Fetch! (the laugh's on me)

Winter waltzed right in. I witnessed its unrelenting force wreak havoc as child's play. It loosened the shingles on a nearby neighbor's home so effectively that the next minute they danced a rippled rhythm, as a banner high on a pole. So naturally, I sent hubs out to knock on said neighbor's door.
"In this weather?"
"Honey! You would want someone to tell you if your roof was coming off, right?"
I smiled and waved dutifully as he spotted me watching from the sliding glass window, while he pressed against the gale forces to make his way to the neighbor's front door. And in fact, the poor guy didn't know. His storm door had already been unhinged and now the roof. I felt awful for him as we too have been hit with large, unexpected expenses for three Christmases now. But you know, my house is warm and cozy, my kids are still bickering happy and healthy, and we have what truly matters most, faith in Jesus Christ and one another. Glass half full.

It eventually turned out to be a wonderful day. I consider us richly blessed to sit down to dinner together as a family just about every evening, a beautiful blessing indeed. After a good meal(coconut butternut squash pasta), we brought out all the boxes from storage and decorated for Christmas. How I love the yearly transformation. I'll share a bit of that in photos with you, but first a flashback from the earlier part of my day.

You might know we have a new dog, a Yellow Lab named Chance. Goodness, we all love that furry boy and he totally knows it. There are a few behaviors we're working on modifying, but overall he's just a big ol' yellow bunch of love. However, having rescued him from a shelter, we have been dealing with whipworms. Now I'm not one to shy away from the reality that having animals can create some gross situations, probably because I grew up with cats, dogs, rabbits, turtles, ducks, hamsters, and fish. I'm pretty darn used to the various scenarios that can play out when you own a pet. And, well, we've been dealing with an ongoing loose bowel issue since Chance joined us a month ago. Some days it's better, others much worse. He's been successfully dewormed but still the bowel trouble continues. :(

So today, we had to take another specimen to the Vet to be checked for worms. Now, I don't know if you're a pet owner or not. But if you are, you know how "lovely" it is when you're asked to bring in a "specimen." Uh yeah, you have to fetch a biscuit and I'm not talking bread.

Did I mention we had gale force winds?

So I waited until my dog launched the eagle had landed, then grabbed a sweat jacket, tennis shoes, and a baggie and off I went to get it. This dirty job couldn't wait. I needed to get it over with before the poo lay buried under snow or froze to the point of impossibility. The driving snow stung my squinting eyeballs as I stammered through to the end of the yard.

Am I reeeeally having to do this?
Where is hubs when I need him?
How to pick up a steamer with just a little baggie? (no, I'm not asking you; rather, I was asking me as I stood there in the cold being tossled like a wind chime.)

By the time I had answered my own "how to" question, I looked like the rusty tin man of Oz, my wind-chilled fingers frozen and uncooperative. The baggie suddenly got away from me and I nearly twisted my ankle attempting to make a sudden dash to retrieve it. Thankfully, it lodged into the fence posts where I snatched it back right quick and returned to the nasty task at hand.

I inverted the bag, grabbed, and sealed it tight.
Where to put it such a naaaasty little package?
As the whipping wind was quickly lowering my core temperature, I hastily settled on tossing it under the patio furniture. I figured it would be protected from the elements by the canvas coverings that donned each piece. It made good sense.

That is, until a humongous gust of wind kicked up and sent our furniture flying into the yard. That's when I thought I heard, "Cleared for take-off," and saw the steamer go fly-high-ing past our back windows.
Seriously, we had lift-off.
My kids were cracking up. "Look at mommy chasing a fly-away poo bag. Ha hah ha."
They're easily amused (grrr!)

But I'm happy to say I won. I vigorously chased and recaptured that bogus little baggie as it rode on the breeze like the tail of a kite.
SNAP! GOTCHA!!!

Now knowing that's how my day started, I'm sure you'll understand how much more I love how it ended, with decorating our home for the holidays.
Stay warm wherever you are.
On with the photo montage.....


Aw, go on and admit it. He's as cute as can be. He is!


Hubs bought these beauties for me after Thanksgiving, to ackowledge my hard work in preparing the meal for our family.


This cute little tree was created in honor of Hubs' mom after she died of colon cancer in 1995. Is that mini tree skirt and nativity scene the most adorable or what?


I love to line up photos of Christmas past on the stairs. My mom made the snowman.


I am crazy about our fireplace. Our faux cardboard fireplace with its faux flames. Kinda got a deer theme going on the mantle this year (the red one is at least 45 years old.)


HA! That's Cierah with a towel on her head. Why, you ask? Because we're playing a game called Back To Bethlehem and she was instructed to wear a towel on her head as a shepherd. This game gives great cause for laughs, as well as getting the kids to think about deeper things like, "What do you think Christmas morning is like for a homeless person?" Love it. You can find it online at Todd Wilson's website.


This is Hubs when he got home from work today. His company is flying some children to Dallas who lost a parent in service to our nation. There was face painting going on and a little girl asked Hubs if he wanted his nose "painted like Rudolph." He didn't, but said, "How do you say no to a little girl who lost her mom or dad in service to us?" Ten minutes later, he looked like this. :)


I absolutely love my nativity. My aunt found it on sale after Christmas many years ago and I thought it was the most beautiful I'd ever seen. The jewel tone colors are brilliant in person and the pieces are well detailed.

Toni

MESSAGES!

It's the MOST wonderful time of the year! Can't you just hear Andy Williams flexing the golden pipes? Oh yeah! And to date, indeed it has been a wonderful holiday season. My parents came in from Ohio for Thanksgiving, Mom's first year in decades where she was not the primary cook. And in fact, she was such a good teacher that I had very little for her to help with while here. She did make us some awesome gravy, but more importantly, she and my Dad poured lots of love into our active bunch. Nothing measures up to that (even if I did make a good turkey.)

I have some Christmas "duties" out of the way and our outside lights are up. Trust me, this is muy early for my procrastinating nature. I mean, lights up before December 1st? Check me for the fever, y'all. But it's true. And it feels GREAT to have it done. A little more Christmas "duty" in the next few days is in order. I'm thrilled with our more timely approach this year (don't even pit me against those "I'm done in June" folks; I'm simply not from that realm, ya know?)

