Picking Out a Thermos

Move Over, Brad Pitt - There's a New Kid in Town

2010-04-27T00:32:00.003-04:00

My wonderful 4 year old Dylan is SUCH a Drama King. There's probably nothing I could do to overemphasize just how theatrical he can be, with, frankly, little to no effort. (I have NOOOOOOOOOooo idea where he could possibly get it - honestly!!!!!)

When one of the older kids does something he deems wrong, (basically this entails: anything they say that contradicts his intentions at the moment) his acting skills surface, beginning with a wail that crescendoes, a mouth that opens wide enough to swallow Jonah AND the whale, and the turning on of the Crocodile Tears Faucet. Miraculously, these issues are ALL cured instantly when Mom or Dad step in to save him from the Sibling Monsters, and his devilishly handsome smile reappears.

Occasionally, he tries to brush up on his techniques using Mom or Dad as targets. During a walk around town recently, he was being scolded by Dad due to his inability to follow directions and stay ON the sidewalk and OFF people's grass. (I know, I know...we ask much of the young lad.) After a couple of warnings, Dad laid his hand on Dylan's shoulder and firmly redirected him to the concrete surface where his feet should be. Our budding actor immediately grabbed the opposite shoulder and began moaning. Being the sort of parents who don't rush to fix all things, we ignored him. He eventually realized that his behavior wasn't effecting us, and the remainder of that walk was fairly benign.

Tonight, however, tops the cake.

During my half-hearted attempt at sweeping the kitchen floor, I observed Dylan toss a ball (therefore disobeying a direct order to ROLL the ball only, do not THROW it) onto a recliner, and while trying to retrieve it, he bounced backwards off the cushion and fell on his butt, PERHAPS striking his shoulder and neck LIGHTLY on a nearby bookshelf. If that actually happened, and I'm not convinced it did, but I wasn't standing in a position to be able to see clearly how he landed, it most certainly wasn't painful. Dylan the Dedicated Deliverer of Delightfully Daring and Dramatic Deeds did not disappoint. He launched a full-scale attack on my eardrums.

I.

Ignored him.

He got louder.

I planted my hands on my hips, and glared at him. I informed him he wasn't hurt. I extolled the virtues of not making mountains out of molehills. I read him the Boy Who Cried Wolf riot act.

I ended my advice-laden lecture with "When you're only a LITTLE hurt, you just Get Up and Go On."

Dylan's instant tear-infused reply: "I can't Get Up and Go On when my neck is broken!"

I'm sharing my extra tickets to the Oscars with my TRUE friends in a few years.

Those Dirty Dogs!

2010-02-24T08:38:00.010-05:00

It's the new media rant and it goes like this:

"Health Buzz: Pediatrician Group Wants Killer Hot Dogs Remodeled"

Let's break this down a bit. Hot dogs are full of chemicals. The meat is the leftover parts of animals that you'd really rather not think about. I don't even trust the "all beef" label...beef shouldn't look like that. They're just gross. They're certainly not healthy for your body.

So here's my beef with the whole Killer Hot Dog issue (aside from the sheer stupidity of it)...if they're gonna push for warning labels on the packages, can't they at least include something like "If you don't die from choking on this putrid stuff, you still stand the chance of dying a much more slow and painful death due to all the crap we put in these things. Or you might die from the toxins infused into your body to treat the cancer you get from repeatedly abusing your body by ingesting filth. Just sayin'."

But ya'll just go ahead and re-engineer a staple of the American Diet. Keep those kids from choking to death. Heck, make a law mandating that parents teach their latch-key kids a Self-Heimlich, so they can survive another day to play that xbox 360 till Dad gets home from work at 9PM, just to be on the safe side. We need more laws telling parents how to keep kids safe, don't we?

Or, listen to mom and don't goof off when you're eating hot dogs.

Oh, Good Grief.

*disclaimer* I do buy hotdogs for our camping trips and occasional summer backyard cookouts. I'm not a purist. In any given year, I may purchase a total of 8 packages of hotdogs. I have to smother them with so many condiments that the hotdog disappears. I would just eat the relish, but people would think I'm weird. And I ALWAYS cut them up for my little ones.

Happy Monday to Me!

2010-02-15T09:20:00.003-05:00

Our local paper has a trivia-type photo game to play. A photographer will shoot a picture of any object of his or her choosing that is located somewhere in the county. They publish a portion of the photo in the newspaper, and the object is to guess what you're viewing. The next day, they publish the entire photo. I have no idea what you win if you guess correctly. Probably nothing but the satisfaction of a job well done.

In honor of this game, I give you the following section of a photo I took.

Know what it is yet? If you guessed Swiss cheese, you're wrong.

If you guessed "Plastic diaper cover accidentally tossed in dryer", you win! Congratulations! Much like our newspaper, the gift you get is your own satisfaction.

Now, before you go thinking I'm all green and whatnot, never fear. I'm neither overly environmentally sensitive, OR ~~stupid~~ ambitious enough to use cloth diapers. Did that with my first two to save money. Discovered I'd rather be slightly sane than rich. Switched to She Who Must Be Hated By Eco-Conscious Wackos.

The real reason I ~~have~~ had these crinkly panties, as they're referred to in our house, is because not only am I of the Anti-Global Warming Frenzy lot of Americans...I am also a card-carrying member of the Moms Who Don't Change Diapers in the Middle of the Night Club. And the Save Yourself Some Laundry Loads By Putting Crinkly Panties Over Your Daughter's Diaper Just In Case She Drinks Too Much Before Bedtime Club.

What dumb thing have YOU done lately?

Extraordinary Measures

2010-01-21T00:48:00.004-05:00

I love Based on a True Story movies. I love that science, technology, and perseverance improve children's lives.

Maybe someday, Angelman Syndrome will be the monster that gets tamed.

Yes, There's a Pill For That

2010-01-18T14:09:00.001-05:00

Completely Appropriate

2010-01-14T23:45:00.004-05:00

One of the characteristics of Angelman Syndrome is inappropriate laughter. What is deemed inappropriate is often subjective, and therefore the use of that term when describing my son often triggers irritation in me. Of course, being that he's MY offspring, I should remember to give people a break, because I sometimes laugh at completely inappropriate things (and times), as well. So...Angelman Syndrome, or heritage? Guess we'll never fully know!

Gabe will laugh until he can barely breathe, watching small children run in circles. He thinks Tigger plowing...er, bouncing... Eeyore is hilarious. Horton Hears a Who is one of his favorite movies. I'm his mother. I know these things. So why have I never realized The Three Stooges would probably trip his laughter trigger?

Oh my word!

He LOVES that show! On New Years Eve, one of the cable channels ran a Stooges marathon. He didn't moooooooooove from his seat. Completely mesmerized.

He doesn't talk, but the belly laughs Crack. Me. Up!

I Need Sunshine On a Cloudy Day

2010-01-05T01:07:00.004-05:00

Does it matter that it was 7 PM last night before I realized my underwear were on wrong side out?

I hate cold weather. It's depressing. It makes me not care about things like clothing...and eating right...

Now, if I can figure out which way to put on my unmentionables, maybe I'll stroll on over to Taco Bell and let them help me lose some weight.

--------------

(FYI...I'm laughing as I type this...no deadly weapons are in sight, so don't call the Stress Unit.)

GAH! Seriously, People??!?

2010-01-05T00:30:00.005-05:00

This GRINDS me!

"I didn't want to give up my fast food."

ARGH!

First...Taco Bell is just gross!

Second...while you might actually lose weight doing this, you probably won't be healthy!

Third...just....EW! Ick! Yuck!

You didn't become a tub-o-lard overnight, and you're not going to be a size 8 overnight. Use your brain, if the chemicals in your fast food haven't petrified it yet! Fresh fruit is tasty. Fresh vegetables are yummy. Eat some good, filling protein. Water is your best friend. Don't get hooked on this season's American Idol - spend that time walking.

GAH!

Oh, good grief!

(and for the record, I am overweight...)

Today Is Brought To You By Hasbro and By The Letters "C,E,R,E,A" and "L".

2010-01-01T12:40:00.005-05:00

Because I don't want anyone to think our house is boring and monotonous, I bring you this morning's kitchen floor offerings.

See...we have colorful neon Playdough, sparkly leftovers from New Year's Eve party hats, and strawberry shredded wheat, tossed onto the floor courtesy of an irritated 17 month old little girl. This is oh-so-lovingly swept into the center of a square of my flooring, size 6"x6".

Yes, I have bigger plans for my New Year than constantly sweeping up crumbs. Tomorrow, I move on to Airing Dirty Laundry. Stay tuned.

I Don't Work for General Mills, I Just Feel Like I Do.

2009-12-31T14:13:00.008-05:00

My daughter gave me a new broom and long-handled dustpan for Christmas. A very practical gift, as my back objects to using a typical dustpan, and my daughter objects to being the dustpan holder. (I always hated that job when I was a kid, too!) Practical, because at any time, I may ...no...WILL be facing this.

As a general rule, I sweep the kitchen floor after the babies are in bed for the night and the dishes are done. So, this, folks...this combination of Corn Chex, Apple Jacks, Cheerios, bread crumbs, and who-knows-what-else...is one morning's worth of dirt. On my kitchen floor. That I crunch. Every time I take a step.

But it gets worse.

I have Cheerios in my Christmas tree! And under my piano. And in my couch cushions, furnace registers, laundry baskets, shoes...

Rabbits! They should have named them RABBITS!

And to top it all off...I went to Walmart this morning - with no list - to buy a new vacuum cleaner, because my old one died. The minute I walked in the house, I remembered what I had forgotten to buy at Walmart.

GAAAAAAAH!

A Torturistic Ritual I Insist Must Happen Annually

2009-12-30T10:23:00.039-05:00

If you think that it's easy to get 6 kids properly aligned with the stars at just the precise moment you need them to be, wearing semi-matching clothes, sporting semi-respectable hairstyles, and semi-smiling simultaneously...

Find another blog to read! One that's written by a Non-crazed Mother!

At ten bucks per person for a sitting fee, even the local Walmart studio would cost me a minimum $60, just to walk in the door. Tack on the price of the photos, all the extras they guilt me into purchasing, plus the ones that actually ARE adorable and I've just plunked down the equivalent of what's left in gold at Fort Knox. (Scratch that...the politicians spent it on their mistresses.) Regardless, large families and photography studios for a one-income-earner family in a bad economy just don't mix. Then, you add in the hilarity of trying to get a child with Angelman Syndrome to co-operate with his annoyed-at-having-to-dress-up siblings and keep his hands out of the baby's hair while being gripped around the neck by the three year old...

Just. Ain't. Happening.

So, to make up for all these issues, once a year, I tell the kids what color to pull out of the dresser drawer (or pick up from the floor, depending on the child in question). They groan. It's simultaneous! Why can't the smiles be like that?!? I make sure the camera batteries are charged - this project usually takes a while, and I'm not about to let a little thing like dead batteries cause me to have to start over! Tom dons his armor, and collects a significant amount of noisy toys and other paraphernalia that may prove useful in distracting and/or attracting attention, deflecting flying shoes, and removing embedded articles from walls, Christmas trees, and heads.

Following below, in no particular order, are the results of this group effort. Individual photos are in order, oldest to youngest.

I need a good stiff drink, thank you!

The best shot of the day...we'll take it.

Bucky, trying to convince everyone of a job well done. Emphasis on DONE. Tiffany, praticing mid-air River Dance moves.

Bucky, posing goofy, since we're NOT done, while Tiffany tries to clean Dylan's ears.

Dylan, whining because Preston is enforcing Mom's "Keep Dylan's socks out of this picture" request.

Bucky, catching Tiffany as she decides she can't stand the pressure and will be in her trailer! Preston is apparently considering growing a mustache for those thoughtful, yet fun-loving moments when one pauses to stroke the upper lip.

All children are in various stages of recovery, following Tiffany's foot connecting with Dylan's cranium. He only required 97 stitches and a sidestop at Sonic Happy Hour for 1/2 price slushies.

Preston, nearly 18

Bucky, 16.5

Gabe, 15

Savannah, 12.5

Dylan, nearly 4

Tiffany, 17 months

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

I Know I'm Petty, But...

2009-12-29T18:53:00.007-05:00

Could SOMEone please explain to me WHY Facebook status updates like "So-and-So is off to watch TV!!!!!" (buy groceries, cook dinner, flush the toilet - you get the point) get a bazillion exclamation points and 27,000 people "liking" it?!?

What is so stinkin' awesome about Sally Somebody going about her everyday activities? Do I know the only 3 people in the world who can come up with something interesting, hilarious, disturbing or challenging? Granted, I don't have 8,439 friends. My requirement for approving friend requests is that I actually know you, spend time with you, used to spend time with you and now don't due to life's circumstances, or attend some type of church/school/community activity with you. Maybe if I approved every person that ever lived, thought about living, or has still-living relatives, I could find someone with a life more interesting than the local real estate transfer log!

Worse - the people who "like" the boring activities! What?!? Can't you cook? Don't you shop? Never heard of coupon clipping? Darn it, people! Get lives! Read a book! Go skiing! Spend an afternoon on the Elderly Bench in Main Action Alley at Walmart! (Yes, there IS such a name. Gag.) Volunteer to wash windows at the local jail! Do SOMEthing, so you don't think your best friend from first grade is so dang great because she remembers how to blow her nose! (Unless she's had a stroke, in which case, great for her that she's recovered that important skill...it's ever so much better than using her sleeve, but do you REALLY believe that she had a stroke and forgot how to blow her nose but she is at Astounding Tutoring Farmer level in Farmville? You're so gullible!)

And what's with the church-sign mentality for status updates? ACK! If I want a Cotton-Candied Positive, Morally Uplifting, Spiritually Emotional, Biblically-Inaccurate, Intelligence-Devoid bit of Drivel, I'll drive by 94% of the churches in my county and pick my favorite. (Or listen to any number of popular televangelists, but we won't go there tonight - I don't want to lose my supper.)

And don't you DARE tell me what you're cooking for dinner! I Do. Not. Care. that you're considered the greatest chef since Teflon came along...feed your family. Leave us out of the meal planning! We all know you eat......

Geez, people! Watch a movie, and write down a funny line you hear. Quote it as your status. Not only will it make you appear funnier than you are - it will make people wonder what drug you just ingested.

Quiet, Please

2009-12-15T17:04:00.005-05:00

Our television is on way more than I'd like for it to be. Actually, I'd dearly love to toss it to the curb.

In trying to get Dylan to remember where the volume button is located, I taught him to start at the far right button and count over three. (That's the DOWN button, as the only time we need the UP button is when a train is going by the house.)

I just overheard him saying "One, two, three" and miraculously, Bob the Tomato is no longer bellerin' into my living room about Larry the Cucumber's poor choices.

Encouragement that not everything I've done lately is a screw up.

- Image from google

Peach Cobbler

2009-12-13T09:02:00.003-05:00

No clue where my sister found this recipe, but it's really good, and quick. I like fast and easy.

Layer into a 9x13 greased pan, in order:

Peaches - 1 large and 1 small can, with juice

Butter pecan cake mix (just the mix, not the extra ingredients)

1 stick of melted butter

Coconut - however much you like

Pecans or walnuts - however much you like

Bake at 350 for about 40 minutes. (My oven is wishy-washy, so check it at 30.) ;-)

Toss a little flour at your nose so you look industrious.

Do Age and Gravity Mess With These, Too?

2009-12-11T06:06:00.022-05:00

I believe the Bible. I believe it is 100% accurate. I believe it is God's word to us. I believe that humans misinterpret it. Often.

Some times, the way things come full circle just cracks me up.

As a setup, please note that I spent my primary school years in a church-run school that sometimes took Scriptures just a wee bit out of context, and when that didn't work, they'd just make stuff up. Well-intentioned, perhaps, but thank goodness I have a brain and can figure this stuff out now!

There were lots of rules, especially about how one was supposed to dress. (Well, let me clarify. Mostly, the rules were about how FEMALES were supposed to dress.) I'm OK with rules, to an extent. I understand that law and order are paramount. I can tolerate minor irritation for the greater good. My parents didn't particularly agree with all the regulations, but they felt the good outweighed the bad.

So -

Monday through Friday, I donned my dress with sleeves below the elbows and length three inches past mid-knee. I was too young for makeup, but that wouldn't have been allowed, anyway. I left my forbidden open-toed shoes in my closet, and tamed my uncut, brunette tresses with Aquanet. Allowed color, automobiles, and running water, we confused some people who thought we were Amish.

Occasionally, we'd ask for the Biblical source of these dress standards.

On why women shouldn't cut their hair - "A woman's hair is her glory" 1 Corinthians 11:15 (King James Version) But if a woman have long hair, it is a glory to her: for her hair is given her for a covering.

On why women shouldn't wear pants - "Women shouldn't wear men's clothing" Deuteronomy 22:5 (King James Version) The woman shall not wear that which pertaineth unto a man, neither shall a man put on a woman's garment: for all that do so are abomination unto the LORD thy God.

On why jewelry wasn't allowed - "Women don't need jewelry to be beautiful" 1 Timothy 2:9-10 (King James Version) In like manner also, that women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with shamefacedness and sobriety; not with broided hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly array; But (which becometh women professing godliness) with good works.

My arguments against this rationale fell on deaf ears.

"If a woman's hair is her glory, then why do you twist yours up in a knot on the top of your head so no one can see how long it is?"

"Back in Bible times, I thought men wore long robes."

"Why is a strand of fake pearls around my neck bad, but you can wear the same kind on a barrette on your knotted head?"

All of those verses, when read in context, are logical. When used to validate the edicts...eh...not so much.

Remember I mentioned that if a Bible verse justifying an ordinance couldn't be found, things were just made up? Here's where it turns comical.

One of the tidbits that was shared along the way was the reasoning (?!?) behind the necessity of sleeves covering elbows. Apparently, elbows make men think about breasts.

There are verses in the Bible about breasts. Lots about sexuality, both proper and improper. Men's thoughts are mentioned a few times. But no where do I recall reading about elbows. It could be mentioned in Song of Solomon, I suppose, since he mentions just about every other body part. As beautifully gifted as he was with poetry, I'm not sure he would include elbows and breasts in the same sentence.

Over the years, I've conducted research. I've plunked my elbows on the table and asked people "What do these look like?" The eye-rolling and chortling that follow the explanation grows funnier the more I age.

But about that full circle thing I opened this post with...

Actually, I thought the breast-elbow connection was complete hogwash. Until my three year old son confirmed it.

Headed to the shower recently, I was holding the clothing I intended to wear for the day, including a particular undergarment worn on the upper portion of the female anatomy. Nothing slips by Dylan, and even though it was partially covered by my jeans and t-shirt, his vision honed right in.

"Hey Mom, are you gonna wear that on your elbows?"

The Annual Stalking of Bambi

2009-11-30T16:21:00.012-05:00

Today is Testosterone Day in Ohio. More conventional people may also designate it as Orange Day, but I'm not real conventional. When you can sense it just by opening a living room window, it's T-Day.

I'm referring, of course, to Opening Day for deer hunting season.

It's guaranteed that if I drive anywhere in the next week, I will see several deer hanging from trees, dripping on garage floors, and lolling over pickup tailgates. (Especially the bucks. You NEVER put your tailgate up when you get a buck!)

Life demanded that I make an errand run today. My route took me past a house that is apparently a hot spot for hunters. Two mega-duty trucks pulled out in front of me, thick black exhaust rolling from the jumbo pipes rising above the cabs. Two more trucks waited for me to pass, so they could join the cavalcade. The drivers and passengers were sporting the universally recognized neon orange. One by one, they all turned the same corner. I envisioned fourteen overgrown boys piling out of the monster machines, smacking each other on the back, popping the lids off their Michelobs and reliving the take-down of the 12-pointer swinging from the tree in the front yard.

These men may or may not have surprised their wives with a bouquet of roses in the past fifteen years or spent a dime on a family movie night. Vacations to Disney or the Grand Canyon may be a foreign concept. But! By golly, they've had this week of vacation approved at work since the first of January. Every year. Without fail.

When I was in high school, all of my male classmates who hunted were allowed to take a free day on Opening Day. The notion of allowing the females the liberty to enjoy a day for shopping wouldn't have been entertained. Sure, the men were hunting and providing for the family. But we all know that's not why men pull on their boots and Carhartts and perch precariously in homemade tree stands in subzero weather waiting for the elusive stag to have an unfortunate meeting with the wrong end of a shotgun. The fact that the family gets a little deer jerky and enjoys a steaming pot of venison stew is a side benefit.

