Was I absent that day???

I was in 2nd grade when I instructed NOT to take my regular bus home for a time. I was to join a handful of friends who, in addition to attending my public school, were also in my Catechism classes at our Catholic church. We were to walk to a street corner a block away, where a bus would pick us up and take us to the church for First Holy Communion practice (How the heck did the church coordinate with the public school to get us on a bus headed for religious instruction? Oh, the days that were and are no more.) First Holy Communion. It's a big, BIG deal in the Catholic church.

To be honest, in the second grade I was much more excited about the fact that I got to wear a veil and communion dress (which, to a 2nd grade girl, might as well be a wedding gown.) Thinking back on those days of rehearsal, I clearly received instruction on the ways of receiving communion. Or,...did I?

Was it all a figment of my imagination?

I mean, given the communion fau pauxs of my children at my own church recently, I really have to wonder. Is it possible that,...could I have been...what I'm trying to say is, was I perhaps absent on some crucial training day back in the 2nd grade?

I told you about Reece grabbing the bread with BOTH hands his first time to communion (we no longer attend Catholic church btw, so it wasn't a formal first time, but it was his first just the same.) I also told you about the second time, where he basically played tug-of-war on the bread with the petite server. Yeah, swell.

So let me tell you about last Sunday (why yes, the saga DOES continue and thank you for asking.) So it was our row's turn to rise and join the communion line. I was getting a few butterflies, wondering what Reece might pull this time. We stood up to walk out of the row and it started (why wait until we're front and center when the show can start now, eh?)

Loudly whispering (oxymoron?), "Mom. MOMMMmm! I wanna be by Daddy 'cause he hasn't ever seen me get communion."

Dad was already out in the aisle, as was big sister. They had no idea that Reece was insisting on a game of musical chairs in the communion line. But he had a point. He was excited for his dad to see him receiving communion and it's not a joy I wished to squelch. So I tapped his dad's shoulder and waved him back. Perplexed, he filed in at number 2, pushing big sis out in the lead. This commotion did NOT put Reece in position with his dad.

Frowning, I tapped him and tried to use a Clampett form of sign language to motion him and Olivia into the proper positions. Next thing I know, Liv is at the back of the line, Dad in front, then me and Reece in the middle.
Still not right, but no problem.
I'll just trade places with Reece and is right with the world (keep in mind, we're in a larger line that is moving along as we Clampetts H's jockey for position.) So I shuffle Reece in front of me, directly behind his dad.

Loudly whispering, Reece called. "Daddy. DADDddy! I wanna go fuwst because you've nevew seen me get the bread before."

OY VEY! (Bug eyes buggin')

Reece's world is rocked when it doesn't go the way he perceives it should. And on this day, he felt that he needed to be first with his dad right behind him. Wish we'd known that before we stood to join the line. But the bigger challenge still lay ahead. Could Reece get through the front of the line without an "incident"? The odds were against it, but there's the power of a praying mom, right? ;)

Imagine my surprise (and relief!) when he got his bread and juice without a hitch. Naturally, his dad had missed all the more "charming" trips to the front on previous Sundays because he had to work. And naturally, it went perfectly smoothly the day his dad was there. (I think kids purposely save some of the lovliest moments just for moms, don't you?)

Back in our seats, we waited to take communion with the rest of our church body. Being curious, Cierah pointed to Liv's tiny cup of juice to inquire. Only...
she bumped it. Three spots of grape juice splashed onto Liv's light mint green dress. Their daddy was sitting on the other side of me, oblivious to the entire scene. Naturally.
"CIERAH!" (VERY loud whisper from Liv)
"Sowwy, Sis." (not so whispering voice by Cierah)
"MommMMm!" (Whining low tone from Olivia)
"SHHHH!" (Not so quiet shhhhh-sh from Mom)

I remembered that there was a Tide pen in the bathroom, that I could quietly slip out with Olivia and spot treat her dress before the stains set. Ah, mighty nice, right? Yeah, well. We're in Toni's world, remember?

I can't be sure what brought on the next moment.
Was it carelessness on Olivia's part?
Did Cierah bump her again under the radar?
Or, perhaps, did my harsh "Shhhh-sh!" scare the bejeebies out of her?

Dunno.

But I do know this. Liv's voice was a near cry as she pleaded, "Oh, Mommm!" and I turned to see her ENTIRE CUP of grape juice dumped on her lap, slowly seeping into the once lovely fabric of her mint green dress.

Sigh.
Resigned, deflated sigh.
Nothing to do but wait for full absorption into the dress (talk about your bad options.)