But not everything is going as smooth as butter. Take a few weeks ago in church, for example. I was standing there talking to my dear friend, Sniz, after service. My four kids were on short leashes, chomping at the bit to throw self control to the wind but knowing we expected them to mind us. So, Sniz and I were deep in conversation when what happened next left me momentarily speechless (I assure you, this does not often happen to me.)

Apparently, I had burned up my allotted "mom chat" time (you know, that magical child determined time where a mom can talk without interruption or embarrassment at the mercy of her accomodating little darlings). And to drive the point home, my sweet babes entered into a battle of sorts. A battle over who would claim the coveted seat next to Miss "K", a lovely teen girl whom my kids adore. In their efforts to WIN said coveted seat, a little creativity was in order. I mean, hey, mom's not watchin', right?

So child "A" came up with a plan to trip up child "B".

Yes, literally.

And since Child "B" was up wandering around (instead of remaining seated as we had asked) child "A"s plan met with success and child "B" went flying across the floor. The proof was in the wave of destruction that followed.
A loud "CRASH!" was heard.
Followed by several gasps.
Then several raised eyebrows and concerned expressions.
Because,...well,....okay, yes.

I give up.

It was my sweet little darlings,mine, mind you, who busted the church message board to smithereens. Fragments of what once was a means of communication amongst our members lay scattered about Sniz and I on the floor.
A frame edge here.
A few decorative fall leaves there.
Another frame edge.
And another.
And the other (yes, that's all four framing pieces, but who's counting?)

Sadly true! My little angels made big time wrestling out of church property and all eyes were on us to witness it.
Uuuuh,...I'm ready for my closeup??? (Toni smiles like a nervous Chesire.)
Those who watched SNL back in the day, think Mary Catherine. "Super star!"

Hubs and I did the only thing we could think of. We picked up the remains of the message board and made for the door, promising to fix and return the board later.

Fast forward to the following Saturday night. I had been up late, pressing clothes and getting ready for church again the next day. Hubs was off at "man camp" (a Christian men's retreat). I had bathed 4 kids, showered myself, and was now ready to turn in for the night. Only.....

RATS!

There sat the boogered up board on a chair in the corner of my bedroom. In the business of our week (Thanksgiving grocery shopping, dance and art lessons, picking up a few things for Hubs for man camp, packing him, etc.), we had completely forgotten to fix the board. Knowing it would be needed the next day in church, the task fell soley on me.

At midnight. Swell!

I ran down to the garage and gathered much needed supplies. A heavy duty staple gun. And a hammer and finishing nails "just in case." It took the better part of fifteen minutes for me to figure out how to reframe the corkboard with just one pair of hands. But I finally got the four sides reassembled and thus reached for my staple gun.

P-tink, p-tink!
Oh for crying out loud!

Those staples would NOT pass through the tough particle board frame. And worse yet? I couldn't get them back out. They were stuck reeeeal good. I was afraid to pull, afraid to damage the board even more. I was not at ALL opposed to simply buying a replacement, mind you. It's just that it was after midnight, I was home alone with the kids, and it was too late to implement that plan. Naturally.
Ever so gingerly, I tugged and tugged. A good 20 or so times and FINALLY out came the staple. Sheesh!

Okay then. Hammer and finishing nails it is.
Oh!
No!
It!
Isn't!
I could have bam-bam-bammed 'til the cows came home, but those nails weren't going any deeper than the staples had gone, no matter how hard I pounded.

What to do, what to do???

You crafty types know where I'm going with this. Because fact is, in the crafting world, a girl's gotta have her tools.
Get....me....my....glue gun!
I filled the tracks along each framing piece and I did the only thing I could do.
I glued 'er on reeeeeeal good. Then I stepped back and examined my work. It was holding. I was happy. But at the same time, I was very concerned.
Concerned that the job was fragile.
Concerned that the glue might only work in the short run.
Concerned that I'd carry that baby back to church and gently sit it back on the display tripod, only to find myself stuck in my own version of a scene in the movie A Christmas Story. You know the scene I mean. Where the leg lamp gets "accidentally" broken and the Dad glues all the pieces back together. But when he gently replaces the shade, the whole thing falls apart again. Uh huh, I had visions of that happening as I ever so gently carried the glued message board back into church last Sunday.

Only,....


It ended up being totally unnecessary.
The staples.
The finishing nails.
The hot glue gun.
The worrying about my personal "leg lamp" moment.
It was all unnecessary because, as I approached the tripod, my eyes fixed on a new and beautiful message board.
Whole, sturdy and unflawed.

And isn't that just like our great God and Father? We are so broken before Him. And yet He can pick up any little shard of us and use it to let His light shine through our brokenness. He can make us whole and sturdy and unflawed, if only we allow Him. If only we are willing to be made new in Jesus His Son, who died for all sin for all time. Oh, that He CAN make us whole. That only He can. And that we should discover that for ourselves. Just as I discovered the message board made whole again, not of my own efforts but of another, just as we are redeemed not because of our own efforts, but because of what Jesus did for us. Now that's a message worth sharing. Happy holidays!

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting men's sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation. We are therefore Christ's ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ's behalf: Be reconciled to God. God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God. 2 Corinthians 5:17-21

Toni

A fish tale (of sorts)

If you know me personally or have read my blog for any length of time (don't all three of you wave at once) then you know the incredible way that Brandon appeared in our lives and was grafted to our family tree.

Fast forward.

Brandon will be 3 in December. Three! Goodness, it's the most true cliche out there; they grow up so fast (I tell mine all the time to "stop growing this very instant", but kids being kids, they never listen.) Brandon is a character, let me tell you. He's very smart and able, 'gets' humor (it's a hoot to share a funny with him because he truly gets it), and he is independent in ways that our other children weren't at the same age. I suppose he's farther along developmentally because of the age gap between him and his older siblings? It's my best guess anyway. But it makes interacting with him a lot of fun.

Tonight, Brandon asked me to play Let's Go Fishing with him. It's a battery operated game where little plastic fish open and close their mouths as the "pond" spins, while you try to catch them with a tiny plastic fishing pole. Oh believe it, I looove playing this game (not really, but more than Old Maid anyway.)

So we got things set up and Brandon began to run the show almost immediately.
"Dis is my pole. It's not broe-kin."
I'm thinking, "What the heck, he gets the good pole?" I immediately had reason to believe I was going to be fishing for plastic fish with a toothpick. Not off to such a good start, know what I mean? And that's when he shoved a dinky plastic yellow pole in my hand and commanded, "Dis is yowze, Momma. You fish heeuw!" whereby he literally pointed to my "area" of the pond.