Several months ago, Tom brought home an eight point buck head that one of his friends at work had parted with. The friend was cleaning out the Man Cave. I'm not, by far, the best decorator in the world, but our house is not a log cabin or in the country. I wasn't thrilled with this monstrosity hanging on my wall. I appreciate benevolence, but...

Tiffany was even unsure what to think about it.

We recently came to an agreement, with the help of an acquaintance. This guy had reason to step on our front porch while the Thing languished in the bad weather, and upon noticing, he declared an immediate need for it. He desired to own it to the extent that he offered us his own deer, should he get one this year. When we didn't respond to his offer quickly enough, he increased it to include a really nice Pack-n-Play for Tiffany.

The Pack-n-Play is lovely girly colors and suits Tiffany perfectly. We're waiting for the call that will fill our freezer. And somewhere, there's an eight point buck hanging on a cabin wall, with a bunch of strong, tough Davy Crocketts beating their chests and telling fish...I mean...deer stories.

Granny, Help! My Bread is Terrible!

2009-11-30T07:04:00.000-05:00

Typically, junk mail causes me to sigh, roll my eyes, head straight for the closest trash receptacle, maybe even get a blood pressure check...it rarely makes me smile.
There's one catalog, however, that always makes me chuckle.

My Granny was a junk-mail queen. Among her garage sale plastic flowers, Conway Twitty 8-tracks and homemade yarn kittens, we could always find items she purchased from Fingerhut. Trinkets, dust collectors, most of it junk. All Granny. She bought a lot of flowered hand towels, probably from Fingerhut. She cut them in half, crocheted across the top, attached a button so the towel could be looped over a drawer handle, and gave them away as gifts.

Granny was little more than a feather. Barely five feet tall, she probably weighed a hundred pounds on a good day. She struggled with heart disease and several other health concerns, so she didn't have a lot of good days in her last years. She may have been small, but she was anything but weak. She raised nine children. She worked in a diner on Broad Street in St. Louis, Missouri. When she felt well, she was always on the go.

When I was about ten years old, my mother took my younger sister and I, my aunt and her boys, and Granny to a local park. The kids were all playing on the swings and slide. Mom and Aunt Joyce decided to enjoy a trip down the slide as well. Not to be outdone, Granny nimbly climbed the steps and began the trek down the shiny metal. Apparently, Granny had, over the years, forgotten how to gracefully bring yourself to a halt at the bottom of the slide. KERPLUNK!! Into the dust Granny landed, directly on her tailbone, legs out straight in front of her. I can still see the look of complete shock on her face. As soon as her daughters were sure she wasn't badly injured, they did what all good children do when their seventy year old mother falls off a slide...they burst into raucous laughter.

Around this same time, I recall sitting in Doc's Place, an ice cream shop, in Homer, Michigan where I grew up. Granny was relaying to my mother a story that my aunt had shared with her. I do not have a clue what the story was about, but I can remember that it involved how gravity affects a woman's upper body parts. My grandmother, being the proper lady she sometimes was, didn't want to mention this issue in front of my sister and I, but she wanted to make the point to my mother. Sitting at the table across from me, grinning and eating her ice cream, she kept drawing her hand down her chest. "You know, how they...you know...fall...down". I'm not quite sure why she thought that I wouldn't know to what she was referring!

Granny made The. Best. Dinner. Rolls. Ever. THE BEST. Try as we might, no one in the family has ever been able to duplicate the taste of Granny's bread. Countless times, we asked her to write down her recipe. "Oh, you just throw a little of this and a little of that in and stir it all up."

So you can probably sense my frustration when my bread machine malfunctions on Thanksgiving Day and I get this! (Great for having Communion with the family, though!)

Granny has been gone for 21 years. She would love my children. They would love her fuzzy TV with rabbit ears, her crocheted slippers, her bread.

Granny, I miss you.

Those City Slickers Miss Out On All The Good Stuff!

2009-11-27T06:29:00.004-05:00

The following incident was published in our local newspaper, and with the exception of * is verbatim.

*names and addresses changed to protect the innocent?*

"At 1:27 p.m. Saturday, Lady A, 83, 123 Letter Avenue, stopped at 234 Edgetown Road, in front of Unit 121, to let a passenger into her vehicle. Lady A's vehicle lurched forward, striking the garage door. A vehicle in the garage owned by Lady B, 234 Edgetown Road, was pushed forward. Lady A then attempted to back out of the garage rapidly. In doing so, her vehicle sped across the street and a yard, striking the house at Unit 172. She then pulled forward back across the yard, crossing the street in a 292-foot half-circle and coming to a stop in front of unit 109. Both vehicles sustained non-functional damage. Lady A was cited for failure to control."

I always knew Barney Fife was precise, but...292-foot half-circle???!?

Who Messed Up My Peanut Butter?

2009-11-25T18:21:00.003-05:00

Seriously, am I the only one in the house that can successful remove peanut butter from the jar, without it looking like this? What are they using, a pitchfork?!?

Around here, it's typically referred to as "B-Bot" - one of the first words Dylan learned to say when he came to live with us. Spoonful upon spoonful, he never gets tired of it. (Thank goodness! It sure makes MY life easier!)

When I was little, I told my Dad if Heaven doesn't have PBJ's, I don't wanna go. While I've since grown up in my spiritual thinking a wee bit, I'm still hoping I get to lick grape jam off the spoon when I'm looking at my reflection in the gold streets. ;-)

OCC 2009

2009-11-02T16:20:00.004-05:00

It's that time of year again.

My (probably) favorite children's mission project to support is Operation Christmas Child. Find the drop-off location nearest you on their website.

I hope that I can someday go on a delivery trip and see this amazing program firsthand.

Grab your empty shoe boxes, fill 'em up with good stuff, and bless a child this holiday season.

And Merry Christmas to ya'll, early.

The Cake, or Next Time Someone Else Can Drive

2009-11-01T10:07:00.011-05:00

Last week, we had Dylan and Tiffany's adoption party celebration. After 16 months of waiting to adopt them, 2 months of party planning, (well, really more than that, because I've been planning to plan a party for a very long time!) and a few hours of decorating and cooking, we pulled it off.

Other than knowing we'd get to introduce our new children to some friends we hadn't seen for quite some time, the biggest thing I was excited about was their cake.

When Dylan first came to live with us, he brought one change of clothes, a couple of diapers, and a couple of small trinkets that the police officers involved in the case had given to him. That was all.

When he got to our home, he attached to a small, stuffed Jo-Jo, from Disney's Jo-Jo's Circus very quickly. Jo-Jo went everywhere Dylan went. He played with her so much that her nose wore off, so then he kept her under his pillow all the time so her "broken nose" wouldn't lose more stuffing.

In planning the party, I decided to go with a circus theme, for two reasons:

1. It describes our family perfectly!!

2. I wanted to have a huge Jo-Jo cake made by a local cake artist. (I don't use the term artist lightly...she really does do great work!)

Sunday morning, we skipped church (Shhh!) and spent the morning finishing up for the party, which was beginning at 2 PM. I left the party spot, retrieved the cake, and headed back to the party spot.

The cake was gorgeous. Perfect. Jessica did a WONDERFUL job.

(Photo courtesy of a very smart cake maker named Jessica, since I didn't get one with it looking like this!)

This trip, half-way across our small town, should take approximately 1.3 minutes, although we do have a double train track, so it sometimes takes longer. There were no trains during this trip. And apparently, I was trying to shorten the time to 1.1 minutes, because my foot slipped off the brake pedal. This, of course, caused me to hit the brakes again, a little too hard...

Yeah, you know what happens next...

I heard it going, reached back to catch it, as it was sliding off my van seats (which had been laid down for this particular excursion)...

Yeah..

Yeah....

Tom managed to salvage Jo-Jo's face, at least. Everybody said "Oh, don't worry about it. The cake tastes fine."

In the great big grand scheme of life, the fact that this cake hit the floor doesn't matter one iota...

Still...

To All Rude People, In Regards to My Daughter's Size

2009-10-29T15:44:00.004-04:00

Dear people:

This is mother. Normally, I'm friendly, but today I'm a little irritated with ya'll.

My daughter, while she does have her moments, is generally not a rude person. She would most likely not walk up to you and say things like:

"You're fat."

"You're short."

"You need to eat less."

Because, while those things may all be quite true, she isn't mean. (Unless she's on drugs. Then all bets are off. Mean, or humorous. You decide.

She probably also wouldn't say things like:

"You have on 2 shirts."

"Your clothes match."

"Your hair looks funny."

...or any number of other simple observations...

Because, for one thing, she figures you have a mirror, and you can see these things for yourself, if you bother to use that mirror.

So let me give you some advice.

Shut up!

It's not necessary for you to point out that she's tall, slim, and fashionably dressed.

Oh, and also...

Quit asking me if I feed her.

Or I'm going to punch you.

Sincerely,
Mom

Schedulicity

2009-10-13T17:36:00.003-04:00

Madness

2009-10-05T22:56:00.004-04:00

Could we just make it a rule that all the stupid people in Washington have to go live at Guantanamo Bay?

Seriously. Our country is trillions of dollars in debt, and they're worried about THIS???

Oh good grief!

Moses and Noah, Scriptural Version Unknown...

2009-10-03T18:13:00.004-04:00

More Things That Shouldn't Be

2009-09-29T22:02:00.008-04:00

Something just doesn't seem quite right here...

At a place where I can fill up my tank...

and get the van washed...

I can also use my food stamps. (Well, if I had food stamps, that is...)

Yeah, plenty of great healthy food at this place!! (I'm warning ya...do NOT get me started on making me pay for my neighbor's pop and potato chips! It won't be pretty, and at the very least, the innocent clerk at the grocery store should get the striped shirt for free if she has to play referee!)

But first, I'd like to suggest a consultation with a marketing professional, or maybe hiring someone slightly skilled in creating coherent signage.

Am I getting the special of the day, a good car wash? (Why would I want a bad one?)
Is gas only $2.00? Is that per gallon or per tank?
Are the cigarettes the deal, or are we playing some kind of 3-pack card game?
Is there a qualification process for the free lighter?

Am I the only one around here that thinks this is a little wacked?!?

Why You Should Choose Your TV Shows Carefully

2009-09-27T21:44:00.005-04:00

We absolutely LOVE the Carol Burnett show. There was a 48 hour marathon on a few years ago, and we recorded a large portion of it. We've watched it over and over. Yeah, there's some scenes that are most assuredly NOT child-friendly...that's what they put a fast-forward button on the remote.

Savannah can do a pretty darn good Carol impression, and it cracks us up every time. In one of the episodes, Carol and Harvey Korman are sitting in a diner, and he has just been released from prison. Carol is portraying some loud-mouthed, gum-cracking floosie girlfriend and Harvey is nervous about attracting attention to himself. Seated at a table behind them is a biker guy. Carol raises her voice and sarcastically drawls something about "motahcycles and moooorons, moooorons and motahcycles". When Savannah repeats this, she gets the voice inflections PERFECTLY and we simply double over laughing.

Tonight, Tom and I were out walking with Tiffany and Dylan. The kids were happily riding in their little trailer while we strolled through our small town. Well, actually Dylan kept asking to go home, and I have no clue what was up with THAT, but we just kept telling him to shush it or we'd walk all night. The one police officer on duty passed us no fewer than 3 times. He waved each time, I think. See, they do like us!

Almost done with our walk, after a good hour of exercise, Tiffany was torturing Dylan with hair pulls, so Tom helped Dylan out of the trailer and he walked the remainder of the way home. Our house is on the same street as one of the two bars in town. This bar just so happens to be the tavern where bikers routinely hang out...LOTS of bikers. As we rounded the corner and the bar came into view, Dylan noticed a lone motorcycle parked outside the door of the fine drinking establishment. What didn't phase him was that there were three men standing within ten feet of the door.

"Motowcycwes and mowons...mowons and motowcyces...Dat what Sissy say!!!"

...........

We were not within earshot of these guys, but they're probably wondering why I was attempting to contain my grin when we walked by and said "Hi". My voice was only slightly squeaky.

Did I mention I was headed to Stuffmart to buy Zips, per Dylan's request a few days ago??? (Apparently when I tell him to "zip it" he thinks that's a possibility.)

The Real Thing

2009-09-26T16:57:00.000-04:00

If Reality TV, and specifically Contest-Type Reality TV, has it's way with America, soon there will be no free time to leave the 63-inch HD set and go to the bathroom. The recent season premieres of several popular shows proves my point. "Tune in to watch the 3-night season premiere of Dancing With The Stars!"

Wow! 3 nights to view the return of a show, followed by the mind-numbing, butt-widening 2-3 nights weekly of the same show, for the next several months.

It's entirely possible, especially with the magic of DVR, to watch reality TV 24 hours a day, on any possible topic your mind could conjure. I'm pretty sure I know some people who are testing that theory, give or take a few side-trips to McDonalds and StuffMart!

We started watching American Idol during the ~~CLAY SHOULD HAVE WON~~ 2nd season. Due to moves and various other activities, we missed episodes and, some years, entire seasons, but still managed to mostly stay in the loop through relatives and entertainment news. We saw Daughtry get booted when he shouldn't have. Tom accurately predicted during auditions that Taylor Hicks would land the top spot. For the life of me, I couldn't tell you the current Idol.

A friend told us about Dancing With The Stars, so we tuned in to that midway through the 2nd season. Waaaay cool, Savannah and I both loved it. It didn't take long, though, for me to start pondering the whole concept of DWTS. Yes, it's a competition, albeit with a cheesy trophy for the winner. Yes, it's fun. Yes, it's beautiful. But many of the other things that it is go directly against who I am as a Christian wife and mother.

If it's true that people are influenced by what they see on TV, (we are - bought anything you've seen advertised on TV lately?) then it stands to reason that might include negative influence. Call me crazy, but it doesn't seem logical to teach my daughter to be ladylike, and then let her watch Cheryl and Drew grind all over each other to "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy". It doesn't make much sense to talk to my boys about respecting women, when the TV set is showing Edyta and Karina's attempts to recover from their costume malfunction.

While a once-in-a-while viewing most likely won't corrupt the kids' minds, a steady diet of skimpy clothing and often overtly sexual dance acts does not reinforce our values, and does nothing to honor God. So, where do I draw the line? What is ok to watch, what is questionable and why, what is a possible learning experience, and what is definitely off limits? It isn't just my kids that need the limits, either. I, like my children, am vulnerable to letting something ungodly impact my life, and therefore affect my relationships. Can I continually watch DWTS, where the women are all put together, have gorgeous bodies, and can turn a man on with their dancing, and not compare myself to that? Probably not. In my head, I KNOW my value is not based on how I look, but society tells me otherwise, and I sometimes fall for that lie.

I do not attempt to shelter my children from all situations that could be construed as negative influence. Children need opportunities to make choices, right or wrong, when consequences are small, to help prepare them for making (hopefully) right decisions when the stakes are higher. I don't tell my children "we shouldn't do THAT" without giving them explanations WHY we shouldn't do whatever it is we're discussing.

I don't think dancing is evil. (If you know how I was raised, you'll find that comical.) Actually, one of my secret (until now!) fantasies has, for years, been for Tom and I to take ballroom dancing lessons. It is beautiful, and extremely sexy. If I could convince him to accompany me, I would put myself through the pain and torture. Not to be on display for other people, but simply for us.

Over the past 2 years, changes in our family lifestyle and budgeting issues have forced us to be out of the house during Primetime Television on many nights. What I've discovered - well, it hasn't been so much of a discovery as it has been a confirmation - is that we're just plain not missing all that much.

So while I appreciate the offer, ABC, I'm going to have to pass on this "Television Event of the Season". Your reality is just So. Not. Mine.

These Things Ought Not To Be

2009-09-17T15:46:00.009-04:00

Going through my boys' psychology book with them...it reads "Psychology is more than just lying on a therapist's couch discussing why you hate your mother." They bust up laughing.

One child thought he would escape Logic homework by declaring that it was too confusing. Maybe by class completion, his excuse repertoire will have expanded.

Perusing the shelves at Barnes and Noble yesterday, I noticed that the MENSA crossword puzzles were in the same section as the Rubik's Cube, which included a How-to-Solve DVD.

That's how my week is going. How's yours? ;-)

What Will $568 Get You?

2009-09-08T17:23:00.003-04:00

In America, five hundred bucks will pay for a couple of annual trips to the vet for your dog, complete with vaccinations, heart worm pills, and flea medicine. If you're lucky.

In America, five hundred bucks will cover two nights and a tasty dinner on a romantic getaway trip in gorgeous Hocking Hills, Ohio.

In America, five hundred bucks will let you walk out of a chain-store with a pretty decent television set during Black Friday sales.

In America, five hundred bucks will buy you a really cute handbag. The matching cell phone cover and wallet will run you another couple hundred each.

In India...

Five hundred bucks will buy a surgical procedure so that a gorgeous little boy named Justin can walk.

Can you help? Do you know someone who can?

Sarah has links in her sidebar with information on donating (resources, funds or services) to her ministry. Prayer is always especially appreciated!

Thank you! ;-)

Hallmark, Please Take Notice or You're Fired!

2009-09-05T23:25:00.000-04:00

My Circle of Friends includes many families who have adopted, or plan to adopt, one or more children. This is a BIG DEAL. Promise!!

So when I went looking for an Adoption card at my local Stuffmart the other day, I was more than a little perturbed that not ONE card celebrating one of the most momentous occasions in family life was available.

I found plenty of the general run of the mill cards...
Birthdays, anniversaries, marriage, baby showers, engagement announcements...

There were other celebrated events represented...
Bar Mitzvahs (obviously being mailed out of our county - our Jewish population isn't huge here)
New homes (yeah, THOSE cards are flying right off the shelves these days!)
Moving away (Think my neighbors would get the hint, if I sent one to them?)
Moving back (Apparently some people LIKE their in-laws)
New job (Ha! Unemployment rate in our county is the state's highest, at 17.5%)

You can also find some great cards for your pets to send to each other, your friend's mother's brother's uncle who treated you like one of the family, coming out of the closet, and having your gall bladder xrayed prior to surgery to remove your heart of stone, and apparently these occasions are all MORE IMPORTANT THAN ADOPTION! More power to ya! I just want a dang adoption celebration card. Guess I'll make my own! It'll be prettier, anyway.

We didn't know it, but my sister and two of my nieces were waiting outside the courtroom when we finalized our adoptions last week. When we exited the door, there they were with balloons and stuffed animals for Dylan and Tiffany, and Hershey's Bars for the rest of us. Had my younger sister been closer than 1200 miles, she would have been there, too. They both had pictures of my kids on their Facebook pages within hours. Now THAT's what I'm talking about! It's a big deal!

Too Bad People Haven't Been Trained This Way...

2009-09-04T17:07:00.003-04:00

Happy Friday!!

Introducing...

2009-08-28T13:09:00.000-04:00

Thanks for waiting so patiently! Without further ado...here are our babies!

Growing up, I had a List of Names I Plan to Name My Children. The list was rather long, and I fully intended to utilize every name on it. When I married Tom, his list wasn't quite as long as mine, but he didn't run away screaming when I mentioned it. We didn't have a specific number of children in mind, but we both knew we wanted several. The only name he talked about using was Preston. Try as he might to convince me it was in honor of the trucking company, he eventually had to confess to hearing it in the movie Tucker: The Man and His Dreams.

When I was about 11, I watched an episode of Little House on the Prairie that featured a teenage boy named Dylan. I loved the name, and it immediately went on my List. I planned to combine it with Michael, as my closest cousin bore that name. (Even though he was 5 years younger than me, we shared a special bond that probably had much to do with him ALMOST getting away with cutting my stringy, long hair when I was about 10 or so. My brother, unfortunately, saw Michael sneak the scissors into the room, and put an immediate stop to it. Darn it all, but that's neither here nor there for purposes of this story.)

Tom had no problem with the name Michael, but he wasn't so crazy about Dylan. It reminded him of the singer Bob Dylan. Not being aware of anything more than the fact that there IS a singer named Bob Dylan, I wasn't qualified to determine if one of our children should be saddled with the same name, so I left that choice to him. Each time I was pregnant, however, I would ask again if we could name our baby boy Dylan Michael. The answer was always "No".

So the children arrived. (For proof, see the sidebar ---->)

Preston Thomas - naturally, Daddy's namesake. Fine. I like it.

Emmanuel Lucas - compromised, because Daddy wanted Clayton, and I didn't care for it all that much, so we sat down together with a baby name book. Emmanuel is only Emmanuel when he's in trouble, however, as he prefers Bucky, his nickname from birth.

