A little funny from the animal saga. If you follow, you will recall that Hank the Tank II a/k/a the Precious had his manhood removed last Tuesday. Jay picked him up on Wednesday. At pick-up, Hank pulled, drug and yanked the vet technician all the way down the hallway. And then he saw Jay...and tackled him. Jay paid, was given instructions to restrict his activity and watch for any redness or swelling. They get outside, Jay opens the door and Hank leaps up and in without hesitation.
When I came through the doors after work that afternoon, Hank attacked, I mean greeted me just like any other day. And the only thing I ever noticed him doing in that region of his body was to lick...which he did anyway, oh, I know, it's nasty...but you know how dogs are. So honestly I forgot all about him even having some sort of surgical procedure.
This past weekend, Lane had his twin friends over and they played and ran and chased each other all over the house and outside in the yard. Hank was jumping up and trying to bite them on the trampoline. He was running all over the place. Never once did he seem to hesitate because of pain or discomfort in the groin area.
Last night (Monday, almost a full week since his snipping) when I got home, I noticed messages on the answering machine. One of them was from the vet clinic. This was the message in a nutshell: "Hi, this is the vet clinic calling to check on Hank and to see how he's doing after his procedure. Call and let us know how he is getting along. Just go ahead and keep his activity restricted until about Friday and then he should be fine."
Oops, she means this Friday, not last Friday...not that either Friday makes a difference. It is Monday, almost a full week since his procedure, there are still four more days until Friday, yikes, and I'm pondering all of this as Hank is attacking Lane and Madolyn in their bedrooms and I can hear the ruckus from my room. I had to laugh. Now that is funny I tell you...of course, then I think about our history, and all the dogs, and all the vet trips, and how I'm sure they feel obligated to check up on the Precious to make sure he's still alive...
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Religion and Jesus
About a month ago, I had seen posts for this video all over Facebook, but I didn't go ahead and watch the video. The other night at youth, my friend "Beth" told me that they had watched this neat video at their girls bible study group and it was so good...so I went in search of it. I must say I liked it and thought I would share the link with you too.
Often Christians get a bad name from people confusing religion with Christianity. It can be hard to separate one from the other at times. There are lots of religious people out there who are very lost and certainly not Christians.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1IAhDGYlpqY
Often Christians get a bad name from people confusing religion with Christianity. It can be hard to separate one from the other at times. There are lots of religious people out there who are very lost and certainly not Christians.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1IAhDGYlpqY
Monday, February 27, 2012
It is happening...
I am slowly becoming a combination of the Quackdaddy, the Quackmama and my grandma. I can feel it happening. I catch myself saying something and think, oh my goodness, that is sooo what my dad would say, or do something at home and realize it is exactly how my grandma would've done it. I start giving my kids some sort of lecture and stop mid-stream, holy smokes, that sounds like my mom! Aahhh. I swore I would never say that!
I am hoping to trade vehicles sometime this year if it works out. I had been looking at one vehicle similar to the one I have, but now I am thinking that I may just want to get a truck. Yes, we'll have two trucks, but the kids and I are hoping to score a camper this year and with the horse trailer, two trucks may come in very handy. I told Jay that I like sitting up high and having the space to put things in the back if I need to (such as a large dog)...oh my goodness, I am so my grandma. She drove a truck the last 15 years of her life practically. It was hilarious to see her barreling down the road in that truck. She just gave up her driver's license a year or so ago and had driven regularly at age 92...in a truck, sitting up high so she could see.
Last month I went with Jay to one of his ankle follow-up appointments to make sure I was getting correct information about his progress. The doctor had made a few comments about how he did this surgery so Jay would not have to wear a brace forever and so that he could run again, etc. He liked to do a good job and fix things right. And then as he was leaving he told us that, in fact, a professional baseball player was being flown in the very next day for the exact same surgery. I blurted out, "Hey, doc, tell him to call us if he needs any pointers." And immediately looked at Jay and said, "Oh my gosh, that was so my dad, wasn't it?" Yep. YIKES.
I've been running to all these ball games the past couple months and hear my dad or mom yell, and think, gosh, these people are nuts. Then I start yelling, and I realize that I am one of these people. I can't keep my mouth shut any more than they can. I've always heard my dad say, "It's not over yet, people." And just last week when we were down by 15, I was saying the very same thing!
Last week we had a chili cook-off at our church and I baked some cupcakes for it. I went to the closet to get Madolyn's super cool cupcake carrier, I opened it up and lo and behold there was a paper towel. Hhhm, what is this? Oh, yes, I put the paper towel in there to absorb any moisture leftover from the wash/dry process so it doesn't get all stinky...just like my grandma.
