. (My sweet little friend RKR calls me the "Craft Mom.")
I'm immediately drawn like a magnet to the craft area. I stand in front of the supplies and literally find myself planning wedding receptions...Oh what a cute silk flower, that would look lovely on a place card setting, with a little bunch of candies, wrapped in a bit of tulle...and I have no NEED to plan any wedding activities. So I move over to the next aisle and decide that the girls' rooms would look oh so sweet with ivy stenciled across the walls and I begin to load up my cart. Seriously! Then I realize that I don't know how to stencil and the kids' rooms are fine the way they are, but oh, look at that sweet pattern of material! Wouldn't that make a comfy sundress for the Bug and the Pea? And after I've unrolled the fabric, I remember that I can't sew.
So I was in my own world of browsing the craft area, planning weddings, stenciling walls and sewing when I stumbled across some clearance craft items. I love clearance craft projects. (Let's face it, I love clearance everything!)I found three separate types of kits for creating pipe cleaner animals. (I'm not making this up!) Side note: can you imagine the training a Wal-Mart associate must endure? Pop Quiz: In which aisle would a customer locate a Do-It-Yourself Pipe cleaner Noah's Ark?
One kit contained items for creating jungle animals out of pipe cleaners, one for farm animals, and (cracking me up!)one for Noah's Ark animals - in which there were pairs...male and female animals. I mean SERIOUSLY who thinks up this stuff? What crazy entrepreneur decided pipe cleaner animals were necessary in life?
I am proud to say I remembered to purchase the milk and the butter and some multi-colored yarn so the girls can earn their keep. And a parting word to the wise: avoid the lure of the craft aisle. Resist the temptation to scope out the pipe cleaner art section.
If you fail to heed my words, you'll be most assuredly disappointed.
Namely because all the pipe cleaner animals are gone...I bought them out...
Sunday, August 16, 2009
In Which The Bug and The Pea Incorporate...
The Bug and The Pea decided to go into business. This happened en route to church this morning. An idea carefully concocted, as many fine ideas are, in two booster seats.
Yesterday, the Bug discovered a previously unfinished craft project from her closet. A basic "learn how to needlepoint" cat pattern with pre-cut yarn pieces. She finished the project early this morning (heaven forbid we sleep past 6:30 a.m. on Sunday), but had some excess yarn.
"We'll make jewelry!" proclaimed The Bug...and set to work. She took three strands of leftover yarn and braided them into an anklet of sorts. She tried to fasten it on The Pea, convincing her the anklet matched her dress.
"We can SELL the jewelry for lots and lots of money!" said the Bug.
"I wanna help!" said the Pea. (My little capitalists...)
"I can make bracelets and necklaces and hair things!"
"I wanna help!" said the Pea.
"I'll make my own business!" said the Bug
"Me too! I can sell them, we can work together!" said the Pea. (My little marketers...)
As I type this, I am surrounded by yarn artwork. I have a braided bracelet on each arm. I have an anklet and three yarn necklaces. I am seated by a pile of multi-colored yarn accessories. My piggybank is beside me, and I am doling out pennies, nickles and dimes...depending on the merchandise.
The Pea just ran into the room, and I reminded her it's bath time!
"Mommy," she began, "We've already put aside some money to give to the church to help poor people. Don't worry, we didn't forget." And she races out of the room.
LOVE those sweet kiddos...
Yesterday, the Bug discovered a previously unfinished craft project from her closet. A basic "learn how to needlepoint" cat pattern with pre-cut yarn pieces. She finished the project early this morning (heaven forbid we sleep past 6:30 a.m. on Sunday), but had some excess yarn.
"We'll make jewelry!" proclaimed The Bug...and set to work. She took three strands of leftover yarn and braided them into an anklet of sorts. She tried to fasten it on The Pea, convincing her the anklet matched her dress.
"We can SELL the jewelry for lots and lots of money!" said the Bug.
"I wanna help!" said the Pea. (My little capitalists...)
"I can make bracelets and necklaces and hair things!"
"I wanna help!" said the Pea.
"I'll make my own business!" said the Bug
"Me too! I can sell them, we can work together!" said the Pea. (My little marketers...)
As I type this, I am surrounded by yarn artwork. I have a braided bracelet on each arm. I have an anklet and three yarn necklaces. I am seated by a pile of multi-colored yarn accessories. My piggybank is beside me, and I am doling out pennies, nickles and dimes...depending on the merchandise.
The Pea just ran into the room, and I reminded her it's bath time!
"Mommy," she began, "We've already put aside some money to give to the church to help poor people. Don't worry, we didn't forget." And she races out of the room.
LOVE those sweet kiddos...
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Palm Tree Pinatas and Outlawing Birthdays...
Tonight we attended the sweetest birthday party for the sweetest little 2 year old you've ever seen. However, when the hostess thanked us for coming, I had to comment she'd 'set the bar way too high' for those of us whose children are beginning to pick up on the fact that many parents host "friend" birthday parties for their kids. I've always tried to keep things simple. I count it as a personal victory that last year was our very first "friend" birthday party.
Most of you know that I am a very...how shall we say?...frugal person. Thrifty? Creatively resourceful? OK, OK, NOT willing to spend a great deal of money unless it is absolutely positively necessary. Case in point, my children wear hand-me-downs. I've been known to wrap up hand-me-downs and give them to the girls as birthday and Christmas gifts. (I mean, seriously, the TAGS were still on some of these clothes!!) Although I must say I felt a tugging on my heart when we opened up this year's box of hand-me-downs and the Pea asked, "Mommy, do you think we'll ever get new clothes?" (I think that falls under the job description of Aunts?) Anyhoo...