Gabriel Timothy - again, compromised, because I had agreed to Clayton this time, but still didn't really care for it. Daddy acquiesced when Mommy had to endure 48 hours of labor and an emergency C-section. Timothy is a family name on both sides. Gabriel is a Biblical angel, Gabe has Angelman Syndrome...yes, I do look for the small connections.

Savannah Renee - a name on my List from early on, chosen after seeing the previews of the movie Savannah Smiles, which I never even watched until after she was born. Renee is my niece and my high school best friends' middle name. And obviously, Dylan wouldn't have been a good choice for a female.

Then the babies stopped. Having 4 children in 5 years tends to make one rethink their List, and the worsening post partum depression with each pregnancy played a major role in our decision to save some of the cool names for other people.

If you've been around here for very long, you know that we didn't stop wanting more children just because we made the final decision to not birth more. You know that we now have 2 more children, placed here courtesy of the Ohio Foster Care System. You also know that we received adoption approval for those 2 children a few months ago.

Today, I can introduce you to the newest members of our family.

At 9 AM this morning, our two babies legally became our children.

After a 16 month, 19 day waiting period, the adoption is final and they share our last name.

Our babies are biological siblings. Our little boy came to us on April 9, 2008. His birth mother was pregnant at the time. On July 7, she gave birth to a little girl, who came to live with us at 9 days of age.

We changed their last name only. Our daughter's name is Tiffany Navayah.

...and our little boy's name?

Dylan Michael.

Is my God good, or what?!?

Updated Homeschool Rules for 2009

2009-08-24T08:25:00.003-04:00

I am a home school mom. So when ya'll do that "I'llbesogladwhenschoolstartsthesekidsaredrivingmenuts!!$#%^!!" thing, please stand your distance, because I just might pick up the nearest very large stick and whack you with it! The start of the school year means something totally different for me. To ensure that I maintain my sanity...wait, what am I saying, here?!? OK, OK, to try and appear a tadbit sane so I can fool...oh, forget it, that won't work either...
Let's try this again... For the benefit of my children, my brain, and my house, the following rules apply during normal school hours, which I believe are Monday through Friday prior to 3 PM...

1. I probably won't answer the phone, but you can leave a message and I'll call you back when I have a moment. Long discussions on dancing celebrities and political fallout won't be happening, though.

2. We have voicemail, not an answering machine. So don't yell into the phone, thinking you can annoy us enough that we'll quit ignoring you. We ARE ignoring you, but I'll never hear your complaints because I press "3" when I hear yelling on voicemail.

3. Cell phones owned and/or operated by children living at this address will not be turned on, and will most likely be in the possession of the teacher.

4. Drop-in visitors will be shot at first sight. So if your laundry detergent can't remove neon pink paint, don't step on our front porch.

5. I just might actually NOT answer the door if you attempt to break Rule #4. (We've got good aim - watch the upstairs windows.)

6. Our school day does not look like what you remember from 5th grade. If you drive by and see one of the kids playing in the street, just Smile and wave, Boys. Smile and wave. (well, if they're on a skateboard...if it's one of the babies, please...at least stop and direct them to the sidewalk. Do not call the social workers, though...they're the ones who put the babies here to begin with...they think they're cute, but they don't want them back.)

7. Field trips may include a trip to Stuffmart for diapers and coffee creamer. Don't question it. Just go with the flow, and appreciate a family that teaches their children the Fine Art of Shopping, Economics, and People Watching all at one time.

8. If you REALLY want to help out, come over and take the babies for a morning. Visit Story Hour at the library. They like playgrounds, indoors or out. They like french fries, too.

9. Sometimes the kids get to escape for lunch with friends. Usually on Friday, IF they've cooperated with the teacher during the week. So encourage them to cooperate, or they may starve to death. From lack of spending time with friends, I'm sure.

10. School work includes learning how the REAL world lives, which equates to a JOB. If you see the kids hauling a mower down the street, it ain't for entertainment.

11.Combining teenage students with infants has been a challenge this past year. It's a constantly re-assessed and rearranged work-in-progress. I may chuck it all and head for the hills by October. Please don't look for me. I'm enjoying my blissful ignorance, and the coffee supply is endless.

The school administrator will take complaints. He's big, bald and sees in black and white. Good luck.

Thank you for the opportunity to provide you with...whatever you want to call this. We're here to serve.

Playin' Around...

2009-08-04T16:05:00.009-04:00

Why is it that when you buy your girl something like this...

...she'd rather play with something like this...

And when you buy your boy something like what the girl likes to play with, he'd rather do things like this...

...and this...

Cardboard boxes and tin foil...that's what they're gettin' for Christmas this year!

I Bet Mayberry Didn't Have This Kind of Citizen

2009-07-06T16:45:00.020-04:00

This is another one of those "What makes people tick?" posts. The kind in which I make a slight attempt to figure someone out in writing, then admit defeat and just go with laughing at how foolish they are, and feeling bad about how sad they must feel inside.

We've lived in this house for a little over 5 years. We've had the same neighbors since we arrived at this address. The family to the east of us is very nice. One kid. Both parents work full time. Typical American people. The people to the west of us...

Mid 50's, OTR truck-driver man, chain smoker, beer can ever present, filthy mouth...wife generally never comes out of the house except for a post office run...hopefully NOT typical American people!

They. Hate. Us.

(For the record, we have NEVER had issues with our neighbors. Never. None. We've had quiet neighbors, loud neighbors, druggy neighbors, churchy neighbors...we've invited, and been invited, to neighborly dinners...We're fun people.)

What we AREN'T...is politically correct, or particularly particular about our yard, our vehicles, or our children's outdoor toys. We also aren't prone to letting other people dictate how we live, or how we take care of our yard, our vehicles, or our children's outdoor toys. This has landed us on the fecal roster with our neighbors due west. Not caring that we're in this present predicament has only made it worse.

We are not your average American family. We have 6 kids. We are foster parents. We drive vehicles more than a decade old. Our kids aren't involved in 37 sports. Mom and Dad are in charge. We're home more than we're gone. (Well, not Dad - Dad works a lot to keep food on the table.) We also inhale and exhale several times throughout the day. And there's the problem.

These neighbors seem to think that the local police department has nothing better to do than listen to them complain about us. They have filed some of the most ridiculous, albeit hilarious, complaints.

*Gabe's home health aide blocks the sidewalk with her car.
A: The car was a Geo Metro - TINY
B: No one's using the sidewalk at 5 in the morning, anyway, even if she DID block it.

*They found pears in their yard that our kids threw.
A: I watched squirrels carrying pears from our trees all over the neighborhood.
B: Our kids were throwing APPLES at bats to watch them swoop down. They weren't anywhere near the neighbors yard.

*They went to village offices to request we be required to obtain a building permit for Preston to slap 5 boards up between the shed and a tree and call it a fort.

*Tom stands outside while she's mowing, staring at her, to make sure she doesn't come over on our property.
A: She rarely mows. He does it. (Probably to get away from her screeching.)
B: Tom has way better things to do in life than deny people the privilege of mowing our yard.
C: Tom's good, but he doesn't have telepathic powers strong enough to keep a riding lawn mower carrying a chubby middle-aged woman from veering onto our lawn.

*We, particularly our children, harass her so much she doesn't even come outside anymore because we drive her crazy. Our children smile and wave at her. They look at her through the (our!) windows.
A: She doesn't come outside anyway. She's very reclusive.
B: Naughty kids, you, smiling at the grouchy lady!

*We park our vehicles in our driveway, which isn't a driveway, and they can't see to back out of theirs.
A: Hrm...gravel, dirt, tire tracks...looks like a driveway to me.
B: Police officer checked the backing situation by pulling the cruiser into their driveway and checking sight line. HE had no problems, and documented that.

The list could go on, but I should save some web space for other people. Otherwise I'd be accused of being selfish.

Speaking of being accused...we've been told:

*We're stupid
*We're poor
*We're bringing down the whole neighborhood
*We should help the boys fill out McDonalds and Wendys applications because that's their future. (Because we home school) (This irritated the police chief, who was happy to point out that, on average, home schooled students do better than publicly-schooled children in a variety of ways. As my sister said, "It's good to have Barney Fife on your side.")
*It's nice to have money, so they can use their dryer instead of hang clothes outside.

These people are just plain mean. I've never met anyone like them. I can't comprehend how people can act this way, because I'm just not a nasty person. I'll admit to having grouchy days, especially when there's no coffee around, but I'm not a mean-spirited person. I like to give people the benefit of the doubt, but this couple just begs for the snark to come out of me! Have they ALWAYS been this way? Why in the world would they get married if they're both so nasty? They just prove that Misery Loves Company. How sad!

We have had several people suggest that we apply to Extreme Home Makeover for a home redo. (Not that our house is crumbling, but we could for SURE use a better layout for Gabe, and it's an old home that needs a lot of repair. More rooms for foster kids would be great, too.) BUT!! Who wants to be chained to these neighbors forever??!? No, when EHM decides to do a complete relocation, maybe THEN we'll apply! My request would be - move us just outside city limits, in a NON-extravagant home that doesn't require outrageous taxes, and turn this place into a Village Park.

If these neighbors think 6 kids are bad, let them deal with the whole town playing basketball in their back yard!

P. Allen Smith I am NOT

2009-06-26T16:29:00.003-04:00

I bought these flowers less than 3 weeks ago. They were beautiful! And only $12! I hung them on my porch. Thank goodness I took pictures of them! Because..........

...obviously, my green thumb is sorely lacking something necessary to keeping plants alive!

Can you over water petunias? Is that really even an issue, when I don't remember to water them everyday, AND there's a hole in the bottom of the pot to drain extra water?

On the upside, though, my vegetable garden looks pretty good, so I'm not a complete failure...so far!

See Bucky See Chicago

2009-06-16T00:43:00.001-04:00

See Bucky.

See Bucky when he's in Chicago for his 16th birthday and has a splitting headache.

See Bucky when he's trying to find his bus from the top of Sears Tower.

See Bucky when he's standing outside Briar Street Theatre with his dad after watching Blue Man Group.

See Bucky try to stay warm on the Tall Ship Windy, while Bucky's mom grins at him.

See Bucky eat.

See Bucky's Mom and Dad not even trying to keep straight faces while standing next to a very strange-looking man who DID keep a straight face for TWO SOLID HOURS without SAYING A WORD...(Bucky's mom could never perform in this theatre!)

See Bucky's very, very small self staring up into the Bean at Millennium Park.

See Bucky not be able to stop the smile when his mom is trying to force one on him.

See Bucky stand, quite casually, in Union Station, one of the most beautiful buildings in Chicago.

See Bucky with some unintentional cool special effects.

See Bucky laughing at the waiter in Ed Debevic's, where the insults flow faster and wilder than the drinks.

See Bucky possibly auditioning for BMG in the future.

See Bucky and his parents at Millennium Park.

See Bucky enjoying the view of the river and Navy Pier from his hotel room.

See Bucky eat.

See Bucky after eating.

See Bucky make crazy faces at his mom.

See Bucky eat. Again and again and again.

Chicago made us come home. They had no food left. But we had fun.

The End.

Strange Things in Our Neighborhood Recently

2009-05-29T08:30:00.008-04:00

It's Friday. Yeah!! Only it's Tom's weekend to work, so that really means nothing...

We brought this little fellow home from church a couple weeks ago. Not like this...

...he actually managed to cram himself into the vehicle, but the ride seemed longer than usual, for some reason. He currently resides on our front porch, until I can decide how to fillet him. Thanks so much, Friend-at-church-who-thought-you-were-funny-letting-my-kids-have-this....Your time is comin'...

My sister sent me an email with a automobile industry suggestion...we live reasonably close to the DIY, cheap-furniture company, Sauder's Woodworking ( WHY it's called Woodworking is beyond me, since it's sawdust and glue in a cardboard box that you hopefully don't screw up too bad when you put it together yourself) - apparently, Sauder's is taking over the manufacturing of cars now...

Yes, some assembly is required.

Now, I'm all for entrepreneurship. I'm all for the American Dream. I'm all for profiting while helping others...I couldn't face my father if I wasn't!

I've seen Pampered Chef and Tupperware advertised on some vehicles, in a basically non-intrusive, not in-your-face sort of way...

But...

uhhh....

rarely does this happen, but...

...I just don't know what to say...

It's Not Quite Official, But...

2009-05-19T09:26:00.004-04:00

Yesterday, we had a court date. Our babies' birth parents decisions have all been made legal. Our social workers told us to get an attorney. Because in a few weeks, pictures like this...

will be able to be shown in their entirety...

We'll be finalizing our adoption of Mister D and Baby T.

Can you see my Happy Dance??? ;-)

You Talkin' to ME??!??

2009-05-17T16:14:00.009-04:00

Ever just sit and watch people? Wonder what makes them tick? Why they act like they do? What happened to them to make them so bitter, nasty, and mean-spirited?

I do.

I have a pretty tough skin. Things that bother many women just plain don't bother me. I'm not calloused. I just happen to believe that most things that stress people out WOULDN'T, if they'd put it into perspective. Sure, things get to me, and sometimes they're stupid things...everybody has bad days. I'm just not one to sit around moping about things I can't change and aren't really that important in the grand scheme of life.

However, I DO like to be liked. I've never read How to Win Friends and Influence People, and don't plan to add it to my Must-Read list, but I truly enjoy being around just about every kind of person imaginable. I am a people watcher. I can, and very often do, strike up conversations about anything with nearly anybody. All the better, if I can get a chuckle out of them, make them smile, give them a reason to think. I have a personal bubble space, but I'm not afraid to shrink or expand it, even invite others in, if the mood strikes.

I don't, as a general rule, set out to make people dislike me, but that sometimes comes with the territory known as Deanna. Rarely do I find myself flabbergasted enough to honestly not care if I offend someone by speaking my mind. When I speak truthfully, my methods of communicating do offend some people. I occasionally have to apologize, because while my viewpoint about a topic may be unchanged, my delivery could be fine-tuned. OK, major overhauled!

But...(ya knew that was comin', didn'tcha?)...

Call my kid a pig on the public transit system, and I will not care who knows that I'm not happy. I'm not going to grow cancer in my brain over it, but it isn't something I'll forget.

We just spent 3 days in Chicago with Bucky, celebrating his 16th birthday. It was 3 days of just Tom, Bucky and me, doing fun stuff, eating food that I didn't prepare, exploring one of the most beautiful cities in the country, full of, for the most part, friendly people. Nearing the end of the 3rd day, we were exhausted. We were returning from Sears Tower, and having reached the end of our walking capabilities, we hopped on a near-capacity bus. We may be from the sticks, but we know bus etiquette says "Sit in the handicapped section if no handicapped people need it. Offer your seat to elderly people, pregnant women, or passengers with small children." Knowing this, we sat in the front of the bus. Tired. Zoned out.

Bucky had a significant headache, so he certainly wasn't paying attention to what his fellow passengers were doing. I wasn't being overly watchful, but I had noticed an older lady across from me, reading a book. She was not at all happy when someone sat beside her and bumped into her belongings, and the thought crossed my mind that she just looked grumpy and not very nice.

A couple of blocks down the road, an older, perhaps in their 60's, very able-bodied couple and another older lady got on the bus together. The only seat available was right next to the grumpy book lady, so the single lady took it, leaving the couple standing in the aisle. Several more people climbed aboard during the next few stops, so it was getting crowded. I noticed the book lady glancing at me over her reading glasses. I overheard a conversation that the couple was involved in, regarding an upcoming lecture the lady was to be giving "And I don't even know the topic yet!" My thought was "What's so special about this lady that they ask her to lecture and haven't chosen a topic?"

Shortly, in the back of my tired mind, I began hearing the word "pig" repeated several times. Glancing at the book lady, I realized she was speaking to the couple and their friend, but the words she was speaking were directed at us. "Kids these days are just PIGS!! It's so disheartening! It really is! I mean it! They're just PIGS! PIGS!!!" Her eyes darting from my face to Bucky's kinda gave it away.

I just stared at her. She looked away. I kept staring. Again, she said the word "Pigs" very loudly several times. By this time, the bus was completely full, and I stood to offer my seat to an arriving older lady who looked like she needed it. She very kindly told me that as long as she could hold on to something, she was fine, and remained where she was. We had arrived at our stop by now, and had to step around several people to reach the back door.

I could not resist leaning right into the grumpy book lady, getting down eye-level with her mean face. Patting her on the lap, I smiled sweetly, wrinkled my nose, and softly said, "We raise pigs for a living. We could lecture on it." I walked off the bus, feeling not the least bit guilty about stretching the truth a wee bit...after all, when I was 8, we did have pigs we slaughtered and sold.

Apparently as I was departing, she said, loud enough for Tom and Bucky to hear, "You're pigs!!" They were both oblivious to what had transpired over the past several city blocks, as well as to what I was doing in this woman's face. I had to relay the entire bus ride, lest they be convinced I'd finally lost my mind for good.

But as for the lady - what was she trying to accomplish? Whatever it was, she probably failed. What has she experienced, who has wronged her, how long has she held on to anger?

How much happier could she have been that day, if I'd sat beside her and cracked a joke? Would she have hit me with her book, or would she have warmed up enough to tell me who the author was? Because I would have liked to know...the front of the book looked pretty. Eyes of a child, entitled Honolulu, or something like that, if I recall correctly.

I would have loved to tell her how gorgeous I think her city is. How friendly Chicagoans seem. How absolutely stunning the flowers on the Magnificent Mile are. That we chose Chicago, so Bucky could see Blue Man Group. What a great kid he is.
Ask about her family. Her work, life in the city, good places she liked to eat...

But she called my kid a pig. So now, she'll never know Bucky. She's missing out.

I Hope It's Not TOO Windy...

2009-05-11T09:23:00.003-04:00

Tomorrow morning we get on one of these to go here and do lots of fun stuff like see these guys for

this kid's 16th birthday.

See ya around on Friday!

GRACE 2009

2009-05-09T07:03:00.003-04:00

My niece's father is biking cross country soon, to raise money to support Wings of Hope Women's Prison Ministry. Go check it out!

You'll Find It In the Health and Beauty Department

2009-05-05T23:04:00.006-04:00

This sign cracks me up...

..."even when"...??

Because if you're not, wouldn't you need the number to a place.....

... like this?

And along slightly related lines, if you are indeed active and on oxygen, (real or canned) there are certain times that refraining from proving that to everyone around you is a tremendous blessing. Check this out. (Embedding is disabled.)

(google, thanks for the image)

She Wore An Itsy-Bitsy, Teeny-Weeny, Yellow, Polka-Dot.....Burlap Bag!

2009-05-02T09:54:00.010-04:00

I was reminded last night of why it's been well over 6 years since my last bathing suit purchase. Just looking at the price caused a mild heart attack. I am not about to spend $86 dollars to learn Humility Through Donning Spandex!

Upcoming events require that I be dressed appropriately for water activities. I don't know how to swim, so how many of these activities I actually participate in will be somewhat limited. If being in the general vicinity of the action requires appropriate dress as well, the management may need to change the rules about not letting people wearing garbage bags into the roped off areas!

Typically if I'm around water, it's a lake, so I can wear what I want. Shorts and a tank top, or shorts over an old bathing suit, or something along those lines. I haven't been in a public pool since...well, I don't recall ever being in a public pool. However, feeling the pressure to conform, I took a stroll through Kohls last night to see just how The Others...you know, the Ones With Bodies...dress when in or near bodies of water.

I searched till I found what I thought would be a tolerable piece of equipment. (That's the only way to refer to something this distasteful. "Cute" and "Sexy" are really quite obnoxiously unkind, not to mention untruthful, words to choose when viewing swimming apparel on the body of a mother-who-birthed-4.) Figuring that a "shorts and long top" style would be better, not to mention cheaper, I grabbed a couple sizes of the same style and headed for the dressing rooms with the Mirrors From Hell. I was certain I wouldn't look any worse than the 60-ish grandmotherly-type lady, quite a few pounds heavier and a couple inches shorter than I, shopping in the same Misses department.

I have no idea what that lady looked like, but THIS lady ain't goin' out in public wearing what she tried to wear in that claustrophobia-inducing hole! The sticker-shock heart attack wasn't enough to do me in, but the broken neck from falling down laughing almost made death a reality. My first thought, after picking myself up was "Oh my gosh! There's no way I'd let my boys see me like this!"

Despite what many people think, Image Isn't Everything. However, image is SOMEthing! And no one should have that image in their mind. That whole "picture is worth a thousand words" thing... I only need two words..."NO WAY!"