Last year during the Mville fair, I can't remember what mission I was on, but I was expected somewhere with something or some kind of answer to a question (ah, memories). I start walking down the midway and get stopped at every step of the way, someone needs this or that, do I know what time the event starts, someone stops me just to chat, etc. An hour later, I am back with whatever I went in search for and the people were laughing because it had taken me so long. I told them I can't go anywhere without being engaged in conversation. "Yes, we know, you're just like your dad." Oh dear, they were right. I did sound just like the Quackdaddy.
I suppose I can't fight it. They are the people that have molded me into who I am and they've turned out okay, for the most part. But when I start rinsing out Ziplock baggies and drying them to reuse, commit me.
I am hoping to trade vehicles sometime this year if it works out. I had been looking at one vehicle similar to the one I have, but now I am thinking that I may just want to get a truck. Yes, we'll have two trucks, but the kids and I are hoping to score a camper this year and with the horse trailer, two trucks may come in very handy. I told Jay that I like sitting up high and having the space to put things in the back if I need to (such as a large dog)...oh my goodness, I am so my grandma. She drove a truck the last 15 years of her life practically. It was hilarious to see her barreling down the road in that truck. She just gave up her driver's license a year or so ago and had driven regularly at age 92...in a truck, sitting up high so she could see.
Last month I went with Jay to one of his ankle follow-up appointments to make sure I was getting correct information about his progress. The doctor had made a few comments about how he did this surgery so Jay would not have to wear a brace forever and so that he could run again, etc. He liked to do a good job and fix things right. And then as he was leaving he told us that, in fact, a professional baseball player was being flown in the very next day for the exact same surgery. I blurted out, "Hey, doc, tell him to call us if he needs any pointers." And immediately looked at Jay and said, "Oh my gosh, that was so my dad, wasn't it?" Yep. YIKES.
I've been running to all these ball games the past couple months and hear my dad or mom yell, and think, gosh, these people are nuts. Then I start yelling, and I realize that I am one of these people. I can't keep my mouth shut any more than they can. I've always heard my dad say, "It's not over yet, people." And just last week when we were down by 15, I was saying the very same thing!
Last week we had a chili cook-off at our church and I baked some cupcakes for it. I went to the closet to get Madolyn's super cool cupcake carrier, I opened it up and lo and behold there was a paper towel. Hhhm, what is this? Oh, yes, I put the paper towel in there to absorb any moisture leftover from the wash/dry process so it doesn't get all stinky...just like my grandma.
Last year during the Mville fair, I can't remember what mission I was on, but I was expected somewhere with something or some kind of answer to a question (ah, memories). I start walking down the midway and get stopped at every step of the way, someone needs this or that, do I know what time the event starts, someone stops me just to chat, etc. An hour later, I am back with whatever I went in search for and the people were laughing because it had taken me so long. I told them I can't go anywhere without being engaged in conversation. "Yes, we know, you're just like your dad." Oh dear, they were right. I did sound just like the Quackdaddy.
I suppose I can't fight it. They are the people that have molded me into who I am and they've turned out okay, for the most part. But when I start rinsing out Ziplock baggies and drying them to reuse, commit me.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
The animal saga...
So I guess I better give an update on Frankie, the hamster. I posted a comment to my "Jinx" post to explain, but just in case you didn't know...We found the hamster. I should say, the kids found the hamster. When Lane got home from school the day after Frankie escaped, he went to the basement to play the Wii, of course, and he (or Madolyn) heard a noise and located Frankie underneath the last two steps of the basement stairs.
Lane fetched his father, who was excited to rescue Frankie (I'm only guessing:), and Jay came downstairs. He had to crawl under the stairs and pull out part of a wall. I am told that when Jay reached his arm into the dark small space, Frankie barked or growled at him...but was quickly calmed down when Jay handed him over to the kids.
Lane called me immediately and was soooo excited. He just loves that little creature. He put her back in her cage, she gulped down a bunch of water and crashed. Later when I got home, I got her out to hold her and she just sat in my hands motionless (which never happens). I think she was still in shock or relieved or something...See, there are things worse than living at the Wilhoit Ranch. She was happy to have been rediscovered.