Great.

Just great.

I've been banned to a specific "spot."

In a plastic pond.

Kid's taking this game waaaay too seriously.

And tell me, do you think that's where the fish are known to be biting? Oh, I'm certain not.

(Let me interject something at this point; Why is it that all toddlers sound like Asian elderly men speaking broken English? "I tell you go NOW," or, "I no play wit you any more." 'Nuff said.)

Okay, so. I was sitting there (in my "spot" and all) contemplating the many skills needed to be an almost 3 year old master angler (which basically, as I see it, amounts to controlling the game and getting away with it) when he suddenly flicked on a switch to start the action, then quickly demanded, "Wait!"

Wait???
Did he just start the game and demand that I wait?
Oh no he did NOT tell me to wait,...only to proceed to fish his little heart out,...right?

Oh. Yes. He. Did. Too.

Every time I attempted to stick my stinkin' toothpick pole in the pond, he whined convincingly, "No, momma. You wait!"

Okay, what the heck am I waiting for?
Because seriously?
I'm ready to catch me some plastic walleye already.
But nooOOoo! Mr. Tiny Tyrant 2009 has not granted "permission" to enter the plastic pond.
So I sat miserably on the bank, losing the "early cast" advantage, while Brandon proceeded to rack up a score of THREE-ZIP before he'd even entertain the thought of allowing me to enter the pond.

Finally, he gave me the green light and away I went, putting my years of trout and walleye fishing to the test. Could I do it? Could I catch up to Mr. Advantage or was I destined to tell the proverbial tale of the one who got away?

Oh no, it's o-o-o-o-on!

I fished and I fished. And I caught some too. And it even appeared at one point that I might at least tie for the big plastic win.

That is, until Brandon decided that wasn't ever going to happen. He started with a little something I like to call the whine tactic.
"StooOOoop, Momma. Stop dat wight now. You don't catch doze fish, okay Momma?"
But I tell you, it's hard NOT to catch plastic fish when you've been an angler for many years. It's in my blood, I tell you. Like a hunting dog who just has to fetch the duck from the pond because it's what he does, I had to catch those fish. And I had to make up for lost time in the pond too.

That's when Brandon pulled out the heavy guns.
Enter....the man handle. In a moment of clear frustration with the gains I had made (even though he had done everything in his toddlerhood power to give himself the advantage), he reached for his secret weapon, the dreaded men handle.
Grumbling and with eyebrows scowling, he barked, "Dis fish won't git on my pole!" And with skill and timing that would rival any Bill Dance fisherman, he grabbed a plastic fish by its googly head and man handled him right out of the plastic pond.

No pole.

No fisherman's patience or luck.

A total man handle.

Score one for the little guy.

Then, to make my own fate sealed even more, he gloated, "Haha! I got DIS one wiiiight heaw. You don't haff dis many, do you, Momma! And you don't catch deeze eeder, okay? You oniy catch duh pink ones."

Come again?
Did my boy just pull the "traditional roles" card on me, banning me, a woman, to the pink fish only?
Are you kidding me?
Hmmmf!

I tell you, it's a lonely spot on the plastic pond when you're banned to the area where the action is nil and you're limited to a pink catch only.
Need I tell you who won?

Like I said, this boy's sharp. No wool growing over his eyes. But I'm going to have to teach him a lesson or two where his little attitude is concerned. I'm thinking a pole in the "big pond" might be just what the doctor ordered.

Ever see a 3 year old try to bring in a real walleye?

HA HA! (evil grin)

I'm just sayin'.

Toni

What were the chances?

Reece has been asking for one specific thing for quite some time now. This "thing" happens to have four paws and fur. Uh huh, I know. But since his last birthday, the idea has not died. A whole year and he's still asking for a dog.

I grew up with all kinds of pets; fish, turtles, ducklings, rabbits, kittens, cats, puppies and dogs. We've had mixed breeds and pure breeds, hunting dogs and companion dogs and cats. You name it. At one point, my parents had four kids, 3 hamsters, 2 cats, an dog and a rabbit. What can I say, we loved our little zoo.

Sure, pets are hard work. They can be expensive (though generally speaking, cats are waaaay less expensive to care for than dogs.) They get dirty. They make messes we must clean. They can be smelly, sometimes even when they're clean (have you ever smelled a wet dog? Ick!) Some shed. Some aren't well suited for children. And you know, they can infringe on your freedom to come and go. All this is true.

But there is a flip side. A good pet is a good companion, and a good companion is wonderful company. When you've had a bad day, a good pet is happy to see you. When you're at your worst, a good pet doesn't seem to mind. When you're sad, a good pet can really be a source of comfort (something about that unconditional love.) And children can learn so much from a good pet. Compassion. Caring for "someone" outside themselves. Patience. And lessons about living and dying, and learning that good memories are ours to keep forever. These are just some of the terrific things about having a good pet.

So you see where I'm going with this, right? This whole, "I want a dog," thing with Reece. He just wouldn't let it go. And his birthday is in two more days. Last week I explained to him (and read the resulting disappointment in his eyes yet again) that I was sorry, that he would not be getting a dog this year either.
It wasn't that we were totally against the idea.
It's just that we had our,.......our rules.
Rules like, "No dog until all people in the house are potty trained first."
Or, "No dog until we have a run added to our backyard fence."
Or how about, "No dog until summer, when we can devote more time to training."
But yet......sigh. Reece was just sooo looking forward to "a real dog." Have you ever read the Debbie Maycomber book Where Angels Go? Among other dilemmas in the book, a little boy wants a dog with all his heart (trivial note; the angels' names are Surely, Goodness, and Mercy, lol.) Anyway, the boy in that story wanted a dog in the worst way, just like my Reece.

Fact is, I've been checking local humane societies, rescues, and breeders for quite some time now. We definitely have a preference for one particular breed, the Lab Retriever. For us, there simply is no better dog for kids (you're entitled to your own preferenc and opinion, but for us Labs win, hands down.) I occasionally would find a Lab mixed breed. Or a very senior Lab (which would be fine for Carl and I, but there's more to consider there with four active kids around a senior dog.) But otherwise, I didn't have much luck on locating a pure breed Lab and the local rescues' fees were more than we could afford at this time anyway.