So we did. We waited until the juice no longer puddled, then headed toward the doors at the back of the church, a couple of kids being punished for disturbing the class (or so it felt that way). And we went from a former plan of spot treatment only to an all out wash in the sink and dry by fanning in front of a small audience of ladies who were present in the bathroom. Naturally!

So,...I gotta wonder. Did I really go through training and rehearsal for my first holy communion? Or not? You tell me. And while you're at it, know any good communion trainers in the area? Clearly, I'm not one and frankly? I'm beginning to think it's never too late to go to clown school.

James 1:2 Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials

Toni

On the 6th day, God created man AND beast!

A conversation between Reece and I as we headed into Sam's Club tonight.

Reece, very affectionately: "I love holding hands with you, Momma."

Me, drinking the moment in: "Aw, thanks, bud. I really like holding your hand too."

Reece, reflective and then, matter-of-fact: "I don't like holding Daddy's hand."

Me, unsettled by Carl's close proximity: "Reece! That's not really a nice thing to say about your Daddy."

Reece, quickly clarifying: "No, momma, I love Daddy. But I just don't want to hold his hand because it's all fuwwy (furry)."

BA HAHAHAHA!
(I assure you, it's not that furry.)

Gen 2:19
Out of the ground the LORD God formed every beast of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to Adam to see what he would call them. And whatever Adam called each living creature, that was its name.

Toni

Life in my backyard

Olivia and her moon boots!


Momma duck and her ducklings out for a walk!


My tiger eye sumac (a minimal to non-invasive sumac variety.) Gotta love that beautiful mix of color it produces!

Toni

And another Cierah moment

Before bathtime tonight, Cierah noticed a bar of soap on the counter in my bathroom.
"Mommy, what is that?"
"It's soap, honey."
"Oh. Well,...how do you squeeze it out of there?"
(Me, giggling) "No, honey. It's not like liquid soap. You don't squeeze it out at all."
"Oh, do you just rub your hands around it?"
"Yes, something like that. When I was a little girl, we didn't use liquid soap. Everyone used bar soap."
"Uh huh. Was that in the olden days?"

Sigh. Out of the mouths of babes.

Toni

Snippets

Like all of you for whom summer calls, life is busy here in the H home. Good busy, but busy just the same. The kids' final soccer game and pitch-in is this Saturday. Two days later, they begin swimming lessons. We're also looking forward to a likely visit from my brother and sis-in-law next weekend. So many blessings to take note of. I trust that you too are taking the time to see your blessings in the midst of this season you're in, because they truly are always in the mix.

I talk a lot about Reece here on my blog. Fact is, he's the child most likely to produce blog fodder in our family. Reece is,...well, Reece. If you were around him for more than a minute, you'd spot it. Animated. Quirky. Dramatic. Talkative (oh so talkative). So it's very easy to "catch" one of his moments. I'm going to pass on him today and bring you a moment from each of my other blessings.

Cierah. Our free spirit. She'll charm you with her twinkling smile. She LOVES anything pink or princess. She's cute as a button. And yet....she is not afraid to take on boundaries as an army of one. Oy vey! She keeps us on our parenting toes. Now, Cierah loves loves loves to read (actually, all my kids do, but she is especially fond of filling down-time with a book.) So, she was reading a children's book about the Nativity yesterday.

"Mommy, is this Jesus as a newboWn?" (gotta love the /w/ sound for /r/ in kids).
"Mommy, is this Joseph? I don't think he looks like that."
"Mommy, look at Mary. She's pretty. She's wearing pink." (Not that Mary wasn't pretty, but I'm sure it's the pink factor that won Cierah's heart here.)

"Mommy, is Mary still alive?"
"Oh no, honey. She lived a very long time ago. Over 2,000 years ago."
Eyes widened to suggest surprise, Cierah continued.
"Oh my. That's a long time. So,.....is she still alive?"
Oy vey!

Brandon.
Brandon turned 2 in December. He is the most cognitively advanced child we've had as he passes through the stages our kids have already been through. Things come easy to Brandon. His new thing is to point out the types of trucks on the road and name them.
"Tractor trailer.
Delivery truck.
Tanker.
Garbage truck.
Street cleaner.
Flatbed."

So yesterday, Carl (who has mild to moderate Asthma) needed to use his inhaler. He picked it up from his dresser and squeezed, breathing in the metered dose and holding it in his lungs as usual. Suddenly, Brandon, who had been standing there watching, sought Carl's attention. "Daddy! Eeeeeee?" The "Eeeeee" was Brandon's imitations of his Daddy's wheezing. Oh my, that child.