(image from google)

Need Some Time Away?

2009-05-01T06:56:00.003-04:00

Happy Anniversary to my oldest sister and her husband. They've been married for 33 years today.

If you're around Kimmell, Indiana, (Ft. Wayne, Goshen, Shipshewana, Nappanee area) stop in and see them.

Stay for a meal, or a night. They're pretty accommodating!

UGH! Don't Be Stupid!!

2009-04-29T10:50:00.005-04:00

I've got some ideas...

When the World Health Organization comes up with a vaccine to prevent stupidity, perhaps it could be tested on people who think like this. What in the world is 10% of the Eygyptian population (because that's about the percentage that actually consumes pork) supposed to do with 100% of the pig meat, ALL AT ONE TIME? That's a lot of sausage gravy and biscuits!

When a Whole Truth and Nothing But the Truth Vaccine is invented, Mainstream Media Personnel should be the first in line. (And please, Ms. Needle Injector, use the BIGGEST needle you can find.) Perhaps then, we'll get the facts straight in stories like this one. This was not an American child. This child was brought to Texas from Mexico.

When the Anti-Fear Vaccine is created, it should be tested on people who watch this first, for a good control group in future testing. ;-)

----------------------------------

Wash your hands. Don't share spoons and straws. Wash your hands. Stay away from public drinking fountains and pay phones. Wash your hands. Maybe try a vitamin or two, eat lots of fruits and vegetables, drink lots of water...and WASH YOUR HANDS.

Oh, good grief.

A Question of Curing

2009-04-27T23:14:00.000-04:00

I absolutely love Jimmy Stewart. My favorite Christmas movie is It's a Wonderful Life. I cry Every. Single. Time. I watch it. He learned just how important his role was in the lives of the townspeople, and how he made a real difference. Ok, so pretend I'm a maple tree and call me Sappy - won't bother me a bit.

Savannah recently picked up Jimmy Stewart's comedy, Harvey, at the library. He plays Elwood P. Doud, a perfectly normal man, except that he is always talking to his imaginary friend Harvey, a giant rabbit that only he can see. A few of his friends go along with him, but every one else, including his sister, is positive he's lost his mind and seeks to commit him to the home for the insane. His sister manages to convince him that the curative treatment is a good thing, and because he loves her, he agrees to the fix-everything injection. He doesn't want it, and he doesn't want to lose Harvey, but he wants to make his sister happy.

After he agrees to be cured, his sister is conversing with a cab driver who routinely brings people to this doctor for the same treatment - a treatment that will make them fit in with polite society. The man tells the sister that he always enjoys the drive TO the asylum. He enjoys looking at sunsets and birds that may actually not be there. He likes the happy conversations with the people who tip generously and love largely. But he never likes the drive AWAY - after the cure, he says, those people turn into normal people who are mean, and he just doesn't like them then. The sister ultimately realizes that Elwood is just fine the way he is, and saves him from being cured just in time. They go back home with invisible Harvey tagging along.

In the world of Angelman Syndrome, we're searching for a cure. When Gabe was diagnosed eight years ago, we were told there was no cure, and led to believe that there probably never will be. This belief was premature. Researchers are now working on several possibilities to cure this chromosomal disorder, and have in fact cured it in lab mice. Scientists are specifically looking at three different types of a cure. They are unsure about how any possible cure could or would be delivered to humans. There are mountains of questions with barely a mole hill of answers.

I am excited about the possibility of a cure. Let's be honest...I'm ECSTATIC about a cure!! The idea that my son can someday walk without assistance, or carry on a conversation with me, or kiss his wife and tuck his children into bed after an exhausting day at the zoo... Who wouldn't want that for their children?

It really is more than I have ever thought possible. It is impossible for me to imagine what Gabe's life could be like if Angelman Syndrome is someday curable. Because the research is still in the early stages, the doctors have NO clue what a "cure" would look like, or if one is even achievable for older children and adults.

But...

Science and technology advance so fast. Who would have thought, 50 years ago, that the genome project would ever become reality? Heck, 50 years ago was it even being considered? (Dr. Weeber, one of the researchers on the AS project, talked about this in the February 2009 FAST Newsletter.)

Obviously, a cure is years away, and I'm not holding my breath waiting for Gabe to wake up normal someday. That word...normal...is such a challenging word to define. Shortly after Gabe was diagnosed, I was in a heated debate on one of the online AS forums, and someone told me my thinking was "fundamentally flawed" when I made a comment about how it would just be weird to wake up someday to find Gabe standing over my bed, miraculously saying, "Hey Mom! Let's go to McDonalds for breakfast!"

(I'm not goofy enough to assume that any type of cure would give immediate results - I was sort of playing Devil's Advocate), but the direction that debate was going was basically that if a cure was available and we parents didn't choose to have our affected child participate, we would be horrible parents. However, I don't intend to let Gabe be a guinea pig for something that may or may not work, just because there's a possibility he could be normal. What is normal? Would Gabe want that? How can we know that he would choose that? Would we make our decision to accept or refuse treatment based on OUR wishes, or on Gabe's? What aspects of Gabe's life would change following a treatment? Would he still be a perpetually happy person? Would he advance through all the developmental stages he's not yet reached? Would a cure mean he becomes a snarly, crotchety old man who no longer likes to have the back of his neck tickled and no longer finds amusement in simply watching other people laugh?

Accepting Gabe's diagnosis wasn't easy for me. Realizing that the child I love will never be the adult I envisioned required me to travel down some roads that were full of very painful learning bumps. Now I'm being told that there's a possibility that I could someday be traveling another road to watch my son, maybe, reach the potential that I had originally hoped.

But what does GABE want? Does he want that cure? Does he think he needs to be fixed? What Harveys will he lose if we cure him?

Thankfully, I don't have to make a decision today. On that, you may quote me.

Holy Bagel, Batman! It's Jesus!

2009-04-24T09:44:00.000-04:00

For those of you that missed out on the opportunity to bid on the Virgin Mary grilled cheese sandwich...and haven't saved enough money to travel to the far corners of the world to view the obscure Jesus shadow on a church wall...and tried but just couldn't quite make the perfect omelet resembling Moses...

I offer you...

...the Jesus Pan.

Call your closest friend, and for a mere $29.99, you can both share in this spiritual bliss. What says "Jesus Love Me" better than a bagel with Freaky-Eye Syndrome!

You'll be the envy of all your family when you prepare your holiday meals with this special, life-changing pan. You may even be asked to preach at your church once your pastor finds out you Worship with Jesus at every meal. Order in bulk at a special discount - these make excellent Sunday School gifts! Pens with your church name are so yesterday!

Despite the oddly-placed punctuation, and the fact that Jesus looks like he's using weird halos to recover from a car accident, this special kitchen tool has been featured on the Jay Leno show, and everybody knows how spiritual that man's shows can be!

Don't schedule your next pancake supper/bingo night until you've called and ordered your Jesus Pans. Your church friends will thank you.

A Little Boy's Thoughts...

2009-04-23T23:25:00.000-04:00

Today I took the kids to my sister's house to see the chickens and ducks. Mister D was happy chasing the dumb birds all over the yard while they squawked their indignation at having to deal with both he and our anti-social dog.

He fed sticks and walnuts to the fish in the small pond. When he was scolded for disobeying a direct order and throwing a rock into the water, he very firmly informed me, "I not throw it. I drop it." This was true.

He found the dirt pile and discovered that the dog would jump and catch clumps of hard dirt if he threw them up for her, so he spent several minutes in complete bliss "making it rain" dirt. His deep, hearty chuckle and the impish grin on his face was pure BOY.

He was content with throwing handfuls of dirt, until Aunt Teresa brought out the shovel and pail. Gone were his concerns about dirty hands. Out of mind were any thoughts about playing with ducks. He was now a workin' man. Why is it that a pail and shovel will entertain little boys for hours on end?

This short visit occurred during nap time, so the ride home was relatively quiet. Baby T was sleeping peacefully within minutes of leaving the driveway, and Mister D was silent. I glanced in the rear view mirror, thinking he would be asleep.

He wasn't.

He was simply staring out the window with a content smile on his little face.

I wonder what he's thinking when he's quiet, which isn't often. It seems that he's the most subdued when we're in the van. His countenance is pensive and he almost appears to be in another world. Is he remembering a ride with his mother? Does something look familiar to him?

Today, he is happy to sit and watch the field for cows and butterflies. And I am happy to watch him watching.

My Cuddly Gabe

2009-04-21T06:35:00.000-04:00

One of the upsides to Angelman Syndrome is that Gabe is very cuddly. He occasionally displays his irritation with me by ignoring me or sticking out his bottom lip, but that's a rare occurrence. He is almost always happy. He is amused by just watching people run around and act goofy. He will crawl into my lap and fall asleep, or just sit there and watch the other kids play. At 14, he's not Too Cool to hug Mama.

My BFF, Revisited

2009-04-18T08:38:00.000-04:00

Lots of people say they don't care what people think, but few people actually manage to live that statement. My husband truly doesn't care. He will never be accused of being Politically Correct. He has no desire to Keep Up With The Joneses. It doesn't bother him one smidgen that he doesn't have Friends In High Places.

He is fortunate to not be bothered by other's opinions, but this is sometimes seen as nonchalance regarding people's feelings. He has occasionally found himself in the doghouse because of his bluntness. He doesn't deliberately hurt people, because he's actually very kind-hearted. He doesn't tolerate public stupidity well, but he's reasonably social and friendly.

He's well aware that his supposedly-cavalier attitude is misunderstood by most of society. He even gets enjoyment from that realization at times. That's when the fun begins.

Tom is the kind of guy who will use Duck Tape to fix things, without regard to how it looks. He will rig something up to save the cost of a Professional Repair Job. Remember his car and his football?

Well, his car is currently under the weather. (Most people would say it was junk-yard bound when he got it, but most people aren't Tom.) She's a faithful little thing, requiring little more than a quart or two of oil every once in a while, very few gas refills, and a couple tomato soup cans and coat hangers to repair muffler damage. Even the best of friends, however, occasionally get sick. LC's brakes have been balking for several weeks, and Tom has become quite adept at down-shifting to stop her.

As luck would have it, his parents were at our house when the brakes quit completely. (I should probably point out that Tom's dad is one of those people that just Don't Get Tom. His mother - TOTALLY gets Tom! He came by his nature honestly! But Dad...nope, just doesn't...never has, never will, doesn't even try.) They had stopped by for a few minutes, just before Tom got home from work, and were in the house talking to the kids. I was standing where I could see out the front door, but they couldn't.

I heard Tom's car coming down the street. I heard the engine shut off, thinking it sounded a little closer than normal. I looked out the window just in time to see LC bump up onto our curb and into our front yard. Just as quickly, the engine restarted, and I saw LC rolling back off the curb at an odd angle.

Taking everything I know about my husband into account, combined with the knowledge that he just narrowly missed hitting the back of his father's truck was hilarious. I was laughing like crazy, and didn't bother to explain to them, because I knew that his dad wouldn't find it amusing. This just made it more funny to me.

The problem of the car not having brakes means that either Tom has to fork over some money to a Professional Repair Man, or he has to find another mode of transportation if he intends to keep food on our table. Since there is no more snow on the ground, his choice was to save money right now.

We were fortunate to find some really nice, used, PLAIN bicycles about a month ago at a very nice price. I don't like speed bikes. I just want a normal bicycle that will move in a forward motion when I peddle. I don't need fancy-schmancy. We bought a bike trailer/stroller combo for the little ones, and now we can go for rides on nice-weather days. Free entertainment is right up Tom's alley. Also up Tom's alley is biking to work.

It's 6 miles to Tom's place of employment. He goes in at 6 AM. He's been riding in 33-degree, rainy weather. He doesn't mind the cold OR the rain. He just has to prepare, which is yet another source of entertainment.

Never one to let a Make Deanna Laugh opportunity slip by, this is the point where he yells, "I'm Crowning!!" (Yeah, yeah - I got yer CROWN right here, buddy! Don't even GO there with me!)

Genius. Ingenious. Depends on your perspective. I happen to think he's not only amusing, but pretty darn fun to be around.

Yes, Cat, I Feel the Same Way...

2009-04-15T09:43:00.000-04:00

And because I haven't mentioned it lately...

I like Ron Paul

Chocolate Might Help, But Sunshine Is Welcome, Too

2009-04-14T18:48:00.000-04:00

I bet there ain't too many people who tell their parents "When I grow up, I wanna be a Cheek-Swabber and DNA-Gatherer and Paternity-Checker Man."

I met one of these guys today, though. While I didn't bother to ask about the specifics of his job duties, I did learn a few things. I also experienced a level of humiliation that I didn't know existed.

The paternity of one of our foster children is in question, so I had the lovely experience of taking her in for testing today. Our county is relatively small and rural, so of course we don't have DNA testing readily available. All testing is performed once a month at the local social services office.

I was not prepared in the least for this day. There is no way I could have been, because it isn't something I've ever thought about. Our social worker wasn't even aware of all the details involved in the testing process. I learned that when paternity is being established, they test Alleged Father, Baby, and Alleged Mother. We know who the mother is. However, there have apparently been cases where the mother wants nothing to do with the father, so she won't bring her own baby for testing - she'll bring in a baby of the same age, knowing that the testing will be negative. To avoid court problems, they now test all people involved. They also take pictures of everyone. Including me! I attempted to move out of camera range, but the gentleman (and he truly was - bless his heart. What a job!) stated, "Oh no, ma'am. I need you in there, too." I half expected him to whip out a swab and say "Open up and say 'Ah'". (I would have done fine, as I'd had plenty of mental practice in the waiting room!)

I try extra hard to not be judgemental in situations like I was in today, but some days my imagination runs wild. I think I was hearing voices telling me to stand on one of the ugly vinyl chairs and scream "Doesn't ANYbody keep their clothes on anymore??!?? How drunk would you have to be to sleep with that person??!?" I'm not overly germaphobic, but my mind was playing evil tricks that involved antibacterial wipes and confidential testing.

Primal urges and drunken binges aside...good gravy, people - do you actually want to admit you had a tryst with that person?

In addition to my baby, there were 2 other babies, and at least 3 men, present for testing.

Their socks were dirty. They had sloppy clothes on. Jeans were half unzipped. Hair hadn't been combed. One man stated loudly, "This is the 3rd time I've had this done". AAAAAAAhhhhhh! I'VE STEPPED ONTO THE SET OF THE JERRY SPRINGER SHOW! I wonder if Steve is the person administering the tests today!

In the middle of this, I'm sitting there - holding a precious, beautiful baby. These people think I'm the biological mother. I felt dirty. I was angry that I had to be there. I had no say over being there. I just wanted to crawl in a hole and cry.

Maybe - No, I KNOW that the weather has got me down. It's the middle of April and we've had very few warm sunny days. I desperately need some sunshine and laughter. But once I get past the sheer horror of today, and get over the need to shower, and remember that my baby will NOT remember today...
I have to realize that the people I rubbed elbows with today are every bit as human as I am. That isn't something I want to admit, because then I have to admit that
I AM NOT BETTER THAN THEY ARE.

Our circumstances are different. Our cultures are different. Our value systems are different. Our decision-making processes are different. Our cleanliness levels are *WAY* different. But I am not better than them.

Being a foster parent has opened my eyes to sections of other people's lives that I have never had reason to even know existed. Some days, I just want to recede into my bubble and pretend that life isn't as ugly as it's currently appearing. I can not answer "HOW can people do that?" because I'm not those people. My reality is that I have two babies in my arms because there ARE people that "do that", so I put on my boots and wade the muck because on the other side of the road are children who need fed, and read to, and tucked into bed in a safe, warm home. And in the end, my comfort zone just doesn't matter.

Celebrate the Resurrection

2009-04-11T21:09:00.000-04:00

1 Peter 3:15

But in your hearts set apart Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.

"Why do you seek the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen!"
Luke 24:5-6

Happy Easter! Have a blessed day.

image from google

Eggstreme Makeover

2009-04-10T11:53:00.000-04:00

It Must Be a Rhetorical Question, Eh?

2009-04-08T14:14:00.000-04:00

Having worked at Wendy's in a former, younger life, I should know better than to buy chicken sandwiches at certain times of the day. My on-the-run sandwich/supper yesterday didn't come from a chicken hatchery. It came from a rubber tree, I'm pretty sure. I've discovered you can choke down lots of things, if the thing is drowning in pickles.

Do we really need Danny Lipford, DIY guru, telling us that all homeowners should have a hammer? Granted, not every home in most 3rd-world countries have a lot of use for hammers, but in developed nations, I'm thinking... Hmmm... if a bank will give you a loan for a house, you've probably considered purchasing a hammer. Finding that hammer when you need it is another story.

When did "burial expense" experts start making telemarketing calls? That was kinda creepy on my voicemail!

Why does my insurance company have NO PROBLEM doling out thousands of dollars monthly for medication, but they limit my chiropractor payments to $1,000 annually? We recently discovered that one of Gabe's seizure medications comes in more than one form, and this means a savings of over $1100 a month, merely by switching from "sprinkles" to "tablets". I suggest they let me have the savings for visits to my chiropractor more often.

Why can I always find chocolate bunnies in the Easter Candy aisle, but I have to search through 87 Walmarts to find a white chocolate cross?

Do people really write those letters to Dear Abby, or are they computer-generated? I realize America has it's fair share of dumb people, but if people are really as dumb as some of those letters indicate, would they be smart enough to write for advice?

How can anyone POSSIBLY watch enough TV to make it worth the $136/monthly bill I saw recently, belonging to a woman who has a male significant other that refuses to work?

Why?

Why?

Why?

It's a near-full moon. I live with teenagers. I have a 3 year old. Any or all of those facts might explain my grouchy, whiny, inquisitive attitude. I am SO not feelin' the love tonight.

Logically, Joe Loves Nancy

2009-04-04T23:20:00.000-04:00

One of my more non-favorite parts of being a foster care provider is the dreaded requirement of Continuing Education. In Ohio, a foster/adoption home-study must be updated every two years, and in that time period parents must complete 40 hours of CE. Books and training videos can account for a portion of hours, but the majority must come from in-class training on various topics. It doesn't take long to figure out which presenters you like better, and which videos are always going to have cheesy acting. It comes with the territory.

I rarely look forward to attending the classes, because invariably they are scheduled when one or more of the kids are sick, the weather is gorgeous, or the snowy roads are hazardous. However, in addition to staying current on licensing requirements and gaining new knowledge, the friendships you build over the years are lasting and provide an extra source of encouragement. These are people who are walking the same road I am. They may have been on this journey for decades, or relatively new like we are. They might be our age and childless. They might be grandparents. They might be looking for a permanent addition to their family. They might be wanting to foster challenging teenagers with criminal histories. They might have been fostered or adopted themselves. Regardless of why or how they arrived at the decision to foster or adopt children, we have the same goal. We love kids, and we want to make a positive impact on the life of another human being.

It's such a joy to watch what's happening in other people's homes, and to see their dreams being fulfilled. It's wonderful to celebrate with them when they find out they've been selected to be the forever parents to a sibling group that's been living in separate foster homes. It's comforting to know that they're available to grieve with us if we get a diagnosis we weren't expecting, or have to watch "our" baby go back to the birth home. It's a small community where each situation is different, but we all "get it".

I spent this weekend playing catch-up on my hours, as our license is due for renewal in June. True to form, I was not gleefully anticipating this long session, despite the 9 credit hours, in part because of the chosen topic. Love and Logic was suggested to Tom and I several years ago as a training tool for our children. It was being offered at that point by a counselor we were seeing in regards to some challenges we faced with one of the kids. At the time, the professional basically handed me a thin workbook, mentioned a couple highlights, and said "Try this".

Glancing through the booklet, I nearly gagged. In addition to what I believed to be an insult to older parents, it looked like such a fat lot of hooey that I threw it aside and said "Choices?!? I'm supposed to give my kids choices?!? I'm the parent, they'll clean their room when I tell them to, by golly!" That was the end of MY experience with the Love and Logic curriculum.

But wait - now I need 40 hours of training. Love and Logic offers me 9. I can catch up with friends. I'll suffer through it.

This time, though, the concepts were being presented in an orderly manner by a seasoned speaker who travels across North America sharing these techniques with parents, teachers, military personnel, police officers, corporations, and numerous other groups of people. It was a completely different story this time. Now it made sense to me. Oh, there's parts of it that I could never in a million years visualize using in our own home, but much of it is just...well, - logical. We're already doing it, without calling it Love and Logic. Some of the techniques are obvious. Some are odd, but effective. I'm also trying to compare and, maybe, reconcile the concepts with a picture of Biblically-based grace. I can see how revisiting some of the material and fitting it into our family can be beneficial, but I'm certainly not planning to sell out to Love and Logic exclusively. The moral, perhaps, is that presentation can mean a world of difference.