The other night, I tucked Reece in and again reminded him that a "real dog" would not be unwrapped for his birthday again this year (he often brings the topic up as I tuck him in.) On a whim, I decided to check rescues and humane societies further away from us, something I had not done in the past. I found a humane society several counties away and noted that their fees were much more reasonable than our local area. "That's good," I curiously thought, "but I'm sure I won't find the dog we're looking for." I mean, I'd been searching for a year. What were the chances? Famous last words (literally.)

I began searching through the list of available dogs. A very cute Lab mixed breed caught my attention. "Hmmm, could make a great pet. I mean, she's cute as can be, on the small side, and....maybe." I was curious about her, but continued on down the list. As I neared the end, I came across a dog that made me lean in to my screen for a closer look.
I was truly surprised.
There it was, a purebred Lab Retriever, and only 10 months old.
"No way! Can't be!" But it was. We have a preference for female dogs and this was a male. But wait, does it say his name is..........Cleveland?

Really???

Okay, my heart raced a bit as I began to think it was meant to be. We moved to IN several years ago from Cleveland, and now we were coming full circle, metaphorically speaking. Yes, this dog's kennel name was Cleveland. I felt compelled to run this one past Carl and we both agreed we should "just go look." HA! As any Lab lover knows, there is absolutely NO SUCH THING as, "Just go look." If you're looking, a Lab is coming home with you. This is why Carl and I have avoided "just looking" for soooo long now.

So we did. We packed the kids into the van on Monday and made the drive to the humane society, over 90 minutes away. Our intent was to check out the female mixed breed and the pure male Lab. When we pulled in though, Carl said, "Ut oh. There's the female now, walking with those people out in the field." Sure enough, it was her. While we waited in the office to see the available dogs, hoping the Lab was still there, the couple came in and announced they would be taking the female mix. I'm glad we got to see her. She was very sweet, gentle, and great on the leash. But I'm fairly certain we would not have selected her. That's because the male Lab was indeed still there and we all fell in love with him immediately.

We took him out of his kennel and ventured outside with him on a leash. Carl took him for a walk through the field. He loved on our kids. They loved on him. He was HAPPY to be with us and we noticed our kids were happy to be with him. A "pros and cons" discussion quickly followed, the result being that I went back inside and stated, "Our family is in love with Cleveland and we would like to adopt him."

Paperwork was started as I chatted with the office worker. She informed me that we were "lucky" to see and adopt our dog, as Central Indiana Lab Rescue had been notified and he was scheduled to move there within 24 hours. We had visited in perfect time. She also told me that they weren't sure he knew his name, Cleveland, or if it was even his official name. She asked if we would change the name. We all kind of liked Cleveland, but it was by chance that so many things fell into place and so we decided that CHANCE should be his new name.

He is being neutered and micro-chipped before he comes home with us this coming Saturday. We were glad for the extra time to gather all the things we'll need to make our home his home as well. We found a crate on Craigslist for a good price. Food, toys, feeding and water dishes, snacks, and a chew bone are now purchased and ready. All we need is our handsome boy, Chance. When you see him, I'm sure you'll agree.

Toni

The funny, the scary, the heartwarming!

The fall weather has, for the most part, been dismal here in Indiana. It's rained a lot and the cold snuck in way too early and came on way too strong. Admittedly, these things do NOT make me happy. I praise God in the midst of it anyway though, since abiding spritual joy (unlike the emotion of happiness), has NOTHING to do with what goes on outside of me. Rather, it abounds because of Jesus Christ, who lives IN me. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

So anyhoo, given the ugly weather, I knew there was a very real chance the kids would not get to trick-or-treat this year. I hoped for the best and kept watch via the long term forecast. It rained several days this past week, including on Friday. But thankfully, Saturday was partly sunny and no rain. Chilly, very chilly, but no rain.

After an early dinner, the kids' excitement grew to a moderate frenzy. I think we had to ask them to sit down and chill out a good ten times or more. Reece reminded me of a toy with a short in it, fritzing out in warp speed because he simply could not contain his enthusiasm. After several rounds of hair, makeup, and warm layers, the kids donned their costumes and were transformed. Olivia, a cowgirl. Cierah, "old man Jenkins" (an idea we got from a character on Spongebob). Reece, Spiderman. And Brandon, Thomas the train (isn't that what every 2yo boy wants to be?) I must say, they all looked terrific!

That said,
Cierah was initially less than thrilled about having to dress as old man Jenkins (you MUST click on the photo to get the gist of how cute she really was; can't see it well in the photo but we painted a gray mustache and eyebrows on her as well.) Thatw is, until she realized the attention and compliments her costume drew, then she beamed. And I have to say, she fooled more than one passerby who commented, "Your son's grandpa costume is adorable." People didn't realize a little girl was in there.
What a hoot!

So, everything was going pretty status quo (although candy distribution was noticeably down this year; the recession has now reached the pumpkin buckets of little children all across America, I suppose?) We decided to hit a couple streets we normally don't frequent, as the kids wanted their buckets to be "full like last year." Hey, you're only a kid once, so we figured what the heck!

Away we went.

And that's when it happened.

Now, let me just back up and say Carl had just commented not two minutes earlier that a few kids burned out his retinas with their high powered flashlights. But when our kids headed up a driveway behind those same kids with the mega-beams, we could not have known what would soon occur, even as the doorbell summoned the homeowner.

A shuffle of feet was heard. A slow creak.
And there stood a little elderly lady who very much reminded me of Grandma from Sylvester and Tweetie, only with darker hair. Well okay, that and a grumpier spirit perhaps. Fact is, the glare of one of the mega-beam flashlights caught her eyes, and reflected off her glasses, and....well,...probably acted as a magnifying glass because she suddenly scared the jeebies out of all the kids, angrily screeching, "That better not be a strobe light. Turn that thing OFF!" (I won't even share that I myself was scared to the point of near incontinence. TMI, to be sure.)

But it was too late. It just was.

The mega-beam (and perhaps her banschee cry) had knocked grandma off her game. Shifted her center of gravity. Rotated her universe if you well. I just didn't see her it coming.

Grandma fell out.

Literally.