And my Bunker girl, Olivia (if you've read my blog in the past, you know why we call her our Bunker girl.) This week as I was scrapbooking out of an altered computer cabinet, she inquired.
"Mom, when you write that paper that tells everyone what they're getting after you die, will you be sure to leave your scrapbook cabinet to me?"
I didn't know if I should be offended or laugh, I tell you. I decided that giggling was in order.
"It's called a will, honey. And you're very easy to please (hee hee). Sure, if my scrapbook cabinet means that much to you, you can have it."
Elated, she replied, "Oh, THANKS, mom! I'm going to use it to examine my dogs when I own a dog rescue."

Wat Wah!

Toni

REDS fan (part II)

>>>>>>>>>>>This photo has nothing to do with the REDS. Just the cute factor.

On our way home from the REDS game, we stopped at LaRosa's in Batesville. One of the best pizzas we've ever eaten (we will NOT go to Cincinnati in the future without eating deep dish pizza at LaRosa's on the way home). We were sitting in a semi-cirle around the table, when Reece literally screamed, "SPIDER!" Cierah didn't move quick enough for his liking, so he plowed right over her, standing to make the pass. Turned out it wasn't a spider at all. A wasp. A huge wasp. Reece suffers from post traumatic stress where wasps are concerned. You would too if you were stung three times in the face while playing on your backyard slide as a 3 year old, or two times on the nose as a 2 year old at a birthday party.

I saw the wasp fly down onto the seat, but when we checked,....gone. Where the heck did it go? Carl checked from one side, Olivia from the other, and all three of us checked the floor under the table. No sign of it, yet we didn't see it fly away either. It took some serious convincing, but we managed to coax Reece back to the table and into his seat. "It's gone, honey. He flew away." Five minutes later,...

I HEAWWWW IT. GET OUT. GET OUT!!!" He again blew past Cierah and out of the circular booth. It was still there alright. And fresh off the baseball fields of the Cincinnati Reds, it was now Carl's turn to take a swing. He took of his ball cap (REDS, of course) and....BAMM!!!!!!!! He hit it with all his might. A line drive. ;) You know that "someone's looking at me" feeling? Yeah, well, I looked over my right shoulder and what did I see?
Every last eye in the house on our family.
Our post-game, dirty, stringy-haired hat head, salt lick of a family. And what could I do? I managed a nervous but polite smile, then turned my attention back to my clan family. Clampetts!

Toni

Rough week for the REDS

Seriously, I think if my family and I had taken our regular walk last night, the deer would have tried to use us as a salt lick. I'm just sayin'. We took the kids to see the Cincinnati Reds play against the Philadelphia Phillies, a 2 hour drive from our home. The plan was to leave at 9:30am so we'd have plenty of built-in time for unexpected delays. The best laid plans. We left the house about 25 minutes behind schedule and found ourselves in an odd little jam of cars on the highway that runs between Indy and Cincy. Couldn't figure out why, at 11:00am on a Thursday, with no visible cause for traffic, we were stuck in a pocket of cars for a good 20 minutes (thankfully, a "jam" that was managing to keep max speed). Turns out the Rolling Thunder organization was riding and we eventually passed no less than 200 motorcyles who took part in the ride. It was neat to see them, as their mission is to bring attention to the cause of POW-MIA, and many members are veterans.

But naturally, this jam did slow us down a bit. We still figured we had enough time to make the starting pitch. Got to Cincy, found the parking lot a friend said we should park in,........

......then found ourselves on a bridge into Kentucky (that's the third state in one day, for those who are counting). Already quite pressed for time, dh was NOT happy that the entrance to the parking lot was not marked by signs. A quick U-ey in Kentucky and we were back in Ohio and parked the van. Thus began the cave stomp to the ballpark.

Through the blazing heat in the blacktop parking lot we stomped, up the steps, across the grassy knoll, down the street past the construction zone, and finally into the stadium. Sheesh, good thing our kids have been walking 2 miles 3-4 times a week with us. And let me tell you, we were all grumpy, hot and sweating from that walk in the heat and sun. But we were determined to shake it off and have a nice time.

A quick stop at the kiosk to pick up our tickets, and off we went to find our seats. They were great seats along the 3rd base to home stretch with a totally unobstructed view. However,....


....it was about 85ºF in Cincy yesterday, full sun, and only the occasional cotton candy cloud floating by. Oh, and just the slightest hint of a breeze every now and then. Good thing all the kids had hats with them.