But as mentioned, the fun part of the class is reconnecting with other foster and adoptive parents. One couple just started paperwork to adopt the baby girl they've had for fourteen months. One couple just met the two brothers they're going to be adopting. They're ten and five, and have been living in separate foster homes. The new mom and dad were heading to Menards following class, to pick up lumber to build a swing set. They weren't able to have birth children. Today was their 17th wedding anniversary and he had flowers delivered to his wife during our class. (What a smoooooooooth man...)

Then there was Joe and Nancy.

Sitting next to me, Joe and I talked extensively about our little boys. I assumed, because this couple looked older, that they had probably been foster parents for years. I was wrong. They've been foster parents for less than two years. Their first placement was a seven-month old little boy who shares our Mister D's name. Joe and Nancy are nearly seventy years old, and it is breaking their heart that they're "too old" to adopt him. They didn't feel right about being nearly ninety when their child graduates from high school, but they are oh-so-very happy with the adoptive parents who just this week got to take their baby home. They've cultivated a friendship with the new parents, and are now transitioning to becoming D's grandma and grandpa.

As the trainer was speaking, Joe made a comment to her about feeling like he's "done everything wrong for the last forty years!" When asked why, he replied with "I just wish I would have known these things back then!"

But I had been watching Joe, listening to him talk about his baby. Learning about birth children - he has four. His daughter is a school teacher who's birthed four children and adopted three. Seeing how Nancy turned to look at him and just smiled. I glanced at his legal pad where he'd been doodling the better part of the afternoon. In several different writing styles, he had written one word in lines down the paper...

Nancy

Nancy

Nancy

Joe, you've not been doing it wrong.

Freaky Friday

2009-04-03T09:55:00.000-04:00

Talk about your Dolly Parton of the lip-plumping products!

Or some extreme photographic doctoring!

This showed up on my email page today.

Either way, I think I'll keep my own, thanks!

Good Things Come To Those Who...

2009-03-31T06:49:00.001-04:00

Wait.

That is the word that describes this year so far, and we're barely 1/4 of the way into 2009.

In January, my sister-in-law was very ill. We spent several days not knowing whether she would live or not. In the end, she did not. Because of weather issues, we had the unusual situation of delaying her funeral for a week.

We are waiting for results from Savannah's kidney stone analysis to return. We're waiting for the next surgery to be scheduled.

We continue to wait for further developments in our foster-adoption case. Our babies are part of our family, but they don't share our name.

Tom's employer is sifting through employees holding positions that are less than 100% necessary. Tom received word yesterday that he is apparently still needed. For that, we are thankful.

I am not by nature a patient person. Neither did I recently pray and ask God to grant me patience! I'm not that silly! That Serenity Prayer....unh uh! Deanna does not pray that prayer! No sirree!

Never the less, God knows what Deanna needs, not only BEFORE Deanna does, but even when Deanna refuses to admit out loud that she has a need. So for whatever reason, here I sit, learning patience. And because God knows His plan for me, I must learn to trust that He will work everything out for good, even when it looks like God is not making sense.

Wait.

........
........
........

ugh!

Tearing the Wrapper Off Counts as Exercise, Right?

2009-03-30T17:34:00.000-04:00

Miniature Cadbury Caramel Eggs just don't have the appeal of the larger ones. Sure, it's easier to hide one in your mouth if one of the kids happen to appear in the room while you're ~~sucking one down~~ enjoying every small nibble. But darn it, they're wrapped in foil. Got any idea how long it takes to unwrap one of those things? I don't either - I gave up and just ate the gold shiny stuff along with the chocolate and caramel. Figured it might help me with the elimination process later on.

I also like to eat chocolate chips. My mother-in-law thought I was a complete loon when Tom and I first got married, because she had never heard of eating chocolate chips sans cookies. *BOGGLE* She thought it was such a strange notion that one year for Christmas, she bought me a bag of chocolate chips as a gift. It was practically my favorite gift that year, proving that sometimes mothers-in-law actually do get it right!

In the nearly-18 years I've been married, I can probably count on one or two hands how many times I've baked chocolate chip cookies. However, my hips tell a story of proportions best left denied. We won't go into that right now.

This issue with chocolate isn't held by myself alone. It is a familial trait. My oldest sister employed various methods of weaning her body from the desire for chocolate chips. One of my favorites involved her putting the yummy morsels in her deep freeze in her unheated, subzero temperature cement-floored garage in an attempt to fool her brain into thinking it could go without chocolate. Her feet didn't care that she had no socks on - they just automatically marched her body down the hallway and planted themselves in front of the freezer while she munched on frozen Nestles. I'm thinking she gave up on the notion that this plan worked, because she didn't develop frostbite requiring amputation.

Hershey's Kisses do in a pinch, but for all the work of unwrapping the chocolate, and picking off the pieces of that darn white tag that rings "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" bells in holiday commercials, you'd think the bite would last longer. Then again, maybe it would, if I actually bit instead of inhaling.

I like regular Hershey Bars, without almonds. There is no reason to clutter up perfectly good chocolate with nuts! But several years back, when they changed the wrapper to the shiny, slick plastic stuff, it nearly sent me over the edge! You have to grab the end just right, and pull it slowly open or you rip it, and therefore ruin the presentation of a perfect bar of chocolate. You actually have to put effort into ripping a straight line down the center, because otherwise the evil wrapper-gods sit and laugh at your mounting frustration as you watch the chocolate ooze out the end - melted at the mercy of your angry hands. I had to ask what was wrong with the old Foil-covered Paper Wrapping, so I called to complain. Yes, I actually called that 1-800 number they provide for just such comments. I complimented them on the quality of their food product, and told them they were causing issues with my addiction by forcing me to slow down in the presentation process. They took my comments under advisement, and most likely fell off their chair laughing. It did me no good - they didn't return to the former packaging.

Hershey's Nuggets are a much better option, if you have to unwrap. They're solid rectangles, and the wrapper is paper as opposed to flimsy, Kisses-type foil, so it doesn't rip. You can make them last for 2 full bites and feel like you've accomplished something. They have a melt-in-your-mouth option, if you're willing to hang on long enough. If you're not a chocolate purist, there are even several editions with various flavor enhancers like caramel, dark chocolate centers, and raspberry.

But...

...for the immediate satisfaction without any of the fuss, go with Mini Hershey's Kisses. Found in the baking aisle with the chocolate chips and cocoa, these little temptations are smaller than your average Kiss, but packaged like chocolate chips. Therefore - unwrapped. Simply cut open the end of the silver bag, and pour the little boogers right into your hand. Directly into your mouth works if you're desperate, but this is usually only required for the first mouthful, after which you can dump some into a bowl and pick up smaller quantities.

Considering that we are so close to the Easter Holiday, I can't forget to mention one of my favorite places to sneak into once in a while. If you're anywhere near the Ft. Wayne, Indiana area and you're alone, visit DeBrand Fine Chocolates. I say alone, because if you haul the whole family in there, you're going to walk out with a T-shirt that says "I Went To DeBrand and All I Got For My 20 Bucks Was 5 Truffles and This Shirt That Won't Stretch Over My Hips".

My name is Deanna, and I'm a Convicted Chocoholic.

(image courtesy of google)

Attitude Tuneup Performed By Grandy

2009-03-25T23:05:00.000-04:00

One of the blogs I follow is Grandy's Functional Shmunctional. The name caught my attention a year or so ago. I like blogs with weird names ever so much better than your ordinary Plain Jane-type. Susie Blathers On About Weirdness is more interesting than Sue's Blog. Call me crazy and dip me in garlic butter, but I'm just weird like that, I guess.

Anyway, a few weeks back Grandy started a weekly post called Sunday Stalker Spotlight wherein she interviews her followers and gives them a chance to talk about themselves. Ha! If there's one thing I'm good at, it's talking, so I rather enjoyed answering her questions. She was quite kind with the editing buttons and she let me ramble for a bit.

Grandy has a touch of the odd sense of humor that I find amusing, and while she's more succinct in her delivery than I probably will ever manage, she still keeps her topics varied. One of her recent posts was about having gastric bypass surgery. It made me stop and think about my attitude toward people and their health care choices.

I know several people who have had gastric bypass surgery, and before I read Grandy's story I would have been happy to tell you just what I thought of those people. Because my judgmental attitude can pop out at the most inopportune times, (with said attitude usually being accompanied by my unlocked and loaded mouth,) I could have railed for several minutes about how people should just go on diets and lose the fat. Then Grandy comes along, and tells us the multiple reasons she chose to have this type of surgery. She wasn't attempting to resemble Barbie - she just wanted to live!

So now how many of these people that I know have done the same thing? Sure, I'm betting that some of them might have had "lose 6 dress sizes" near the top of their list of "pros". I know that at least one of them wasn't enough overweight to warrant the surgery based solely on pounds, so her doctor told her to gain weight. I thought that was unethical, but now since learning more about the medical reasons why people might have the surgery, maybe gaining the extra 20 pounds makes sense.

Bottom line is - I'm not in these people's shoes. I don't follow them around all day to see if they're eating 100% healthy food. I don't know their family medical history, their stressors, their prognosis, or anything else about them. I can sit and watch the 450 pound man, carrying an oxygen tank, wheeze and puff up the 2 steps it takes to get to his table at Olive Garden. I can shake my head and think "Harumph! How many carbs is he going to eat today? No wonder he's so big!" - But my attitude stinks and it doesn't make me feel good inside.

So Grandy, thanks for inviting me over to your place. And better yet, thanks for encouraging me to reconsider how I view other people and remember that I just might not be seeing the whole picture. I'm going to work on living this lesson past today, and transferring it into other situations. I'm glad you're feeling better. And you just plain look good.

My Son and My Dad

2009-03-24T23:11:00.000-04:00

Today he is 17. Wow.

Pop-Pop and Preston - born on March 24th, 55 years apart.

Each one goofy in his own way.

I love 'em both. Very much.

It's Monday and Sometimes I Just Rattle

2009-03-23T16:41:00.000-04:00

THIS article is goofy! Do we really need to be told these things? I can go a step or two further in pointing out what should be obvious, but apparently isn't, since a news article has to be written to address these issues. Did they just need filler for this edition?

Bottled Water -
Everybody knows it's cheaper, short term, to drink water from your kitchen sink. (I say "short term", because over the course of your life time, you'll drink lots of water. You'll also be consuming fluoride in that water, if you live in town. So are you really saving money? How much fluoride does the average person take in during their life span? It ain't good for ya, you know! Highly toxic crap there, people.) I cringe when I see people buying those big 24-packs of water bottles. Even on sale, you rarely find them cheaper than 4 dollars a case, and that's for the store brand! Unless you're going on vacation and need the convenience, quit buying those bottles and go to your local Culligan water supplier, and fill up a few reusable containers. It's 25 cents a gallon. You do the math. (And if you're drinking filtered water for health reasons, you should be cooking with filtered water as well, by the way.)

Gym Memberships -
I think I have more friends who do NOT use their gym memberships than those that DO. "I haven't been to the gym in three months. I just can't find the motivation." Well then, can you just cancel your membership and give the fifty bucks to me every month? Go for long walks on warm days, and pick up a set of weights at a garage sale this summer for cold days. You'll be further ahead, plus you'll have the added benefit of improving your arm muscles by dusting the weights off once a month. We all know you're really not that into physical exercise, anyway.

Organic Produce -

"Sure, buying organic makes you feel like you’re doing the right thing, but it isn't always the best choice for your wallet. Fruits and vegetables like kiwis, sweet corn and broccoli require very little pesticide to grow. Others -- like avocados, onions and pineapples -- have thick or peelable skins that reduce your exposure to harmful chemicals. “Any pesticide that remains is not getting through,” says Lempert."

WHAT??!?? "Here, Deanna - we only put a little rat poison on this broccoli. It will only make your left eye twitch for ten minutes after you eat it. But mind you, if you eat the apple that we full-on sprayed with the junk, watch out for full body convulsions followed by your tongue protuding out your mouth and wrapping itself around your neck causing death by strangulation. Don't bother suing us, because we warned you. And besides, it would probably be considered suicide."

For real organic stuff that won't cost an arm and a leg, and even if you have VERY limited space, check out Square Foot Gardening. We have big plans this year that hopefully will yield much better results than last year's space-wasting attempts to be more healthy!

Music Downloads, Insurance, Warranties, Overdraft Fees - Don't we know this stuff already? Must be the fluoride...

Dressing Beautiful Girls

2009-03-19T12:23:00.001-04:00

You know those gorgeous Easter and Christmas dresses you buy for your girls for their Holiday pictures? The dresses that get worn twice only because you vowed to make your little angels dress like girls so you could get your money's worth, and 6 months later you find those dresses being used on the Life-Size Barbie? Yeah, those dresses...

And you know how you bought that expensive jewelry kit, because you wanted to give only hand-made gifts for Christmas three years ago since Etsy made you feel guilty for having successfully single-handedly managing to blow up the earth by driving in your gas-guzzling, carbon something-or-other-emitting, ozone layer-destroying SUV to purchase gifts manufactured by Companies Not Eco-friendly with Greenliness? And remember how you felt when you found that kit in the back of your closet beside the unopened packages of glass beads and crystals and clasps and wire, and you recalled how many necklaces you DIDN'T make for your nieces that year? Yeah, that jewelry kit...

Face it - your daughters have long-ago outgrown those dresses, your crafting skills have moved on to Digital Scrapbooking, and you just don't have time for Ebay or Etsy. I can only say these things because I have first-hand experience with similar issues, stopping short of Etsy and SUVs, of course. (Have you read my post about my genius husband's vehicle?)

So, let's talk about what you can do with these beautiful dresses and jewelry trinkets you have stashed in Rubbermaid totes.

Please look here and here at Sarah's blog, then come right back and finish reading about how you can participate.

---------

I have been in contact with Sarah, and she asked if I would be willing to help collect and ship dresses and jewelry that these precious little girls can enjoy. Savannah and I are very excited to be involved in this project.

We would like to collect velvety, lacy, or frilly Holiday-type dresses for the children of SCH. You may have items left hanging in the back of your closets that you've forgotten existed. If it's clean, in excellent condition, and you would let your daughter wear it to church on Easter or Christmas Sunday, please send it to us. You also can be watching the clearance racks in the next few weeks, because Easter dresses will be discounted to very affordable prices. Sarah is looking for all sizes of dresses for girls from size 2 on up.

As for the jewelry, if you have gold or silver jewelry you no longer wear, the girls would love that, too. Sarah says that in the Indian culture, the "real thing, or at least real-looking" is most appreciated. The nicer faux jewelry at Claire's Boutique and similar stores is acceptable as well.

I asked Sarah whether homemade jewelry with glass beads and other things that Hobby Lobby is stocked with would be appreciated. She suggested that learning to make necklaces and bracelets would be an excellent vocational opportunity and possible fund-raiser for the older girls at SCH to participate in. So, if you have packages of the really pretty glass beads, crystals, wire, clasps, string, charms, or any quality jewelry-making tools or containers, OR if you would like to help out by making a purchasing trip to Hobby Lobby, Michael's, or your favorite local shop, we will take care of getting that to Sarah as well. (Make sure you check online for Hobby Lobby coupons - they usually have a large selection of supplies on sale.)

The last item you can help with is shipping fees. We will be collecting items for a period of time, then combining them to ship to Sarah, or to her friends in the United States who will be traveling to visit her. If you don't have dresses or jewelry to donate but still want to help, you can send donations to cover shipping costs and that will be very much appreciated as well. Of course, if you would rather just ship things directly to Sarah, no one would be opposed to that. Just email her through her blog, and she'll let you know where to send things. Even better, you could start your own local project. We're planning to print some promotion fliers and distribute them to various churches and other organizations.

This will be an on-going project, as the girls will, of course, be growing and needing larger clothing sizes and new jewelry and jewelry supplies. The Indian culture is absolutely beautiful and full of color. (Look here for a glimpse into what a wedding looks like in India. GORGEOUS!!) We'll take donations anytime, so if you're a garage sale fanatic and find some great buys on princess dresses this summer, remember us!

If you have donations or questions, like needing my address, please email me through my profile page and I'll get back with you as soon as possible.

Why are we doing this? Well, for the quick answer, because Sarah asked. These girls are important to her, and they are important to God. I have more personal reasons why a project like this appeals to me, but in an effort to get started quickly, I'll save those reasons for a different post at a later time.

Thank you SO much!

**updated 3/22/09** Sarah has posted some FAQ's about Operation Princess right here.

One Renal Calculi, Morphine On The Side, Please

2009-03-17T07:47:00.000-04:00

Today I am thankful for smart doctors, good drugs, and healthy children.

A few days before Christmas in 2006 (it's late, so in case you don't feel like doing the math, that's nearly 2.5 years ago) Savannah got really sick and spent a night in the hospital. Stomach cramps, vomiting, blah blah...

Lab work, xrays, CT and ultrasound of the abdomen and pelvis, and about $8,000 later, the gist of the story was: "Yes, Savannah has gastroenteritis. It also appears that she may have a slight problem with her right ureter being enlarged and having a possible blockage, but we can't define the problem."

Her symptoms went away, and so did the testing. We were told the problem must have resolved itself, if indeed there even was a problem.

Several times over the next nearly-2.5 years, she would experience episodes of severe stomach pain, but it would only last for a short while and I would think "Well, she's getting close to being a teenager. All kinds of things are gonna start happening around here."

Last month, the pain returned more forcefully, so I scheduled an appointment to see a new doctor to whom we're in the process of switching all of our family care. He ordered several lab tests and more ultrasounds, upon seeing her past history. Only one test was abnormal - the urinalysis. And still the pain persisted, intermittently.

Last Tuesday, Savannah was in such bad pain I took her to the emergency room at around 10:30 PM. Now when I say "bad pain", you'd think an 11 year old girl would be visibly crying, making at least a small scene. Not my daughter. She curled up in the middle of the gurney and, barely audible, just whimpered occasionally. Lab work. CTs of the abdomen and pelvis. IV fluids. Pain medicine. Puke medicine. Infection medicine. Because, you see, she was still having issues with the urinalysis.

After whipping through seven or eight lovely little airsick bags, and naturally receiving no help whatsoever with any type of oral medication, and waiting for the results to be sent from the radiologist-we-never-saw, lo and behold....

My 11 year old daughter was diagnosed with a kidney stone of 5.5 millimeters.

Go get a measuring device.

STOP!

Stop what you are doing and go find something that has that "Everybody's going to be using this someday! You'll be glad you learned it!!!" metric measurement system on it, and look at how big 5.5 millimeters actually is! Grown men scream and roll around on the floor for lesser stones than that! (I know - I'm related to one! As my sister says, "He never will let me forget that I had to wash my hair before I took him to the emergency room. He wasn't dying! He could wait a couple more minutes.") - Did I just digress, there?

Being 50 miles from the nearest pediatric urologist, Savannah and Mama were treated to an ambulance ride to this wonderful place called St. Vincent Mercy Children's Hospital.

Now, let me point out - my husband works at our local hospital. Has for over 17 years. Our boys were born there. I've had surgery there. I was there following my car accident. I worked there for a few years as a unit secretary. Our community is small. Not Mayberry-small, but close. When you go to the emergency room on the right night, you almost expect fellow patrons to call out "Norm!" So needless to say, but because it's me I'm gonna anyway, everybody pretty much knows who we are. If the kids are admitted, the nurses that pop into the room aren't always there to push drugs. They just know us, and they're stopping in to see what's new with our family. I like that.

St. V's is not so small. While we had one nurse for each twelve hour shift, there were no extras dropping in to check on Savannah's progress or ask if Gabe still has his little yellow blankie at home. But by golly, did we see doctors! Right off the bat, 3 students and/or residents barged into the room to begin bombarding us with questions. They were all writing. One had no clipboard. (Huh? No wonder President Obama is pushing for bigger Pell Grants!) I don't know if they planned to coordinate their papers once they left the room or not. One of them was never seen in Savannah's room again. Just as quickly as it came in, the whirlwind left. Apparently kidney stones in children are somewhat rare, so perhaps Savannah was a little like the albino rhino you hear about but never see, and they wanted their chance to say they saw history. Who knows. She slept through the whole interview process, anyway.