Yes, that poor old woman fell out of her doorway and onto the outside step, candy flying everywhere. WHOA!
"Are you okay???" My Reece was quickly concerned, bending down to help her pick up the spilled goods. I was so concerned for her myself that it wasn't until long after the incident was over that I realized that something incredible had happened in that moment.
Reece had responded with compassion.
And maturity.
These things don't necessarily come easily to my little man. It's not that he is incompassionate. He is. But Reece has some special needs that make his reactions sometimes inappropriate, though not deliberately unkind. It was entirely possible that he would have "read" that incident as funny and then responded as such. Instead, he realized it was most serious and he wanted to know if the lady was okay. What a great moment to witness.

But he didn't stop there.

He also bent down and began to pick up the candy for her. This too was a mature gesture that Reece might not think to extend in such a circumstance. But he did. He did. And again, this was a big (BIG!) deal. I'm soooo grateful to God for our little man showing us how, in his time, he is learning to gain wise perspective on a situation and to extend compassion.

Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you. Ephesians 4:31

Oh, and by the way? I'm listening to PANDORA as I type this. It's absolutely soothing. If you, like me, prefer NOT to miss your blessings, to see your glass as half full, then I will HIGHLY encourage you to head over to Pandora, go to the genre box half way down the center of the page, and select "holidays" and then "peaceful holidays." Then, sit back, a relaxing herbal tea in hand, and be soothed and ministered to by the gifted musicians whom you will experience. No, it's not too early for this Christmas music. Do yourself a huge favor and trust me on this one, would ya? ;)

Toni

IN PURSUIT OF COLOR

So I got this coupon in the mail the other day for a free quart of Glidden paint. Always one to enjoy a freebie, I quickly visited the website and selected my winning color, a most lovely shade of reddish(ish).

Okay, fine.
So I don't really know what my color selection was called because "they" (the apparent paint naming gods) tend to come up with crazy names I could never remember. Names like buttered sweetcorn, guilded pear, or frosted pine. Sheesh, why does every can of paint need to be a "newborn baby" just waiting to be named?

Now if *I* were to have the coveted paint naming job, I assure you your trip to Lowes would be much easier. Forget all that buttercup sweetcorn fluff. Friends, you would be free to explore paint colors like sunburned red, fake-bake orange, or my own personal favorite, puke green (because every mom or auntie knows what that color looks like. Much easier to remember, yes?)

We recently painted our kitchen green(ish). According to the paint naming gods though, we officially have not a green(ish) kitchen, but rather (look out, here comes the posh name) a "dry grass" kitchen.

Ooookay.

Ironically, we actually have plenty of genuine dry grass, only we have another posh name for it.
We call it our yard.
And let me tell you, our yard is the most beautiful shade of "dry grass" you've ever laid your eyeballs on (snark, snark.)

Seriously? We've tried every trick we can think of to obtain to a more refined shade deserving of a really posh name. You know. Something like, oh say, "Alive Grass"?
Yes, "Alive Grass" would be a nice choice. But not happening, I tell you. No amount of watering, weed-n-feeding, organic wheat glutening, or scolding (yes, I even yelled at our grass in frustration) has made one iota of difference. It seems that dry grass is our resident color.

And naturally, the nextdoor neighbor is the poster child for Better Homes and Gardens.
And get this. It's a B.I.G. secret what makes his lawn so green (Toni waves hands in a most sarcastic manner as she rolls eyes and spits nails.)
I've never seen Chemlawn over there and his children don't run around with third eyes or anything, so I have to believe him when he says he uses an "organic" product. But,...what?
I called the local co-op. They had no idea.
Carl asked him what he uses. You'd think the neighbor choked on a butterfly, what with his trying to dance all around the answer to avoid telling us. I asked his wife, who quickly deferred back to her husband ("Oh, J does all that. You'd have to ask him, but it's something organic.") She even snickered, yes SNICKERED, as she laughed an annoying little "wish you could grow some green grass, don'tcha" laugh and boldly pointed out to me, "Our yard is even greener than C's yard and he uses Chemlawn, hee hee."
Why, I oughta!

So a lil' gift came today. I saw it in the in-flight shopping magazine when we flew to Albuquerque recently. (do those mags carry thee coolest overpriced products or what?)

Aeration shoes.
Eureka, I found it!
Carl needs aeration shoes.

It wasn't a thought I could simply push aside, what with our lovely perpetual shade of "dry grass" and all. So I ordered them. And they came today. And it was sunny and just a perfect day for stompin' around like a manly caveman in your brand new aeration shoes.

"Will I look like a dweeb in these?" he asked.
Me, eyelids batting, "What, in your man-boot aeration lawn cleats? Why noooOo, honey. No. You won't look dweeby at all. A bit Clampetty, perhaps, but definitely not dweeby."
I reminded him that J (a.k.a. Home and Garden) played basketball with his kids in our cul-de-sac one Saturday morning, wearing nothing more than a bathrobe and a smile. Ewwww, now that was dweeby looking. And the family across the street occasionally gets their drink on and then makes dweebs out of themselves for all to see. And then there's one who, well, just IS dweeby, plain and simple. So, no. Walking around in his Clampett aeration shoes couldn't be that dweeby.
Right? Because when it comes to yard-czar of the year, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.

Ah! What we won't do to keep up with the Jones's.

Toni

WHERE I SPENT MY (INDIAN) SUMMER VACATION!

We had plans to take our annual family vacation in Charleston, SC. We were so looking forward to Fort Sumter (where the first shots of the civil war were fired), Boone Hall Plantation (our family is very interested in learning about the history of slavery and civil rights in our country), and of course some ocean beach time for the kids.

The best laid plans (sigh!)

The flights to Charleston were very full. We fly standby and would have needed SIX open seats on FOUR different flights. Way too iffy for us. Next? We tried several other destinations.
Columbia, SC., full.
Corpus Christi, TX., rain predicted.
Boston, MA., rain and cold predicted.
Ft. Myers, FL., rain predicted.
Savannah, GA., a possibility, but not exactly "sure thing" flights and then there was the dilemma. Stay in Savannah and make the best of it or drive the 2 hours to Charleston to stick with our original plan. It gave us headaches and twitching eyeballs just to think about it.
Pensacola, FL.? Okay, a maybe. The flights were better. But the few things we would have desired to do were either closed due to previous hurricanes or not open during our time there. And as much as we enjoy the beach, we're totally not beach vacation peeps. We could not spend more than a day on the beach without losing interest (genetic mutation, I know.)

As a pathetic last ditch effort, Carl said, "Pull up a map of the United States and let's see where we might have overlooked." (Wasn't it Miss Teen SC, ironically, who said that some U.S. Americans don't have maps? Good thing we weren't among them.)