We took our seats, and literally 3 seconds later, "Ladies and gentlemen, please rise to sing the national anthem."
And I just pulled out my soapbox. See me up here?
SING, y'all.
What is with no one singing the national anthem anymore?
Or not even putting their hand over their heart.
Or taking their hat off as a sign of respect?
SING, I say.
Okay, soapbox safely back in storage.

We sat down again and I went for the sunscreen in the diaper bag, as only two of us had fully applied it at home, Reece and myself. A panic rose from within.
"Honey, I can't find the sunscreen."
"It's in there. I put it there."
"Huh. You did? Huh, because see, I'm not finding it and, well...," digging frantically now, "it wouldn't be good if the kids sit here for 3 or 4 hours without sunscreen on."
"It's there. Check again."
Olivia chimed in, "Dad, you took it out in the car to grease your face, remember?"
Me, frustrated and concerned, "It's in the car."
"What do we do now?" inquired Carl almost in disbelief.
"Well," I said, thinking it but not wanting to breath it to life, "One of us is going to have to march all the way back to the car to get it."

I volunteered.

I know, I know already. He left it, he should go back. But he's that kind of husband, y'all. The kind that would have went in a heartbeat if I really insisted. But how do you make your Reds Fan miss the first inning when he's recently shared with you that he hasn't been to a Reds game in Cincinnati since 1973? That'll put a lil' pressure on a gal, ya know? ;)

SooOOoo, I sucked it up and began the trudge back to our van, some 10 minutes away, in the blazing sun. The journey of a thousand miles begins with the the first step. My first step? Those narrow, endless concrete stadium steps. I had to climb about 25 of them just to get started. Did I mention I had wedge heeled Bass flip flops on? Great walking shoes, wouldn't you agree? Grrrr!


About the time I got to the top of that concrete beast, a new thought occured to me. See, normally, I'd gripe and moan about having to pay five dollars for a bottle of sunscreen on any given day. But today, for Toni,....fifteen dollars says I'm not walking all the way back to our car. I sought out an usher and inquired. Let me tell you, Father God had mercy on me.
"We don't sell it, Ma'm. But if you go to first aid, they'll give you some for free."

WEE HAW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The first aid nurse, a guy, handed me a tiny medicine cup with a little squirt of sunscreen in it.
"Sir, I'm sorry. There are four of us in full sun with no sunscreen."
He looked me over, rolled his eyes, and then handed me two more squirt cups. Yes, I had to put up with a round of judgmental juju eyeball intended for, uh hem, the source of our sunscreen fau paux, but it was worth it to walk out with my three squirts of free sunscreen so my kids didn't come home with sun poisoning. Off I went, proud of myself for avoiding the cave stomp back to the car, but not without dumping some of the precious commodity on my hot pink capris. Naturally.


Dh was highly impressed with my ingenuity. We quickly slathered everyone from head to toe (it ended up being more than enough), and I finally settled in to watch the game. We had purchased 3 bottles of water on the street for $1 each, a good deal as water was $4.25 inside the stadium. And we refilled them at the drinking fountain several times, making sure everyone rehydrated every half hour.
I'm happy to say that not one of us got sunburned yesterday, not even our toddler or our very fair skinned strawberry blonde, Reece. Our kids were troopers. They sat there in the blazing heat for almost 4 hours, full sun mind you, melting with sweat, but with minimal complaint. I think it's paid off that we've taken them to football games since they were infants. They know to sit still in public events, 2yo included.

The kids' eyes were large and telling as we passed homeless people on the way back to our car who were begging for food, money and beer (yes, one homeless man was soliciting for alcohol. How sad is that?!) Our kids were naturally curious (sweet Reece was trying to say hello to all of them) and I knew the questions would fly once we got back to the car. I was right. Olivia began.
"Mom, why were some of those homeless people begging for stuff when they're rich?"
You just never know how a child perceives a foreign situation, so I dug in.
"Whadda you mean, rich? Homeless people are not rich, Olivia. You know that."
"Uh huh! The guy asking for beer was."
"Olivia, he was not rich. He's a homeless man without a job, honey."
She bugged her eyes out to suggest shock at my apparent failed attention to detail, then exclaimed, "MOM! He owned a bike!"
I giggled. A lot. Oy vey, in her young mind, bikes are clearly associated with wealth. Oh, the lessons life will continue to teach my sweet, naive girl.

And for the record, it's been a tough week in baseball. Our REDS lost to the Phillies. Twice. (Did I mention dh is the assistant coach of a group of great young men also called the Reds?)

Luke 6:36 Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.

Toni