We generally have "family meal" birthday celebrations. In fact, after last year's Rollerskating and Bounce House extravaganzas, the girls ASKED for family meal celebrations in 2009. The kids get to choose the meal, help me decorate the cake, pick out an activity and create decorations. The four of us dine together, and if grandparents happen to be in town at the time, they are always welcome to join us! This year, The Bug chose to have tacos and ice cream (poured into muffin tins for 'mini-ice cream cakes'). Of course, when her birthday actually arrived, she said she'd hoped for a friend party. (WHAT??) She frowned and fretted and fought with her sister. She proclaimed, "This is the worst day of my life!" I told my grumpy bickering daughters if I heard one more word, I was outlawing birthdays altogether. Suddenly, our family party perked up.
On her birthday, The Pea chose to have spaghetti & meatballs, peanut butter cookie cake, and a Palm Tree Pinata. We debated over where to hang the Pinata. The Pea thought the best plan would be for Daddy to stand on a folding chair, hold the Pinata in front of him, and The Bug and The Pea would swing -blindfolded- with a baseball bat. (Daddy was not too keen on Plan A.) We ended up hanging the Pinata from the monkey-bars, and using the sticks at the end of their stick ponies as the "bat." The girls insisted on being blindfolded, which certainly added a whole new level of adventure. Thankfully, with only two participants, the odds were in their favor that one of them would bust open the Pinata. The stick pony cracked the Pinata after a few whacks and candy fell on the grass below. (I'm happy to report no hospital visits or critical injuries.)
I will probably give in to their requests for "friend" parties next year. Perhaps an "every other year" plan of alternating "friend" and "family meal" parties will work best. But, so help me, if the girls start complaining...no more birthday celebrations...ever!
The night before school started, we gathered together for a nice "end of the summer" meal. We generally ask the girls about their favorite part of the day. However, this last day of summer vacation, we asked about their favorite part of the summer. The Bug answered first, "I loved everything!" she said. Daddy replied, "No fair! Tell me your absolute favorite!" She thought a moment, grinned, and proclaimed, "Well, if I have to pick just ONE day...I'd have to say my birthday!"
Kids...just when you think they're gonna zig...they zag!
Friday, August 14, 2009
Friday Night In Kentucky...
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...
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...
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...
Friday, August 7, 2009
Sting-y Things
Last night, our long lost reptile store owning, bird watching, zoo keeping, self-defense airline attendant friends stopped by for a visit. They have three of the most adorable children I have ever met (quick 'shout out' to LE, GE, and EE!) Immediately, all of the children zoom to the back yard to play. My eldest literally turns around and zooms back inside, followed by the other four. She is screaming bloody murder that wasps have inhabited our playset. My first inclination is to tell my child to "get a grip." Generally, if K spies an insect a mile away, she will bring it to my attention. (While E will grab a net to catch said bug...) However, with guests in the house, I decide to venture to the swings and set all minds at ease. As I approach, I see that there is...indeed...a wasps icky nest inside the small "roof" of our playset. After gagging to myself, I usher the kids inside and send the husband out for some Raid.
Returning with the Raid, he douses the nest (of course, night has fallen by now, I'm really not sure how he actually saw the nest?). Nevertheless, I wait for the death of -what I assume- will be at least 50 (ick) wasps. After my children have left for school, and husband for work, I (bravely?) shove my guest (who is brave himself, and breeds snakes for fun) out the door with the remaining Raid toward the playset. He re-covers the nest with the gooey poison and I head to the garage for garden implements.
I send my guests on their way, don a sweatshirt (the nearest to a bee-keepers netting that I can find), gloves, a hoe, and head back to the nest to finish the job. I scale the slide in my sandals, shorts, and sweatshirt...wave to my neighbors, who know that I am crazy and do not question what I am doing. I use the hoe to knock down the nest and then pick up all of the dead...or almost dead...wasps. I re-spray the inside of the playhouse for good measure. Teetering on top of the playset with my gloves, trash bag, raid, and hoe, I prepare for my descent. VICTORY is my cry!
"Buzzz....buzzz...buzzz..." I scream, thinking I had thoroughly killed EVERYTHING that inhabited the icky nest. With a vengence I aim the Raid and spin around...and blast the living daylights out of a...
housefly.
Returning with the Raid, he douses the nest (of course, night has fallen by now, I'm really not sure how he actually saw the nest?). Nevertheless, I wait for the death of -what I assume- will be at least 50 (ick) wasps. After my children have left for school, and husband for work, I (bravely?) shove my guest (who is brave himself, and breeds snakes for fun) out the door with the remaining Raid toward the playset. He re-covers the nest with the gooey poison and I head to the garage for garden implements.
I send my guests on their way, don a sweatshirt (the nearest to a bee-keepers netting that I can find), gloves, a hoe, and head back to the nest to finish the job. I scale the slide in my sandals, shorts, and sweatshirt...wave to my neighbors, who know that I am crazy and do not question what I am doing. I use the hoe to knock down the nest and then pick up all of the dead...or almost dead...wasps. I re-spray the inside of the playhouse for good measure. Teetering on top of the playset with my gloves, trash bag, raid, and hoe, I prepare for my descent. VICTORY is my cry!
"Buzzz....buzzz...buzzz..." I scream, thinking I had thoroughly killed EVERYTHING that inhabited the icky nest. With a vengence I aim the Raid and spin around...and blast the living daylights out of a...
housefly.
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