Albuquerque. We decided to check flights to Albuquerque.
BAMM! Available seats for our party of 6 going in and out.
And banner weather predicted.
Oh, and looky here, lots of neat things to see and do.
Alberquerque, here we come! And so it was, from Saturday, September 26th to Wednesday, September 30th.

We even got to take a rare afternoon flight because A) there were available seats all the way (pretty rare for traveling standby in the afternoon) and B) because Carl's co-worker, Danielle, was kind enough to trade shifts with him (we ALL really appreciated that.)

Our hotel sat right on historic route 66, which was really cool. And we had a heated indoor pool and free breakfast. It was only a Travelodge, but the staff was friendly, the price was very right, and the location was great. Win-win!

A few highlights:
We took the Sandia tramway over 2 miles up the side of a mountain to an elevation of over 10,000 feet. It's the longest cable tramway in the world.


We were personally saddened to see a few remaining pieces of wreckage from a 1955 TWA flight that crashed into the side of the mountain in fog. To say that the location was highly inaccessible is an understatement. There were sadly no survivors.
There is a very nice restaurant with amazing views at the top. It was too pricey for our family vacation budget, but I would love to dine there someday when our kids are grown. In the evenings, the tram crowd changes drastically from school groups and tourists sightseeing to D.I.N.K.s and urban professionals going to dinner.

At the top, we hiked along a dirt road through the pines, taking in the most beautiful scenery and freshest air we've ever breathed. It was wonderful. That is, until a very funky looking "squirrel" (we weren't exactly sure what it was at that point) scampered out onto the road and proceeded to hop-hop toward us in a very confident manner.
"Kids, back up. Back uuuup! Uh oh, no. No, don't try to go to it. Kids, back...back...RUN!!!!!!!" In a panic somewhat based on an irrational fear of rabid animals, we were instructing our four kids to run.
To RUN, for cryin' out loud.
From a squirrel.
Clampetts!

Fact was, it was not at all rabid. Just not scared of humans because it clearly doesn't encounter them often enough to need to fear them. But this is what we saw coming at us.
I ask you, would YOU know it was a squirrel? Oh sure, if you're familiar with the Abert squirrel, you would. But where I'm from, squirrels have teeny little ears, not rabbit-sized mutent antennae on their heads. SHEESH!

When we had wandered a good three quarters of a mile from the tramway, it occurred to us that we were in fact not alone. Lions, no tigers, but bears, oh my!
Yes, mountain lions and black bears are on the mountain.
Suddenly, every stump was a wild animal.
Every sound a potential ambush.
I was not amused. I pointed out to Carl that we were not well versed in our food chain defense tactics where bears and mountain cats were concerned.
He quickly comforted me. "Hey honey, we have nothing to worry about. After all, you see how well we handled a rabid squirrel coming at our kids." Honestly, we told them to RUN from a 2 pound squirrel. What were we going to tell them to do if we saw a bear?
Sing show tunes???

We did figure out (later) what you should do if you encounter bears or mountain lions. Let me just say, it wasn't what we would have thought to do and so we'd have been up the creek without a paddle (and that's a heck of a place to be in a torrential rain.) We also decided to let the kids have a much safer encounter with nature, by heading straight for the local zoo when we got off the mountain. Zoo animals, btw, are GROSS! You know the various behaviors you've seen. But this guy was just waaaaay too cute for words, I tell you. I think you'll agree. We also spent a day at Bandelier National Monument in Bandelier national forest. The drive up was both spectacular and heart wrenching. We saw the gorgeous desert terrain agains the mountainous backdrop. Then we saw the amazing and intimidating rock exposed cliffs (and the falling rock warnings to remind us that beauty and danger often coexist.) Finally, rocky cliffs yielded to spectacular Ponderosa pine forest (which was on fire in one area as we headed back out at the end of the day, a sight that was sobering to see.) We passed through many tiny mountain towns, several of which were on Pueblo Indian reservation lands. The poverty in those towns was truly difficult to take in. They are so very, very proud of their heritage and their history. And so gracious to share it with all of us (as I'll get to.) But their lives are drastically different from the life I know. I wondered if their basic needs were met. I wondered if they were content in their circumstances. I wondered if my perception didn't equate with their reality. All questions not easily answered, I suppose.

So, if you're not familiar with Bandelier, then I'm sure you definitely ARE familiar with Pueblo cliff dwellers from one of your history classes along the way. We had the privilege of hiking out to see an archeological dig, the Tyuonyi Pueblo (a permanent village of the Pueblo people, which consisted of multilevel adobe apartment dwellings of terraced design, clustered around a central plaza.)

Even more incredible was the opportunity and experience to ascend ladders along an enormous and intimidating rocky mountainous cliff to physically enter the cliff homes of Ancestral Pueblo people who would have lived there in the 1300's A.D. Unbelievably moving experience that I would fail to adequately describe to you.

Most of the cavates were easily accessible by climbing a short ladder to one of the cliff dwellings above. However, for the more adventurous, you could hike another 1.2 miles to ascend four ladders (140 rungs) to enter both a very large cliff dwelling known as Alcove House, as well as its restored kiva (kivas were circular structures that were entered by descending a ladder through a hole in the roof. The kiva was the center of community life. Knowledge was passed on from parent to child. Faith too. And important decisions, a la tribal business, was also conducted there.) The height of this particular dwelling was dizzying (literally for me.) The view, while absolutely spectacular, reminded me that we must remain very cautious and focused at all times. Folks, we were HIGH up on a rocky cliff, I tell you.

Our kids have had some experience with ascending ladders on cliffs, as we hike in several state parks here that have similar ladders. I do believe it gave us ALL the confidence and experience to be able to enjoy this one time experience at Bandelier. If you're ever in Albuquerque or Santa Fe (or you enjoy native American history), I would highly encourage you not to miss a day trip to Bandelier. $12 got our entire family into the park to enjoy this otherwise free experience. We all enjoyed it fully.

We did make it over to Santa Fe for a day of shopping in the old town section. Lots of funky, artsy boutiques and stores. I purchased a beautiful, colorful costume jewelry earring and necklace set to remind me of our time there. We toured a gorgeous historic Catholic church, the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi.
Somehow, don't ask me how, we forgot to visit Loretto chapel, whose famous staircase you may well have heard of. I know I have. Two blocks away and we forgot to stop and see it. Isn't that special? Grrr!