Surgery was scheduled for later that day, but because of emergencies, was postponed until the following late-afternoon. In that waiting time, her pain again completely disappeared. While I slept the morning away trying to recuperate from having NO sleep the night before, Savannah ate breakfast, cleaned the room, rearranged furniture, and watched some movies. Funny kid, that girl.

She is funny, too. Especially when she's been doped up with Demerol and Phenergan. Not only is she comical, but she's quite bossy. I was told to "Sit down!" and "Drink it yourself!" and given several stern looks by a normally fairly docile young lady. She vaguely remembers stating some of these orders, but she does not remember relaying to me her thoughts on her pain level. It is common practice in medical settings to ask people to rate their pain on a scale of 1 to 10. I think it's completely arbitrary, and rather stupid, because honestly, HOW in the world can you recall what childbirth feels like 11 years after the fact? Sure, you know it hurt back then, but you aren't in the throes of labor, so to reply to "Considering the WORST pain you've EVER had in your LIFE, how would you rate THIS pain?" is basically pointless. However, to remain politically correct and insure that this medical bill would actually BE insured, I was encouraging Savannah to "rate her pain".

"Now Sis, you told the nurse that it was 7 a while ago, and after your medicine, you said it was 5. What would you say it is now?"

Savannah very groggily muttered, "I don't know what time it is."

Folks, this is why Deanna isn't a nurse.

Deanna would love to collect a paycheck by picking herself up from the floor after a rousing round of raucous laughter, but she wouldn't want to find an NG tube shoved up one side of her nose and out her left ear by an angry patient who doesn't find the humor in his temporary drug-induced insanity, so hence Deanna remains a non-paid working mother who blogs, for no pay, about people's pain. And when my daughter flung her head back and glared at me because I told her "Ya know...this is GONNA find it's way onto my blog one way or another." ... Deanna was glad the real nurse had stepped out of the room momentarily, because Deanna was beginning to feel like the nurse thought Deanna was a bit heartless. Maybe it was the tears running down my face.

So to sum this whole episode up the best I can, Savannah is now down one kidney stone. Unfortunately, a second one was found on the opposite side, so she must return for further surgery in the next few weeks. She's much more comfortable, she's feeling much better, and she got to ride in an ambulance, although she doesn't remember much about that. Except she loves to say that every time she woke up and looked for me, I was happily chatting away to the ambulance driver, flinging my hands and yakking about something. When I laughed at her and asked her if I really talk that much with my hands, she raised her eyebrows and smirked. I'm not sure what that means.

I just can hardly stand the suspense of how much this excursion is going to cost. Yeah for health insurance. And I'm trying not to be overly angry at the doctors who, two years ago, didn't further investigate the suspicious evidence on her CT, even though the surgeon told us last week that this stone has probably been there the whole time...

Hold Fast To What I Know Is True

2009-03-14T23:47:00.000-04:00

My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
But wholly trust in Jesus’ Name.

When darkness seems to hide His face,
I rest on His unchanging grace.
In every high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.

His oath, His covenant, His blood,
Support me in the whelming flood.
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my Hope and Stay.

When He shall come with trumpet sound,
Oh may I then in Him be found.
Dressed in His righteousness alone,
Faultless to stand before the throne.

On Christ the solid Rock I stand,
All other ground is sinking sand;
All other ground is sinking sand.

I Have a Right To Remain Silent?!?

2009-03-07T08:55:00.000-05:00

Tom has a friend that, years ago in school, thought the Miranda Rights included "a cannon will be used against you in a court of law".

Ben Franklin, bless his intelligent soul, had similar thoughts a few years back, and thank his lucky stars, this idea
never took off!

It seems he believed people should be forcefully roused from their pillows by ringing church bells. If that didn't work, he proposed cannons being fired. At 4 AM, mind you. Or when the sun rose - now, I live in Ohio. The sun doesn't rise at 4. Neither does Deanna. Cannons or not. I often rise between 5:30 and 6:00, because I like to see Tom for a few minutes before he heads out the door to his very long work days. But until I've mainlined enough coffee to make me human, you're likely to get a fist in the face if you start belting out "Come On, Ring Those Bells, Light Deanna's Tree..." (there's a throw-back to the 70's with the Allowable Christian Christmas Music by Evie...)

For people who take issue with Daylight Savings Time, shush it! As someone who is ever so much nicer in the summer than in the winter, I appreciate all the sunshine I can get. They have a name for people like me. Actually they have lots of names for people like me, but the specific name I refer to is SAD. Do I sound like a SAD person? I'm not SAD. MAD might be more appropriate. Mouthy Affective Disorder is fairly accurate, but the doctors see it as Seasonal Affective Disorder. SAD gets you in trouble with your insurance company, MAD gets you in trouble with the cops. So far I've managed to avoid trouble with both industries. Pretty much.

So here's to Ben Franklin's better ideas, mood music, and sunshine. Spring your clocks forward tonight.

I love summer!

Big Ben courtesy of Google/FreeFoto

Another Odd Ending

2009-03-06T08:39:00.002-05:00

So I was a bit grumpy when I stuck my last post on here. You'll have that some days. Especially days when people annoy me with stupidity.

Then there's days when people just amuse me, and ya get things like this.

We have a guy in our town (well, to be fair, it's the outskirts next to the cemetery, but still plainly visible) who went all out a couple years ago on planting tomatoes. He has a huge electrical tower monstrosity in his back yard, and it appears that to make it more tolerable to live with, he decided to plant his tomatoes in toilets. He had 6 or 7 toilets arranged in a circle beneath the tower. It was rather trashy looking, in a tasty sort of way.

Maybe he was friends with this guy and was trying to out-do him. I don't know if our city council or mayor ever told him to clean up his act, but we only had to see the outdoor tomato bathroom for one season.

Now out in Iowa, if you're an older person, you might want to join in on the naming of your group. It just doesn't bode well for senior citizens to be referred to as DOA. Unless of course they've been eating tomatoes grown in toilets. That might extend the possibility of being un-DOA.

If you're a foreigner coming into the state of Washington, it's probably best if you don't try to enforce your mother's manners on the border agent. Yes, we know it's nice to say please, but unless you want some pepper spray to flavor your toilet tomatoes, you best not be demanding the man with the weapons to treat you kindly.

Yes, it's nearing spring time, I have cabin fever and I'm itchin' to get some tomato plants in the ground. Bet ya just couldn't figure that one out!!

I Would Offer Her Coffee If She Was My Neighbor...

2009-03-04T22:18:00.000-05:00

*The article written herein may or may not be the actual viewpoint of the writer. Writer chooses to contain her opinions on all below-mentioned names for various reasons (for the time being, anyway...)

Ok, America - Please make up your mind. Is Nadya Suleman irresponsible for birthing 14 children and mooching off the system? Or should she be banished from society for trying to earn money by selling the video of her octuplets' birth?

You say you don't want your tax dollars paying to raise her children, but neither do you want her to make her own money to feed and clothe the clan.

You trot right out to see John and Kate when they come to your church, and you religiously tune in to The Duggars. Do you think they're putting their family on display for free?

You just can't have it both ways, people.

Leave the woman alone! Unless you're gonna go offer to change diapers and rock those babies to sleep, shut up and go back to your video games!

My BFF

2009-03-04T07:59:00.000-05:00

For inquiring minds who wonder what kind of man would find amusement in being married to me...

Meet my husband - a very patient and long-suffering person. His dry sense of humor and lack of tact sometimes land him in hot water, but like me, he can fit in with polite society if necessary. (For more info on how he accomplishes that, see his Genius Tom label in my sidebar...)

1)Husbands Name: Officially, Thomas Scott. I call him Honey. He calls himself ELH when he writes something to me. Ever Lovin' Husband

2)How long have you been married?: 18 years on August 30.

3)How long did you date?: 4 months

4)What did he want to be when he grew up? A Preacher. He thought they only worked one day a week.

5)Who eats more sweets?: Oh most indubitably me.

6)Who is the better singer?: Ya know that song about singers who can't carry a tune in a bucket? He's a selective bucket carrier. He has better luck not sloshing the contents out if he's listened to the song for 29 years. Every once in a while, he'll hit one spot on, though. Jimmy Buffett seems to be friendly to his singing ability. Otherwise, I'm the better singer. "But after one round with Jose Cuervo..."

7)Who is smarter?: We're both pretty intelligent. He's just more gracious about it.

8)Who does the laundry?: He can, but I'm home, so I
do. He doesn't fold it the way I like, anyway. But I appreciate the effort. And the kids can refold.

9)Who pays the bills?: He brings home the bacon, I fry it up in the pan, the creditors enjoy the taste.

10)Who sleeps on the right side of the bed? It's closer to the door, so I do, because the kids always want Mom if they need something at night.

11)Who mows the lawn?: We have teenagers.

12)Who cooks dinner?: We share this responsibility. He cooks alot more in summer, because he's the grill chef. I make the sides.

13)Who drives?: He does. All the time. I don't like to drive. He doesn't like for me to drive. It's a mutual thing.

14)Who is the first to say they are wrong?: Oh brother - this is very hard for both of us. Fortunately, we rarely disagree. Life taught us it just ain't worth it. We split this, too. There's benefits to makin' up......

15)What is his favorite TV show/movie? He made me watch Duel. If your spouse ever suggests that you watch Duel, claim PMS and go to bed with the heating pad and a really, really, really long book. Unless, of course, you're in to sagas about middle-aged men being chased across the desert by demon-possessed truck drivers hellbent on bringing destruction to earth by eliminating the middle-aged man. And you never see anything but the truck-driver's boots. He dies in the end. At least it looks like he dies, because his truck goes over a cliff. Claim PMS. Unless you're a guy. That would be weird. And you might actually like the movie, anyway.

16)Who kissed who first?: He says I kissed him first. I deny that, because I don't actually remember. And Mr. Edwards would have a FIT if he thought the girl made the first move. So, Tom kissed Deanna first.

17)Who asked who out first?: He called me and asked me out. Blind-date. He was my third blind-date Tom. He is by far the best blind-date Tom.

18)Who wears the pants?: We both wear pants. I grew up being told Christian Women Didn't Wear Pants. Hooey! OH! You're asking Who's the Boss! He's the quiet boss. The kids ask me, generally, if they can do something, and he's fine with that. I keep track of the calendar. It just makes sense. But don't question his authority. That doesn't turn out well for the child questioning.

19) Who cuts his hair?

....um....

20) Name one of his favorite people (besides you)? Billy Graham and Morry Hummel.

And now you know!

Dumpster Diving

2009-02-28T08:51:00.000-05:00

OK, so I'm gonna break down here and admit that every once in a while, something comes across my path that just grinds me.

Normally I can deal with these rare occurrences and no one is any wiser as to the wrestling in my brain. I am no Monk by any stretch of the imagination (my clutter would push the poor man into a permanent catatonic state), but I do have a couple squeamish tendencies that make Tom refer to me as a germ-a-phobe, in a very loving sort of way. I use hand sanitizer the minute I exit Walmart, I use my own pens to sign papers at the doctors office, and I hold the electronic stylus pen at RiteAid with my sleeve when I sign for prescriptions. I think that's only logical! Who goes to the doctor and pharmacy? Sick people!! (I also prefer my kitchen cupboards to be organized by food group, can size and labels turned OUT, and my bathroom closet to have all towel edges turned IN - does this indicate a need for psychological evaluation?)

Despite what you may be thinking right-about-now, the subject of this post really isn't my minor OCD issues. No, the subject - the daily grind, if you will - is TRASH CANS. In particular, OUR trash cans.

Our kitchen trash can being full doesn't bother me. The fact that I'm the only person in the house who routinely notices that it fills up bothers me. The fact that I am still, after nearly 17 years, explaining to my children the task of properly taking the trash to the outdoor trash can and REPLACING THE BAG IN THE KITCHEN TRASH CAN bothers me.

The lid doesn't bother me. We utilize the trash receptacle so often that I generally don't even keep the lid on it. It's stored near the trash can, and prior to company coming over, we'll dust it off and dutifully slap it on top of the (hopefully) empty can. It bothers me that I don't have a "place" for my trash can other than way-too-near my kitchen table, but it works out great for tossing the dry pizza crust and chicken wings and flipping the Corona bottle tops without getting off our chairs.

Dirty trash cans REALLY grind me. Growing up, my mother used paper grocery bags to line the trash can. Paper bags are shorter than the average kitchen trash can, so this effort really did nothing to keep the trash can clean. Emptying all the trash cans in the house was one of my routine chores, so you can imagine my displeasure at having to haul a nasty can outside to the burn barrel and watch the days' disgust roll down the side of the stained, formerly-white-now-dingy-gray can into eternal ashy oblivion.

As you can see in this picture SOMEONE didn't bother to make sure there was a trash bag in the can before tossing a few coffee grounds in, or else SOMEONE ripped a hole in the bag that was there, and a few coffee grounds slipped through. However, my solution to this problem is this: when I mop the floors, I use my kitchen trash can for a bucket. It keeps it nice and fresh. The bottom of my kitchen trash can is NOT stained, and in fact is so clean, that I wouldn't cringe if a piece of chocolate fell in - I'd probably consider the 30-second rule, blow off the imaginary germs, and depending on the day of the month, yes, I would probably eat it. Because I use a botanical germicidal spray on my trash cans, they are actually pretty clean in between changing bags. So that the other trash cans in my life don't feel left out, I let them masquerade as mop buckets every so often, too. My house may be a mess, but by golly, the trash cans are gonna be clean!

Something else that bothers me is the price of trash bags. Have you bought them lately??!? A couple years ago, I could get 96 quality bags for under $5. Now it will cost me almost $8, for 80. And the box they come in is flimsier! It's not even heavy cardboard, it's barely cardstock weight! So I had to salvage the last heavy box we had. When I ~~get ripped off~~ buy a new box of trash can liners, I toss the box they come in, and put the roll into the old box. I have nightmares that someone with lesser trash can liner fears than mine will toss the old box and I will daily, sometimes more than daily, have to face the fact that I no longer can purchase 96 bags at one time. Seriously, I'm tossing money into the trash can! It's preposterous!

This is my saving grace, though. It proves that I'm not a complete lunatic. It proves that not all trash cans are created equal. It proves that I can find ways to ~~stick it to the man~~ save money.

This came with our house. We bought this house and moved in 5 years ago today. Upon arriving in our new God-provided home, I was pleasantly surprised to find a couple outdoor trash cans loitering around the back door. Great, I thought. Wonderful. I won't have to buy new ones. So I didn't. I didn't care that this one didn't have wheels. I just prop it against the house, or the other trash cans. It works fine. It has serviced our dirty diapers, tomato soup cans (that don't get used on Tom's car), moldy bread, junk mail, used coffee filters, and empty Hershey wrappers faithfully for 5 full years.

But now...after 5 full years ... I have been put on notice. Apparently not everyone appreciates my money-saving finesse.

I've been served collection notices in the past, but they've never made me laugh. Until now... and they have a new twist. It's a NON-collection notice! Yahoo!

Two weeks ago, the trash guys left one can untouched on Trash Day. Sitting there so neat and orderly by the street, they abandoned it! We happened to have some extra stuff out that day, so I thought we were over our "limit", although we typically are and nothing ever happens. They're so nice, and they need our junk so much, they just take it for us. Our solution was to have the boys haul a couple of extra bags over to a neighboring house which never puts ANY trash out, because it's owned by a church and not occupied. The pastor's wife told us years ago if we had an occasion where we had extra trash, we were welcome to put it out at that curb, because the church pays for trash pickup for that location anyway. This was the first time we've taken advantage of her offer. (This pastor's wife had some of her own trash disappear a year or so ago, and she thought she was losing her mind. As it turns out, the police had swiped her trash bags from her curb in an effort to nail some drug dealers they thought might be dumping evidence in other people's trash. Ha!)

Voila! Problem solved. But wait! Two days ago, ~~Preston~~ Savannah brought in this lovely little green sticker from the handle of our free trash can. Now we know the real reason they left us in a lurch for trash space!

Have I mentioned we've lived here, and used this very same trash can, for 5 years???!??

I'm not sure why we're getting a sticker from the "Village of Delta" trash collectors. Tri-State Waste has always provided trash pickup for our village, to my knowledge. So I'm going to defend these guys by assuming that Tri-State must have subcontracted that day out to Delta, a town some 30-odd miles away from us. These guys would have no knowledge of my aversion to spending money on new trash cans, and as Tom pointed out, it is slightly difficult to keep the can standing up, with no wheels on it. This might explain why there was a dirty diaper left lying in my front yard after the truck pulled away...

But do you think I'm spending money on a new trash can now?

Think again. If I can screw a piece of wood onto the bottom of this puppy and stabilize it, I will not be replacing this trash can any time soon. The Trash Gods can just deal with it.

Yes, You Can Help

2009-02-22T12:56:00.000-05:00

We're currently in a holding pattern regarding adoption. There's nothing we can do to hurry along any process that has to take place before these babies can have our last name. Only God knows right now if that's even going to happen. People ask us if we plan to keep fostering if the babies do become ours legally. They ask us if we would adopt more. Our answer is "We don't know". We won't say "No" to what God has planned for us. Whatever that is.

In the meantime, to keep my mind off what I can not change, I read other family's stories of happiness, sadness, hope, trials and blessings. I try to encourage people considering foster care or adoption. I try to make people aware of opportunities available for families who want to help in ways other than increasing their own family size, because that isn't for everybody.

Sarah's Covenant Homes in India is a new blog I recently found via one of my regular spots I visit. If you can visit her pages without feeling a tug on your heart, you might need a heart transplant. You might not be called to move around the world and run an orphanage, but if you want to help, you can donate through Sarah's website (see the FAQ section) or you can participate in fundraising opportunities with Kendra at Sugarplum Boutique. Browse that website - another family who's been blessed, and can't help but pass it on to others.

OCC Special Report

2009-02-22T06:37:00.000-05:00

Maybe it's because he resembles my inquisitive, ever-talkative 3 year old. I want to know this little boy. He has a temporary tattoo on his left hand - or is it dirt? His face is dirty. What's that in his right back pocket? Is he warm enough? The way his hair is blowing makes me think maybe it's windy. He's clutching his Christmas box very tightly. Did he get candy? How far did it travel to get to him? Is the little girl behind him his sister? I can't tell if she is wearing shoes. Does he have a Mom and Dad? Which shack does he live in? Does he go to school? Is the sock on his left foot a gift from last year's Christmas box? Does he have his pant leg tucked into it? Or is that sock covering a brace? How often does he get to eat? Does he have clean water? Does anyone tuck him into bed and kiss him goodnight? Has anyone told him about Jesus yet?

This picture is from the Special Report Magazine of
Operation Christmas Child, one of the outreach ministries of Samaritan's Purse.

Each time we get an issue, I look through carefully, trying to locate the child who has the box we sent. So far, I've not recognized anything. ;-)

It's one small way we can share God's love with people we'll most likely never meet. If your church or workplace doesn't participate in this great outreach, please consider coordinating a Shoebox drive this fall. That little boy up there will appreciate it.

One Wedgie-Headlock Comin' Right Up

2009-02-19T23:47:00.000-05:00

(image from google)

Take a walk through our county seat on a warm summer day, and you might be treated to the smell of Butterscotch or Cherry Dum-Dums being cooked. But trust me, when I get suckered, I don't feel much like taking the trolley tour of Spangler's Candy Company!

I've had some suspicious looking charges on my phone bill for the past 4 months. I thought it looked a little higher than should be, but it wasn't an extravagant amount, so I let it slide. Finally this morning I sat down to sort out last year's bills, receipts and other junk needed for taxes, and decided to deal with the problem of the extra $13.86 for Emergency Voicemail that's been lounging on my Embarq bill.

Can ya'll see the steam rising over Ohio??!?

Phillip at EBSI didn't act the least bit concerned that a John King (OK, thief! Can't you at least be original?) claimed authority online to charge my phone bill for a 1-800 number. No, Phillip can't tell me who this person is. Yes, he can trace the IP address, but I will have to file a police report and let them contact EBSI to gain access to that address. He will refund my phone bill a total of $51.80. He wasn't interested in chatting with me for long, for some reason.

Grrrrr!!

My phone call to Spencer at Embarq was much more productive, although just as disheartening. I wasn't happy with his answers, but he did say I wouldn't be held responsible for the charges. He was happy to enlighten me on how this happens, though.

It appears that there are 3 companies in particular that are allowed to 3rd-party bill through an Embarq customer's phone bill. They are the above-mentioned EBSI, and two more: UBSI, and IDL. Upon Googling these 3 miscreants, it seems that's exactly what they are - up to no good!

A ne'er-do-well boonswaggler randomly picks a non-suspecting phone number owner and signs up for various phone services online using that person's number. In my case, the twit only needed an Emergency 1-800 number, but I found other victims who had been charged hundreds of dollars for who-knows-what. Had I been hit with exorbitant bills, I would have investigated sooner; fortunately I was only being taken for 14 bucks a month - but by golly, that's a couple gallons of milk and a loaf of bread!

This problem can be avoided by having a 3rd-party block put on the phone account. Except that will mean no one can call our number collect. That could be a problem. Hmmm, Spencer, what can we do to fix this? (Placed on hold...again...) The solution to this was to place a block on each of those three companies individually, keeping the possibility of collect calls open. However, should more companies pop into existence, there's nothing stopping them from stealing from me, until I figure out what they're doing and have a block put on them as well. "Um, with all our technology, you can't fix this problem?"

"Unfortunately, Ma'am, that's the way our program works."

(Ever heard of firing your techs and hiring some real computer whizzes, then?) - No, I didn't say it....grumble...grumble...wish I wasn't trying to obey the Biblical book of James right about now...)

But my biggest question, which Spencer had no decent answer for, was this: When I call Embarq for ANYthing regarding my phone account, I have to verify address, phone number, and security word. They will not discuss my account with me if I don't know what the answer is to my security question. So how in the world could Mr. John King sign up online for ANYthing regarding my phone account???!!!????

Where's the Homeland Security when you actually need it? HA!

Bottom line? Watch your phone bills for weird charges. Better yet, call your phone company and tell them you want blocks on the 3 companies I mentioned. And if, on your way to StuffMart tomorrow to spend your extra $13.00 President Obama just gave you, you just HAPPEN to rear-end a car being driven by a Mr. John King, please remember his address for me - 'cause I'm gonna kick his butt!!!

(Googled Dum Dums Taste Better!)

Gabe Should Consider a New Workout Routine

2009-02-17T22:26:00.000-05:00

He's fine. Bruised and sore leg, but he's bearing weight OK.

Males respond so differently to traumatic situations than females do. Here's what happened today at our house, following Gabe's adventures at the Y with his school mates.

Mom and Savannah were just relieved that Gabe is OK, and both chuckled at the vision of people scurrying out of the building due to Gabe's Gym Faux Pas.

Synopsis delivered to Bucky and Preston:
Gabe fell at the Y today. Down the stairs. He pulled the fire alarm and the building had to be evacuated.

Bucky's response: "Alright, GABE!!" - round of raucous laughter

Preston's response: "Gabe set off the fire alarm??!?? Alright, GABE!!" - second wave of laughter

Dad saw the bruise when he came home from work. He asked me what happened. I told him.
Dad's response: "Alright, GABE!!" - 3rd round on the house

Imagine the testosterone if these three blokes would have actually been involved!!

Cancelled Enroute

2009-02-17T14:13:00.000-05:00

It's the number I MOST do not want to see on my Caller ID between the hours of 8am and 2pm Monday through Friday...

"Deanna, it's the school. Gabe...(insert current catastrophe here)..."

(ok, Deanna - it's the school, not the hospital. And close your mouth, your heart's escaping.)

Today the entertainment was Gabe and his aide taking a tumble down the stairs at the Y. Why? (ha!) Well, because Gabe and his aide were working on stair-climbing skills, and the genius who placed the fire alarm near the stairway wasn't aware that someday little Gabe would decide he needed to use that fire alarm for support. Down goes the handle. Up goes the noise level. Up goes Gabe's startle reflexes. Down goes Gabe and the aide.

He'll be home shortly, and I'll have to examine him thoroughly. The report was "No lacerations, but he is bruised on his shin, and he's favoring his leg. He doesn't want ice on it. It's hurting him, though. I don't imagine anything is broken. Fire trucks didn't come."

Apparently, the entire building evacuated. Not knowing the story, the rest of the school staff members were wondering, "Hmmm. Did one of our kids do that?"

Yes, thank you. That would be the Juvenile Delinquent Gabe.

Hey, Mr. Fire Inspector:
Just a thought - maybe you should meet Gabe - Stretch Armstrong ain't got nuttin' on him!! Gauge where you THINK he can't reach, then move it 10 paces to the right. It might be out of reach then.

Stimulating Thoughts In Honor of Crooked Politicians Everywhere - But Which Have Little To Do With Politics

2009-02-12T16:45:00.000-05:00

Overheard at the beauty salon:

In a discussion regarding the recent birth of 8 precious babies to a woman who has 6 additional children: "Shouldn't Social Services step in anyway? They only have 3 bedrooms!" um....call me nutty, but I don't believe not having individual bedrooms is cause to require a visit from Child Protective Services. And silly me, but I'm thinkin' that CPS is probably onto the case, as it's PLASTERED ALL OVER THE WORLD!!! Leave the poor woman alone!

Apparently one of the hairdresser's children has contracted the horrible disease known as Chicken Pox. "And she had the shot!" (I nearly fell off my chair laughing at Savannah, who was nearly falling off her chair rolling her eyes. Fortunately, her bangs were covering her eyes good enough that only I knew she was rolling her eyes.)

Points to ponder:

If you're going to drive left-of-center for an extended period of time when I'm advancing toward you minding my own business in my own lane, you probably shouldn't identify yourself with "S---n Farms" splashed across your windshield. I'm just sayin'...

Little Mister D, it is never a good idea to demonstrate that you've had enough dinner by picking potato and cake crumbs from your plate and flingin' 'em over your shoulder when Mama is watchin' ya...

A Favorite Author of Mine

2009-02-09T09:09:00.000-05:00

Several weeks ago, my aunt suggested that various family members begin reading and commenting on a book together. After several days of bantering, bartering, bargaining, and bickering, my sister Teresa managed to pull the group together with the first book chosen being Keep a Quiet Heart by Elisabeth Elliot. Our group consists of myself and my 3 sisters (although my oldest sister may be incognito as her husband), my favorite aunt (she's pretty much my ONLY aunt, but even if she wasn't, she'd still be my favorite 'cuz she has red hair and laughs at my stupidity), some nieces, a few in-laws and accompanying relatives I may or may not have met, and perhaps a stray or two of which I'm unaware. Teresa named us The Book Bunch. (She's good like that.)

I've never subscribed to a Book Review Club, mostly because I have a mental image I'm not prepared to handle. Stodgy old men with pipes and plaid jackets, middle aged women wearing Christmas sweaters, and a lone gorgeous gay guy who thinks he signed up for a cooking class all gathering in a dark paneled room discussing poetry by B.T.Donethat and drinking weak tea with lemon wedges. That's the picture in my brain.

The pipe would be cool, the Christmas sweaters not so much, I don't get poetry, and the gay guy - well, hopefully he can make a better cup of tea by the time the book review is complete. As for The Book Bunch, it's been humorous, if nothing else, reading the emails flying back and forth between Michigan, Texas, Indiana, Ohio and North Carolina (who am I forgetting?!?) in just simply preparing to begin to commence to think about starting the first book, and all the resulting confusion! So far we've learned that Keeping a Quiet Heart apparently doesn't quiet the fingers very fast.

Moving forward...

Over the past several months, the concepts of quieting my heart, being content, waiting on God's timing, and holding my tongue have been very present in my mind. Anyone who knows me in the slightest way will most likely need a paramedic's assistance at the mere thought that I could be successful at any attempt of patience or shutting up. So believe me when I say that while it isn't easy, it also isn't under my own power that I'm learning. Learning not perfected by any stretch of the imagination. I don't see myself hitting the road to promote my latest book on Virtuous Living with an Emphasis on Taming the Tongue anytime soon!

God's timing is a very strange thing that makes no sense to humans. I don't presume to understand why things happen the way they do when they do. I would drive myself crazy trying to figure it out. Actually, I nearly did! Not so fun - don't really wanna go there again! But one of the really cool things about learning to rely on God is that He gives you peace about the unanswerable. He makes it OK that you don't have all the answers. He helps you accept the realization that your life isn't perfect but He loves you anyway. He puts people in your path for specific purposes and while you may not like it one little bit, it's part of His plan for you.

A few months ago, I caved to technology and created a Facebook account. I've found people from "way back when" just as the creator of this monstrosity must have intended. Friends I'd lost touch with surface on a frequent basis. They've married, divorced, remarried, survived cancer, birthed children, adopted children, buried family members, traveled to other continents, lost jobs, become grandparents, acquired possessions...they've lived. Like me. They've been happy. They've also suffered great loss.

I haven't been involved in the daily lives of most of these old friends. With the exception of my best friend from high school, I have rarely spoken with most of them. It isn't particularly my preference that I only get updates at weddings and funerals, but life is busy. I would love to be with a friend who's undergoing cancer treatment, but my prayers don't have to come from her bedside. They're every bit as effective from my own.

What I would tell my friends, in their good and bad times, is that God is always with them. He knows. He planned. The challenges they face shouldn't be considered their lot in life, but rather what God has assigned before they were ever born. God IS in control, and we can rest assured that His ways are better than ours.

I believe that what gives us a quiet heart is our acceptance of God's plan. Yet, maybe we're so busy asking "why" that we don't see the answers around us. What we perceive as a struggle can be the avenue through which we learn to trust God. God is supreme and He wants us to know Him.

In Keep a Quiet Heart, Elisabeth Elliot says, on page 76:

When we find ourselves most hopeless, the road most taxing, we may also find that it is then that the Risen Christ catches up to us on the way, better than our dreams, beyond all our hopes. For it is He - not His gifts, not His power, not what He can do for us, but He Himself - who comes and makes Himself known to us.

That is what I want.

Style Courtesy of PIXAR

2009-02-03T19:41:00.001-05:00

When the nearly-3 year old decides he isn't going to take a nap no matter how many times Mommy comes into the bedroom and tells him otherwise, and when that nearly-3 year old is self-sufficient in his own mind, the nearly-3 year old does not always come out of the bedroom looking the way he did when he went in to the bedroom some 3 hours ago...

Cute.

Still means EARLY BEDTIME.

What My Daughter Googles in Her Dreams

2009-01-31T12:53:00.000-05:00

Savannah recently went to the pharmacy with me to retrieve Gabe's prescriptions. While we were waiting, she noticed the sign promoting the flu vaccine.

"OOOOoooo! For only $14.99, we'll inject you with toxins!"

Yesterday morning, she came downstairs laughing.

"Mom, I had this really stupid dream. I dreamed we were all at Teresa's house, and Mindy and some of the other foster moms were there. They had put up signs on all of Teresa's doors. They said, 'We support the flu shot'. I went around and put signs on the backs of all the doors. They said, 'I don't support the flu shot. Google it'."

Seatbelts Required

2009-01-28T08:48:00.000-05:00

Our children have known for years that Mom and Dad will not be supplying a car for their 16th birthday. They've been told since early childhood that the age at which they're allowed to get their license depends on their behavior in the years prior to reaching driving age. Driving is considered a privilege, prior to adulthood, in our home. (Call us crazy, but if a teenager is slamming doors when they're angry at a sibling for borrowing a treasured article of clothing without permission, I highly doubt it's in the public's best interest to hand over the keys to the Mercedes to the petulant tyke. Ok, it's not a Mercedes, and the boys are past the tyke stage, but go with me on this one...) There's just much to be said about self-control.

googled

The kids have also been aware that, as the parental units (the apparent popular way to refer to one's parents these days) see driving privileges as a prize to be earned, the prize-winner would be contributing the required funds to attain the aforementioned prize. Definition: Mom and Dad aren't paying for the permit, classes, license, car, gas, repairs or insurance. If we needed the boys to drive, rules might be different, but convenience is the only reason I see them needing to drive for me, and that just isn't a big enough need.

Anyone who knows the boys at all can attest to the differences in their personalities. Preston is like his Dad - he enjoys his alone time. Bucky is like his Mom - he needs social contact frequently. Preston's pretty good at saving money. Bucky can save money temporarily. Preston likes to weigh the pros and cons. Bucky likes to figure it out as he goes.

Preston sees no purpose in spending all the money to get his license now, when he doesn't need to drive and has no car. His theory is "Why should I spend money when my parents take me wherever I need to go?" - that theory is fine, for now, because he doesn't need to go very far. Of course, once he actually needs to get a job, that will change, but his theory is workable for the time being.

Bucky, on the other hand...

...is not content to wait till he's 18 to get his license. The first step accomplished, he now holds his permit. Cost - $22.00

It will take him a while to save the money for classes. Last time I checked, the cost was over $300.00 and he's broke right now. He'll have plenty of time for practicing. With Dad.

Why DO All the Cows Have Udders in that Movie???

2009-01-26T16:00:00.000-05:00

Having not come anywhere near mastering the art of ridding his body of waste products in a manner fit to be discussed in public, Little Mister D is none-the-less skillful in his defense of such problems.

Why, just this morning, as Mommy was changing his rather rankish behinder into something fresher, said Mommy oh-so-kindly stated "D, your butt smells like a barnyard."

D, not missing a beat - "I wike Barnwad. I git pig dare."

Yes, the speech has progressed nicely. Or not.

Fast Forward One Year

2009-01-23T23:09:00.000-05:00

Had you told me this time last year that I would be buying diapers and bottles and potty seats and pink newborn outfits and size 7 Spiderman shoes and cribs and infant car seats and sippy cups and doorknob safety covers and all the other supplies that come with two babies, I would have laughed and said, "Whatever".

Had you told me that these two babies would be siblings born to a drug addicted mother who loves her children very much, I would have raised my eyebrows and said "Yeah, right!"

Had you told me that, aside from a speech delay that is now resolved, the 2 year old would be advanced in all areas of development, I would have asked for a second opinion.

Had you told me that the newborn would show absolutely no signs of drug addiction, I would have requested every available test be performed.

But...

Upstairs right now, sleeping safely in their beds, are two of the six most beautiful children ever born. They were not in our home this time last year. The mother who gave them life knows that she faces a very hard battle, and she hopes to overcome her addictions. Only time will tell if she is successful. She does not want her children spending that time without a permanent family to care for them. The father who created these children is rumored to feel the same way, but circumstances have not allowed that decision to be finalized yet.

During the past nine months, I have come to love these children just like I cherish the children I carried inside me for 9 months.

Tonight,

My little boy kissed everyone goodnight, took his Jo-Jo, his Chrissy Jo-Jo, his Big Blue, his Little Blue, and his Purple Monkey and walked upstairs with Daddy, where he prayed for happy dreams. Daddy tucked him under the covers, latched the gate so he won't escape downstairs to watch cartoons unsupervised, and left the room.

My baby girl snuggled into my arms with her bottle and her pink silky blankie and fell asleep as I rocked her. I carried her to her crib and covered her up with a blanket her brother Gabe gave her. She sighed, and I left the room.

Tomorrow morning,

My baby girl will giggle at me, show me her dimples, and reach to pinch my face when I pick her up from the bed. My little boy will stand at the gate calling "Mommy. I get up now. I waked up. I get Jo-Jo." until I come and release him from his confinement.

I will kiss them, because that's what Mommies do.

Cream and Sugar?

2009-01-18T15:45:00.000-05:00

It's not much of a secret that I have an addiction to coffee. To make it easier to justify, I like to call it a healthy love affair rather than an addiction.

(It just wouldn't be healthy or proper for me to stalk this man.)

I didn't always drink my breakfast, but as I apparently am required to be awake to sufficiently care for my family, I caved to genetics* and began consuming the energizing beverage several years ago.

*My mother always had a napkin with a coffee cup ring on it sitting on her sewing machine table. My sisters and I would come home from school and there would be 3 matching dresses hanging on the sewing room door that had not been there when we left at 7:30 that morning. The dashboard of my father's pickup was littered with Styrofoam cups. I can almost smell the faint scent of McDonald's coffee that permeated the cab of his work truck. He convinced me when I was a kid that his vehicle just automatically turned into the drive-thru every day on his way home from a paint job.

Tom and I had a coffee maker that sat, unused except for company, for a few years after our wedding. Then along came the babies, and after the arrival of Savannah, Mr. Coffee became a permanent fixture on the counter top.

Tom worked 3rd shift the first twelve years of our marriage, so naturally he drank a lot of the sludge. He needed it to stay awake, and it really does smell good - I'll blame him for a portion of my problem. We both love to wake up to the smell of fresh coffee. He, more than I.* My addiction used to be more pronounced in the winter, so I kept a "winter" (12 cup) coffee maker, and a "summer" (4 cup) coffee maker available. Preston and Bucky occasionally like to partake of a cup with us, so we just use the big one all the time now. (I also now drink just as much coffee in warmer weather as I do in cooler weather, but who's counting??!?)

*For a short period of time, Tom decided we should have a Bed-n-Breakfast bedroom. His version was simple - take

the summer coffee maker

upstairs and keep a supply of ground coffee, filters, and a gallon of water under the bed. The preparations would all be in place before he went to sleep at night. In the morning, his alarm would go off, and without a word being said, he'd roll over. I'd hear him hit the snooze with his hand and start the coffee pot with his foot. In a few seconds, I'd hear "pssssssssss...." as the water began trickling into the carafe. This went on for several days, until one morning, listening to the chain of events take place in the darkness that is 5:00AM, I could contain my mirth no longer and simply burst into laughter. Shortly after that, he quit making coffee upstairs, and our bedroom returned to it's previous place in our domicile as Just the Room in Which We Sleep. I have no idea why.

I used to just drink the plain stuff, and while I still like a simple cup of coffee every now and then, my disease has progressed to the point that I now require special treatment. Where once I used to be able to survive on this,

now I use this.

Where once I used to speak daily with Mr. Coffee, my husband knew that Mr. Coffee could no longer fulfill the requirements I have for kitchen appliances, so he enabled me with this.

And you almost ALWAYS find something like this in my fridge.

Every once in a while, usually on a blustery winter evening when I happen to have time to read a good book, I might stray off the beaten path and shake things up a bit with some of this.

But lest you think I've drifted so far over the edge of sanity there's no hope for my return, be assured that I find useful ways to recycle various coffee-related articles. For instance, the larger containers of the plain-jane coffee make excellent storage devices for baby bottles.

Aware of the need to become more "green", another efficient use that I've discovered for run-of-the-mill coffee buckets is composting. Keep one of these suckers sitting by your kitchen sink, and toss in your leftover scraps from making juice, scrambled eggs and ....are you ready for this??....COFFEE!! Voila! Instant mush for your garden!

Now on the off chance that you think I'm not treating my body in a healthy manner, let me just say that I drink all this in an effort to retain my brain power. Granted, it would help if I could actually FIND my brain to begin with, but if I am ever successful at that endeavor, at least I'll be geared up for making sure I don't wind up suffering with dementia when I'm 80. And I've got proof!!!

So! Back off, all you naysayers! I'll be just fine.

Now...
where did I set my cup down?

Blizzards Aren't Just at Dairy Queen

2009-01-14T16:07:00.000-05:00

What I'm dreaming about...longing for...wishing Tom and I were living...

What I'm actually living...

---

Ah, but I'm learning... working on my attitude, remember?

It's beautiful. But I sure would like to work on my attitude while lying on a beach looking at pictures of snow.

Tammy

2009-01-14T15:32:00.001-05:00

It's been a very long two weeks. Thank you to everyone who prayed, called and sent care packages.

After experiencing 2 massive strokes, followed by more surgery, Tammy passed away last Friday evening.

Due to the hazardous weather conditions in our area over the past week, her funeral was slightly delayed. We will have her funeral and burial this coming Friday.

While we are sad that Tammy is no longer with us, we know she's in Heaven today - and I'm bettin' it's a whole lot warmer up there!

I hope to return to my regularly scheduled ~~personality disorder~~ programming soon.

Pray for Tammy

2009-01-03T18:42:00.000-05:00

Tom's sister Tammy is in Cleveland Clinic Foundation Cardiac Intensive Care. (A very brief history: She's had heart problems since childhood, and had undergone open heart surgery as a teenager, and again about 4-5 years ago. She has recently been having additional health problems, and the doctors were planning to operate again later this month.) Yesterday she had to be taken to CCF for emergency surgery where they found infection around her heart. She is currently on full life support. She had to have further surgery today to remove blood clots, which will continue to be an issue as long as she remains on the heart machine. The doctors are saying they want to keep her on the support for 10 days at least, when they will decide if they should give her an artificial heart. They are saying she will need a heart transplant in the future, but have not yet placed her name on the waiting list. She is at times responding to requests to open her eyes.