We had to wake our four kids up at an unthinkable hour, 3:45am, to catch a 6am flight back to Indy. Yeah, we were all packin' a few extra bags there, if you get what I'm putting down.

Seriously though?

Our kids are wonderful travelers. They know the drill at this point, even our 2yo. We gave the pep talk the night before, reminding them there was no slow-poking allowed when the dreaded wake-up call came. All hands feet on deck. We had 2 suitcases, a diaper bag, a carry-on bag, a backpack, two carseats, a purse, a stroller, and four kids (up, dressed, teeth and hair brushed) out the door and on our way to the airport in 25 minutes' time.
Sheesh, not bad, eh? ;)

But this travel tale would so not be complete without telling you about the knot. When we got to the rental car return, Carl and I hurried to unpack our 6-party load so we could sk-diddle over to the shuttle bus back to the airport. Carl yanked the stroller out of the back, while I grabbed a a few bags and started for the side of the car.

That's when it happened.

The stars. The momentary confusion. The PAIN!

For just a brief moment, I seriously thought I had been struck in the head by an attacker in the parking lot. But remember, I was passing the back of the car, where Carl was busy getting the stroller out in a hurry.

You don't think he'd inadvertently hit me in the head with a heavy-duty stroller, now do you? Of course not. He'd use the hatchback door. And I so have the knot on my head to prove it. Nothing says, "souvenir" like bodily injury, what with no customs declarations needed on that one.

Toni

Our annual send-off/Kick-off

Reg'lars know that we take a short trip at the end of each summer, heading north to stay at a Jellystone campground and then to an amusement park the next day (just a half mile from the campground.) It's what we H's call our Send-off/Kick-off, sending summer on its way and kicking off our upcoming homeschool year. We swim in the two pools (did swim), roast hot dogs (did roast them), make S'mores (did make 'em), and the kids love sleeping in the cabin bunks (did love it.) See where I'm going with this?

In keeping with my life theme (If it can go wrong so we can laugh at it later, it definitely will), some things were gonna rock our boat this year. It all started back in July....

Carl got online in early July, as usual, to reserve our amusement park tickets at the homeschool rate (it's a significant discount; normal price is around $36 pp, homeschool rate is $10 pp.) I was in the kitchen when I heard him sigh like an elephant and grumble something unitelligible.

"What, babe? Did you say something?"

In a tone heavily laden with frustration and surprise, he fired, "Yes. I did. I s-a-i-d,...they moved the homeschool week."

Oh.
Okay. So we weren't going to enjoy the last week of August.
Last week.
No crowds.
No lines.
Lots and lots of rides just waiting for us to step right up and enjoy.

But not this time. Because this time, they moved the week.

"Oh," me thinking out loud, "okay,...so,...do we have to go like next week or something?"
"NooOOo, we had to go the first week in June."

Me, suddenly high pitched and with a twitching eyebrow, "JUNE???"
Up-speaking now.
"Ju-u-UNE? Why the heck did they move it to JUNE? I mean, who does that?"
"Gee, honey. I dunno. It's not like they sent out a memo or anything."
Ah, Sarkey in duh house.
(That's what we say when one of us gets so frustrated that sarcasm sets in, which happens easily seeing as we both have a sarcastic sense of humor anyway.)

So now we were both clearly frustrated. The park moved the date from the last week of the summer to the first, without notifying any of its homeschool customers (yes, they may have had our information on file somewhere, as you have to order the tickets in advance each year.) What to do? I'm not a defeatest type of gal. If there's an angle to work, I'm on it.

"Get me their email."
Hubs saw it. I saw that he saw it. (Remember Dodgeball? "You know that I know that you know.")
He saw that "I have an idea" twinkle in my eye.
I saw that "Oh snap, there she goes again" wrinkle in his brow.

And off I went, feverishly tickling the keyboard until I had fully explained myself to the group sales office, asking them point blank to extend the rate to us as a courtesy under the circumstances.

It took nearly three weeks (I was disappointed and apalled that they wouldn't at least respond with a respectful "no way, lady") but finally an email arrived. With an apology for the oversight regarding my request.
They did in fact honor the rate, which we so appreciated.

But the fox pox fau paux was NOT over yet.
The cabin.

We always book a single night at Jellystone. The rate has been between $79-$90 for a cabin that sleeps six. And during those last August weeks, the campground is always nearly empty, with maybe 3 or 4 cabins filled (I think there are 14 of them) and perhaps 10 lots camped on.

"Sir, there is a 2 night minimum and it will be $170 per night."

Sweet mother of crime sprees, they're robbing us BLIND!
For an empty campground, mind you.

Me to hubs, "When did THOSE rates kick in?"
Hubs in frustration, "Gee, I dunno. They didn't send out a memo or anything."

See where I'm going with this?

New management + New rates + New 2-night requirement = empty cabins, lost customers (namely us.) Yep, this was the first time in 4 years that we drove to the amusement park DAY OF, no overnight.
Disappointing? Sure.
Paying $340 for a pool and a marshmallow on a graham cracker?
Shh-yeah, right.

We did have a great time at the park, I'm happy to say. Cierah conquered her fear of upside down coasters (loved it). Olivia squeezed her lanky self into kiddie rides for the sake of her baby brother. Reece was ELATED that we couldn't ride the "scary" pirate ride (denied boarding because there were 3 of us; another policy change from the previous 3 years). And Brandon is already asking me if he'll be big enough to ride the "roasters" next year (my thrill seeker of a toddler, I tell ya.)

I love (LOVE!) being in the midst of truly magical childhood moments, the ones you KNOW are being etched into conscious memory in the "good times" category. The memories that you KNOW they'll resurrect to share with their own children someday.

"Did I ever tell you about the amusement park and campground we always visited at the end of the summer when I was a little kid? Well, 'cept for that one year when we missed the homeschool week and....sit down. Let me tell you about it."

Toni

Ace of Cakes fan???

I've never watched the show myself. I am aware of it though, and can certainly appreciate the artistry and talent of Duff Goldman. He created a cake in honor of the 70th anniversary of the American Airlines Admirals Club (American Airlines being near and dear to my heart, as most of you know.)

It depicts a business traveler seated in the privacy of the members-only club, as an airplane takes off out the window. Wow! Can't believe it's a CAKE. I'll not tell my kids (they think my creations ARE Duff worthy, lol.)

Toni

Get out and move it!

We spent the afternoon hiking at Turkey Run today. I don't use that term ("hiking") lightly either, because y'all, this isn't your run-of-the-mill meandering trail. Most of the trails at Turkey Run are quite challenging; high cliffs, gorges, river, muddy creek beds between narrow walled canyons of rock, steps, steps, and more steps,...oh, and the ladders.


The ladders are sooo cool. Of course, you have to hike back through the walled canyons, THROUGH the muddy creek bed to get to them (okay, I suppose it's not always muddy, depending on when the last rain passed through, but seeing as it rained last night...uh huh.)

Cierah fell twice.
In the mud.
Swell.

Reece fell on concrete steps and just kind of hung upside down off the edge of them (thankfully not dangling over a cliff) until help pulled him back up.

Brandon, age TWO (stated with great amazement) was the recipient of this year's mini-hiker extraordinaire. The many steps, gorges, river banks, muddy creek bottoms, and yes even the ladders didn't bother that child one little bit. He *loved* it. Surivor Man, move over.

And Olivia is lucky she didn't bust her tail feathers because she hopped and jumped off every possible obstacle, daring a fall to take her (in spite of our umpteen pleas for her to stop before she learned a painful lesson called natural consequences.) Like a sure-footed mule (and definitely just as stubborn), she continued, never so much as a wobble.

The weather was gorgeous and it was the kind of family Sunday you just want to drink in until you can't drink any more. Glass half full? You betcha!

Toni

One of those "I know I shouldn't laugh but my funny bone tickles anyway" moments!

Remember the poor SC beauty pageant teen who stated that "some U.S. Americans don't have maps"? Well, move over Miss SC, because (sad but true) your successor has arrived. This poor woman. She seriously boggled my mind, especially the part about the east coast having slaves which apparently they don't have on "the new west coast" because of unions. Huh??? Anyway....

Road Trip

Just got back from a trip to Ohio to see family and a few dear friends. Checked the weather before we left and knew it would be cool at night with a few days of possible showers, but the temps were otherwise expected to be between 72 and 80º. It never hit 80º and the 70's felt like 60's. It was overcast and chilly. We brought jackets but had to buy a pair of pants for each of the kids. This is how the time played out;

• Tuesday
-made the 6 hour drive to Ohio, arriving there at nearly 11pm (in actuality, it takes us no less than 8 hours to get there, a la 4 kids in a van who need umpteen restroom breaks, food, a drink, a clean up of the drink, etc.)


• Wednesday
-a "slug" day after the long drive.
Made it to the bulk paper store to get scrapbook paper for me and my good pal Sniz.


• Thursday
-Went to the mall to watch Liv get her ears pierced for her 10th birthday. She nearly cried and definitely grouched. I asked if she was happy she did it after they finished. She coldly shot me a "No!" and some furrowed brows to go with, lol.


-Celebrated Liv's birthday with family. This is soooo important to Olivia. She would be heartbroken if her aunts, uncles and cousins didn't attend. I'm grateful to all of them for loving her with their presence each year (yes, I said presence, not presents, though they're all so generous to love her that way too.)
-Reece's birth sister and her family stopped by later in the evening. He lights up when he sees Kimberly and enjoyed her being at his Nana's house with him.
-Brandon began a 101º fever (Turns out he's cutting not one but FOUR molars and has a cold sore to boot. You tell me how happy he isn't.)


• Friday
-visited with our friends Dan and Nancy and their three children who are all close in age to ours. Had lunch with their family and the kids had quite a bit of fun together. Dan and I worked together for years at USAirways, where he still works part time. He is also a full time fire fighter in Cleveland, a job which I am truly in awe of him for. Nancy is a very talented working musician and SAHM (best of both worlds) and plays the instrument I wish I too would have learned to play, the violin.
-we let the kids venture into Lake Erie's frigid waters (67º) for a short time before heading back to my parents.
-Brandon's fever prevented him from our Friday activities. Since my mom was going to fireworks Friday night, we needed to stay home with him (in addition to his fever, he's going through a phase of crying in fear when he hears loud noises like fireworks or thunder.) Olivia wanted to see her Uncle Scot and Aunt Lori though, so she went with her Nana to the fireworks.


• Saturday
-spent some unscheduled, laid back time with my parents, rode bikes with Olivia, and tended to uncomfortable Brandon before going to dinner with them.
-off to the dinky festival and cool fireworks display. It's held in a little township way out in the country near where we lived. I can't tell you how nostalgic it always is for us to attend when home. It was a tradition we loved when we lived there, and it's a piece of the country I cling to every summer while home. Can you tell my heart will forever be in the open spaces of the country? ;)



• Sunday
-packed, cleaned up the traces of our family of 6 in my parents' home, and enjoyed some coffee and chatter on the porch with them before packing our van and making our looong way back home.

We took a new route this time. We like to take backroads because we love the country as I mentioned already, and because we also are very intrigued by small town America. Got to see some literal dots on the map like Trinity, Gaul, Republic, Bryant and more. Here are some of my favorite sights;

-a huge marker in the likeness of Chief Francois Godfroy of the Miami nation. A treaty was made to set aside nearly 4,000 acres of land for the Miami in 1818. Those lands were sold in 1827 and 1836.

-the Arcadia "superette" (surely the "ette" suggests small, seeing as it was a one-horse town. Not sure how it was decided that small should be paired with "super" in naming the business??? So naturally, I couldn't help thinking "ette" referred to female, a girly girl's grocery gig if you will.)


-Betty's Pie House. Nothin' like stopping by the pie house and filling your pie hole, eh?
-And this gem. A gas station was advertising its hotdogs on sale. But these were special hotdogs. Deep fried hotdogs. So instead of gradual plaque buildup in your arteries over time, these babies are more like mainlining. Might as well shove one of those babies right in a major artery. I need some nitro just thinking about it.
-Lake St. Marys. It was huge. Didn't realize we had such a big lake in a landlocked area. We let the kids wade on the shore, but the water was too algae ridden to consider actually swimming in it. Ewwww!


There was so much more to take in as we rolled along, but you get the gist. I'm glad to be back home and settling back into our own routine. Brandon's teeth are still causing fever and lots of crabbiness, so say a prayer for our little guy if you read this. And now, back to life as we know it.

Toni

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