We appreciate your prayers for Tammy and her husband Chris, and for her doctors.

Do I Have To?

2009-01-03T11:21:00.000-05:00

This time last year, I waxed philosophical (Sorry, Phil - I know that was painful!) and blabbed about a few things I wanted to accomplish in 2008.

How did I fare? Well...

1. Plant a garden with more than tomatoes and zucchini. Not intentional, but sometimes you have to take what you get! - ROFL!! I found out later this was probably a pumpkin...???? Maybe??

2. Start and FINISH making our bedroom look like a bedroom, and not a catch-all. Somewhere I have pictures, but I can't find them. It's still a bit of a catch-all, but at least the walls look nice! We did get a remodeled bathroom, though! It has so much more room for Gabe to move around! And my washer and dryer are upstairs now! Wow!!

3. Help raise significant funds for Gabe's school to build a new
facility. Must have team cooperation - I don't know who the team is. Maybe next year?

4. Have a ton of fun celebrating Preston's 16th birthday. Yes, we did!!

5. Find a new(er) van that has 2 doors on the driver's side!! (long teenage legs...) Nothing yet...gotta be soon, though! We can no longer go anywhere as a family without driving 2 vehicles...

6. Help Ron Paul win big. We did our best! Funny how he was ignored in the media until the Bailouts became Top News...then he was all over television. He's doing lots of good things, though! Pay attention to what he says - he's a very smart man.

7. Help Savannah improve her sewing skills. She's working on it.

8. Spend a long weekend away with Tom. (Florida???) It wasn't Florida, but Tom did plan a surprise weekend away for us in May, right down to the sitters! We fought off the vicious raccoons while camping at Pokagon. No kids, no cooking...My husband is wonderful!

9. Locate some indoor skateparks for Bucky. Still looking...any ideas?

10. Adopt a child. (We're approved, licensed, and ready, ya know!) April 9th - got Mister D; July 16th - got his sister Baby T; November 17th - biological mother voluntarily surrendered parental rights; December - biological father extradited back to Ohio for court hearings; WE WAIT...

11. Finish paying off Bucky's braces, the bike, and various small bills. Progess made.

12. While we're at it, paying off the house would be a HUGE answer to prayer. I dream big! Still dreamin'...

13. Follow God in dealing with a particular family situation and find peace. Hard to know how to handle - so many people affected in so many ways...

14. Be a Godly influence to my children's friends. I'm sure hoping it's a godly influence! Recently one of Bucky's friends told him that he thinks Tom and I smoke pot because "No one can be that happy ALL the time!" ROFL!!!!

15. Send Christmas cards! Does buying them last year, losing them, and finding them again count for ANYthing?

16. Have family pictures taken! As evidenced by the photos on this blog, we have not experienced any professional photo shoots this year!

So what's on the agenda for 2009?

I'm thinking about it.

At the top of my list is improving my attitude. I have such a hard time reading the book of James, because I really hate being slapped in the face. If I didn't have so many people getting in my way and annoying me, I wouldn't need to bite my tongue now, would I???!?? Hard as I've tried to convince myself, being separate doesn't mean I can go on extended vacation. Drat! Guess that rules out living in solitude in the Fiji Islands.

I have no more room on my list - this is gonna take a lot of work!

Snowman Party of Five, Please

2009-01-01T16:53:00.001-05:00

Savannah has lots of friends, but the ones she's the closest to are Ivy and Emily, twin sisters that she met when she attended St. Patrick School, and The Other Savannah, whom she met when she attended the local now-defunct (for her age group) homeschool co-op. Last year she wanted to start a tradition of having a Fancy Christmas Party for her friends, and the inaugrual theme was Pink, Black and Girly.
This year, the tradition continued with Blue, Silver and Glitzy Snowmen. She also invited her cousin Cami, who no longer lives in the area but was visiting for the holidays.

We collect related items through out the weeks prior to the party, and inevitably we forget what we have stored away, so sometimes we double up on decorations. Savannah loves to decorate, so this is a really fun experience for her. Our family Christmas tree color this year was strictly gold, so we had to completely redecorate the tree for the party. It turned out beautiful.

She always puts several small items in gift bags for each girl, and each girl also brings a small, inexpensive gift for the others. Dollar Tree plays an important role in the planning!

Daddy found the Snowmen Photo Holders at Kohl's, and they worked perfectly as Name Holders.

This year, she threw Nana a loop a week before the party by asking her to sew 5 matching tops for the attendees to wear. Nana pulled it off, but not without a lot of muttering and threatening and general all-around misery due to Savannah's choice of fabric.

Thanks, Nana!

Mom's role on party night is to keep the soda glasses filled and the pizza rolls warm. Last year, we served yummy chicken and rice. Since our theme was Snowmen this year, we thought we'd go with Hot Chocolate, Chicken Soup and Pizza Rolls - things you'd eat after coming in from a hard day of snowball fights, snowforts and snowangels. Besides, Mama just plain didn't feel up to cooking again!

And apparently to clean up the silly string, which cousin Cami and her lovely mother Meredith brought along. It took a while to air out the fumes, but the girls had a ton of fun.

Until Savannah developed a fever of 102! She convelecsed on the couch trying to stay awake to watch Prince Caspian, but she missed a large portion of it.

She's already pondering next year's theme!

Under the Tree This Year...

2009-01-01T14:22:00.000-05:00

Christmas this year was a day late at our house, because Daddy had to work on Thursday. So... while everybody else in the county was out trying to find deals on wrapping paper for next year's gifts, exchanging ugly sweaters for things less-Dr.Huxtable, and attempting to keep their cars out of the ditches?? Well, this family, oblivious to the icy weather conditions, was more than happy to stay at home.

I always like to take a picture of the tree looking neat and orderly...

as it never takes long for this...

to devolve into this! Gabe has just as much fun ripping up paper and boxes as he does trying out his new toys.

No matter how old he gets, if it has wings or rotors, he'll find it amusing.

No matter how old he gets, if it shoots, he'll find it amusing.

Bucky and Savannah's wish list was easy to accomodate in the clothing department. Hint: NEVER pay full price for Aeropostle clothing, just like you shouldn't EVER pay full price for things at Hobby Lobby. Aero had sales the week before Christmas - everything in the store was 50-70% off. Now, in my opinion, the sale prices are about what the clothing is worth, for the most part. Anyone who would pay $24.50 for a cami tank top is just nuts! But $6.00 - that, I'll do. Apparently, that's the opinion of most parents, because when Tom and I braved the mall crowd on the Saturday before Christmas (I shudder just recalling it!), you couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting people with arms full of hoodies and jeans in the Aeropostle store. I knew what I wanted when we got there, so I grabbed a few things and had Tom get in the checkout line - I continued shopping, comparing prices, etc. By the time I was ready to go, Tom was at the cash register. Team Shopping - now that's a good deal.

Bucky gets ticked at me when I talk about how much I paid for something. But hey, when ya find a bargain, you want everybody to know. At least I do! This was, by far, the absolute BEST deal I got this season. Originally $49.50, I picked up this adorable Aero sweater, while shopping with our friend Jordan, for $1.99!!! Again, anyone who would pay that much is certifiable! Watch the clearance racks, people!!!

My sister is a Monk addict. (If you've never seen Monk on the USA network, watch him. He's hilarious!!!) She got Savannah hooked on Monk a couple years ago, and so we got her a season of the shows this year. She liked it even more than she did her...

...cash register, which she'd been asking for. It had fake money, though - SIGH!

I think the rest of Preston's body is in the next gift.

We found a Tic-Tac-Toe Thomas the Tank Engine game for Little Mister D. He carries the tin around all over the house.

Gifts from the Corny Department included Season One of Alf...

Followed closely by Season One of Chuck Norris in Walker, Texas Ranger...

and Chuck Norris in three different movies...Somewhere in the mess was a Chuck Norris poster...having a bunch of boys in your house just doesn't leave room for a ton of femininity, but boy can we all offer a great imitation of the Roundhouse Kick!

And if that doesn't do the trick, the foam sword will do just fine, thank you!

My husband did great shopping this year! New stainless steel pots and pans, and I was SO excited to find out that the steamer pan from my old Pampered Chef pans will fit in my new pans!!

My very favorite...My Cuisinart Coffee Grinder Brewer!!!! It's working well, and will play a huge part on this blog for a long time!!

Baby T was content to chew the wrapping paper. We tried to offer her several kinds, for a balanced diet.

Mister D was so happy with his kitchen set that I couldn't get him to look at anything else!! Good thing we saved it for last!

After spending the afternoon cooking the traditional Ham/REAL! mashed potatoes/corn casserole/sweet potato casserole/WAY too many pies and buckeyes for dessert meal, we passed out watching movies.

Every year, we say "Let's go on vacation next year instead of buying all these presents." So far we haven't done that - maybe next year...Unless of course, our Christmas present next year is Adoption. That's what I REALLY REALLY want...

Merry Christmas!

2008-12-24T23:13:00.000-05:00

It's Elemental, My Dear

2008-12-22T09:23:00.000-05:00

The following scientific report, along with mountains of other important discoveries, can be found at Natural News.

------

Lawrence Livermore Laboratories has discovered the heaviest element yet known to science.

The new element, Governmentium (Gv), has one neutron, 25 assistant neutrons, 88 deputy neutrons, and 198 assistant deputy neutrons, giving it an atomic mass of 312.

These 312 particles are held together by forces called morons, which are surrounded by vast quantities of lepton-like particles called peons.

Since Governmentium has no electrons, it is inert; however, it can be detected, because it impedes every reaction with which it comes into contact. A tiny amount of Governmentium can cause a reaction that would normally take less than a second, to take from 4 days to 4 years to complete.

Governmentium has a normal half-life of 2- 6 years. It does not decay, but instead undergoes a reorganization in which a portion of the assistant neutrons and deputy neutrons exchange places.

In fact, Governmentium's mass will actually increase over time, since each reorganization will cause more morons to become neutrons, forming isodopes.

This characteristic of morons promotion leads some scientists to believe that Governmentium is formed whenever morons reach a critical concentration. This hypothetical quantity is referred to as critical morass.

When catalysed with money, Governmentium becomes Administratium, an element that radiates just as much energy as Governmentium since it has half as many peons but twice as many morons.

LC

2008-12-12T21:52:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time, a lady and man decided they needed one more child to complete their family. They kissed, and 9 months later, in the spring of 1969, a bouncing baby boy was born. They named him Tom. Being typical parents, they had dreams for their child. They envisioned him reaching adulthood and settling into a comfortable life with a beautiful wife who would cook gourmet meals for him. They anticipated the day when this lovely couple would produce grandchildren and carry on the proud family name.

Their wishes were met. Kinda. The son did indeed marry, and he assures his wife often that she is beautiful. The baby puke on the faded sweatshirt doesn't detract from her smiling face. He is grateful for the lukewarm hotdogs and mushy french fries she points out to him when he drags himself home from his 14 hour work day. The children this couple created prove that the lineage hasn't disintegrated.

What the parents didn't have knowledge of is how thoroughly entertaining their daughter-in-law would find their son. Or how specifically he would learn to pray to God for needs in his life. Or how their son would grow up to be a man who truly, absolutely, without a doubt, honest-to-goodness, 100% could not care less what people think of him. Or how those three things would intertwine to present themselves available for this post.

------

About 4 years ago, gas prices began to increase. Tom's day job is only 6 miles away from home, but the extra jobs are a much greater distance. He was looking for a vehicle that would get better gas mileage. His prayer was for "a car that gets at least 40 miles to a gallon, and isn't more than $300".

Meet LC. Short for Little Car, she's a Tri-tone Ford Festiva. She gets about 44 miles to a gallon, and she was purchased with $300.

She came to us with exhaust needs, chipped paint and rust spots, misapplied primer, numerous scratches and dents, a glittered Jesus window decal, and a KILLER stereo system.

He threw in the pose for free.

A consultation with the local repair shop informed him that the proper requirements for the exhaust system would run roughly $300. Tom invested in some metal ductwork straps, a tomato soup can, a $30 part from Auto Zone, a few coat hangers, and an afternoon lying in the muddy front yard with his new purchase propped up on blocks.

For the record, yes I do think this is a sexy man.

He talked about painting the car. We warned him that he might come home from work one day and find himself a victim of a homemade version of Pimp My Ride, except I can't stand that phrase, so we'd have to call it something else.

But wait, you say. It's impossible to take a 4 passenger Festiva and convert it into a 52 passenger school bus. You would be correct in that assumption, as far as I know. This school bus created some problems for the good citizens of our town - and specifically our home - one sunny summer day in 2006.

Tom walked outside to collect Gabe from the school bus following his summer day program, and when he didn't return after several minutes I went to look for him. Imagine my surprise when I opened the front door and was greeted with Tom's legs - hanging out the passenger side door, car rolling backwards down the street. Attached to the driver's side...the school bus.

Apparently, after letting Gabe out of the bus, the driver was attempting to back up in the street as there was a vehicle too close to the front of the bus. He unknowingly locked on to the front left side of Tom's car. Upon realizing what was happening, Tom tried to reach in his car and put it in neutral, but the bus driver didn't wait for him, so the car, and Tom, were being dragged backward. Since the door was open when the car started moving, and Tom's weight was on the curb side, the door caught in the grass, and bent the door back. This was the point where I exited the house. This was the point where I panicked. This was the point where Tom managed to get out of the car in one piece and commence to speaking a wee bit forcefully to the driver. Which was the point I disappeared into the house to see if the kids were located within, or out of, earshot. Which was the point I began stiffling my laughter.

A few more dings and dents, but the door was still in working order.

What's a little bumper damage when you already have the license plate wired on with a coat hanger? And the window duct taped to keep out the snow? And the headlight shrouded in clear plastic to keep the rain from pelting the bulb so hard it needs to be replaced after every storm?

For 3 winters, the heater hasn't worked well enough to even defrost the windshield, let alone keep Tom warm. He finally decided to shell out the $91 dollars and get the blower fixed so now he won't freeze to death driving in the winter.

There was a new bus driver the next day. We think it might have something to do with the fact that we pointed out to his superiors that the offending driver was wearing big, black sunglasses - the kind that the eye doctor gives you after your eyes have been dilated. The kind that Stevie Wonder wears. The kind that might have drawn the attention of the police that day.

For two hours, the bus sat in front of our house while the police gathered the information they needed. A second school bus had to be summoned to finish delivering the remaining students. Our street was front and center in our quaint little town.

As for the car...well, she's still puttering around just fine. She's racked up a quarter million miles. She leaks oil. She has a fresh set of 12 inch tires waiting for her in the basement if she needs them. She even faithfully sports Ron Paul messages. She is a trooper.

And my husband...give him duct tape, xray film separators, wire and tin snips and he's a happy man. Throw in his Jimmy Buffett CDs to crank on the amazing stereo, and he's ecstatic. And he's aaaaaalllllllllllll mine.

It's Only a Little Toxic

2008-12-11T14:06:00.000-05:00

All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front...

2008-12-10T21:15:00.000-05:00

The apple crisp I made tonight is so sweet it hurts my teeth.

My baby's dimples are super cute. I think she's cutting teeth.

It was slightly icy today at Gabe's school. Preston slipped getting out of the van. (It hurt his arm, but not his teeth.)

A family of 8 monopolizes a good half hour of the chiropractor's time. (He didn't work on anyone's teeth.)

The roof salesman at my door today didn't want to take "no" for an answer. (I couldn't get over the hacking cough he had long enough to check his teeth.)

I paid for a half gallon of milk today with one dollar in change. It confused the grouchy salesclerk. I handed her, separately while stating how much of each coin I had, 20 pennies, 5 dimes and 6 nickels. She didn't believe I had 20 pennies. Then she missed a dime when counting. Then she dropped a dime and a nickel. I was in the express lane. I just stood there and smiled. (While wanting to grit my teeth.)

Now I'm going to bed. (After I brush my teeth)

Dear Santa:

2008-12-08T00:19:00.000-05:00

I would like some exotic spices for Christmas. The kind that you say "Humph! Never heard of that one!" And you use it in one recipe and forget you have it, but if you leave it out, the food just doesn't taste the same. Maybe cumin. Or coriander. Or ones for Mexican or Italian dishes.

And some wonderful freshly ground coffee. Danish Pastry is good.

Thank you.

You'll Like the Taste of Chicken

2008-12-05T18:26:00.000-05:00

Savannah and I absolutely LOVE to go to Seasons Coffee Bistro for Saturday morning coffee and cheesecake. If we're there at lunch time, we like the White Chicken Chili. I decided to try my hand at making some at home. If I say so myself, it was quite exquisite. One of the better soups I've made. One thing I don't understand though - why does the back of the bag of beans say to sort and rinse? I have no clue what I'm looking for when I'm sorting, but because I felt like being a sheep today, I did as I was told - I was really hoping for a gold coin, or something. Nothing! Just white beans. I suppose that's a good thing. Most likely why I needed to sort them. On to dinner...

Ingredients:
1/2 pound Northern beans
2 large onions
1 stick butter
1/3 c. flour
1 c. chicken broth
2 12 oz. cans evaporated milk
1 T. Tabasco sauce
1 T. chili powder
1 t. cumin
1 t. salt
1 t. pepper
1 t. garlic powder
Fresh or canned green chili peppers to taste
2 pounds chicken breast (more or less depending on preference)
1.5 c. shredded Monterrey Jack Cheese
8 oz. sour cream
---------
Prepare your beans ahead, or used canned.
I used boneless, skinless chicken breast, bought in bulk.
I cooked probably 10 pounds in the crock pot for several hours in about 3 cups of water, and shredded it.
This will make enough chicken and stock for at least 3 family size soup meals.
Freeze what you don't need for this chili.
I will make chicken and dumplings, and chicken tortilla soup, with what's left.
----

In a skillet (cast iron preferably):
Saute onions in butter
Stir in flour, cook 3 minutes
Stir in broth and milk, bring to boil
then simmer till thickened
Stir in spices
Add beans and peppers
Transfer to crock pot
Add cooked, shredded chicken, cheese, and sour cream
Let simmer for 20 minutes.
Garnish with cilantro, tomatoes, tortilla chips, etc if desired.

In Today's Inbox

2008-12-04T09:57:00.000-05:00

Please allow me to introduce myself.

My name is Snopes dot com. Don't confuse me with Snape, a character from Harry Potter. (I have information about Harry, if you're interested.)

My occupation is to dispel rumors, myths, urban legends and similar problems. Some of the issues I have quite capably resolved in the past include:

Miracles Coke may or may not perform

Quotes people may or may not have actually uttered

Science experiments gone wrong...or right

Interesting scenarios for getting ripped off

Lately, though, I've been kept quite busy with a particular subject near and dear to my heart. This topic comes up regularly. It has to do with petitions of every size and shape. During political and holiday seasons, I am more frequently called upon for my wisdom. While I empathize with the feelings of people everywhere who are affected by unmentionable atrocities, please be aware of the ineffectiveness of online petitions. Your efforts at ridding the world of cruelty and injustice will be much more successful if you chose a more proven vehicle to accomplish your goals. Try elbow grease, time and money donations, education, and prayer. Not necessarily in that order.

Please feel free to visit me whenever a question arises. Most people who keep me at the top of their favorites list find that I can answer questions about myriad topics. My close cousin, the forward button, also suggests you utilize me more and cut back on using her. She's exhausted. (And a little disgusted, but she never complains.)

Thank you.

Sincerely,
Mr. Snopes

All Joking Aside...

2008-12-01T21:15:00.000-05:00

It's hard to take you seriously, Mr. Bush. But way to go with attempting to convince us you care, promising even more government money to fix a government-created problem and all. Spot on, sir.

Tom - "Nothing good comes when the government intervenes. I'm not voting for anyone ever again, unless he stands up and says 'I ain't doin' nuttin. Nada. Zilch'..."

It's hard to take you seriously, Mr. Bloomberg. But way to go with blaming people who obviously handle footballs better than guns with the deaths of children in the streets. Nice job, sir.

Seriously, Plaxico...perhaps just a wee bit more time at the gun range? Or a little less to drink when fidgeting with deadly objects. But I love the seemingly calm reaction reported by a witness..."Take me to the hospital"...Classy, sir.

I seriously doubt that having crowd control training would have stopped this morbid display of human depravity from occurring. People! Read Luke Chapter 2 - that's what it's all about, folks! Jesus didn't grow up playing Xbox 360 Guitar Hero Legends of Rock on a 42" Hi-Def TV Set bought at Walmart at 6:17 AM on Black Friday. Your kids will survive!

And now on to other topics...