This morning (Friday), Lane got Frankie out and played with her as soon as he got up. As we were getting ready to leave for school/work, I noticed that the cage lid was not on the hamster cage. I said, "Hey, where is Frankie?" Lane tells me that he put her in the cage. I said, "The lid is not on." Again, we go with the whole I-know-I-put-the-lid-on mantra. He tries to tell me that she must have taken it off, which is hilarious, because it is lying neatly beside the cage. He starts to panic (this boy needs to learn to deal with his emotions) and I go in search. A fuzzy ball catches my eye darting along the bottom of the washing machine and I reach down and capture Frankie. She will not miss an opportunity to escape if given the chance! Will we ever learn?
Hank the Tank II apparently has no recollection of his boy parts being removed and/or no pain involved with the same because he has been the same ole rowdy fella since he got home from his procedure. (And he took no part in locating Frankie either time.) Last night Jay cleaned out the fridge and tossed out some leftover chili and a half-eaten roll of deer sausage. The Precious ate it all, so last night while we were trying to sleep, there were lots of soft sounds and unpleasant aromas sifting through the air in our bedroom. What is wrong with me and why do I let these animals dominate my life?
The Quackdaddy ran over his yellow Lab, Ziporah, last week although it was at the hands of our black Lab, Abby, who has taken to barrel-rolling other dogs in an attempt to dominate and control all situations. Dad was turning in his driveway and Abby was trying to bully Zippy (who was, btw, in her own yard) and Abby flattened out Zip just as dad turned. He got her lower leg. Jay helped load her up and dad took her to see our very good friend, the vet. She was treated and released and seems fine, although she does walk with a slight limp. Maybe she now will have some sympathy for the Quackdaddy.
Later on that evening, I saw our friendly vet and his wife, and the first thing out of his mouth was, "What are you people doing down there?" Yes, I know. It's as if we will not stop until all of our dogs have been maimed, injured...or worse.
Lane fetched his father, who was excited to rescue Frankie (I'm only guessing:), and Jay came downstairs. He had to crawl under the stairs and pull out part of a wall. I am told that when Jay reached his arm into the dark small space, Frankie barked or growled at him...but was quickly calmed down when Jay handed him over to the kids.
Lane called me immediately and was soooo excited. He just loves that little creature. He put her back in her cage, she gulped down a bunch of water and crashed. Later when I got home, I got her out to hold her and she just sat in my hands motionless (which never happens). I think she was still in shock or relieved or something...See, there are things worse than living at the Wilhoit Ranch. She was happy to have been rediscovered.
This morning (Friday), Lane got Frankie out and played with her as soon as he got up. As we were getting ready to leave for school/work, I noticed that the cage lid was not on the hamster cage. I said, "Hey, where is Frankie?" Lane tells me that he put her in the cage. I said, "The lid is not on." Again, we go with the whole I-know-I-put-the-lid-on mantra. He tries to tell me that she must have taken it off, which is hilarious, because it is lying neatly beside the cage. He starts to panic (this boy needs to learn to deal with his emotions) and I go in search. A fuzzy ball catches my eye darting along the bottom of the washing machine and I reach down and capture Frankie. She will not miss an opportunity to escape if given the chance! Will we ever learn?
Hank the Tank II apparently has no recollection of his boy parts being removed and/or no pain involved with the same because he has been the same ole rowdy fella since he got home from his procedure. (And he took no part in locating Frankie either time.) Last night Jay cleaned out the fridge and tossed out some leftover chili and a half-eaten roll of deer sausage. The Precious ate it all, so last night while we were trying to sleep, there were lots of soft sounds and unpleasant aromas sifting through the air in our bedroom. What is wrong with me and why do I let these animals dominate my life?
The Quackdaddy ran over his yellow Lab, Ziporah, last week although it was at the hands of our black Lab, Abby, who has taken to barrel-rolling other dogs in an attempt to dominate and control all situations. Dad was turning in his driveway and Abby was trying to bully Zippy (who was, btw, in her own yard) and Abby flattened out Zip just as dad turned. He got her lower leg. Jay helped load her up and dad took her to see our very good friend, the vet. She was treated and released and seems fine, although she does walk with a slight limp. Maybe she now will have some sympathy for the Quackdaddy.
Later on that evening, I saw our friendly vet and his wife, and the first thing out of his mouth was, "What are you people doing down there?" Yes, I know. It's as if we will not stop until all of our dogs have been maimed, injured...or worse.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Plain and ordinary
For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)
Sometimes when I hear someone's really good story of redemption or how they came to know Christ, I think, man, how come I don't have a great story...mine is so plain and ordinary. I know that should be a good thing, that I should be thankful that I haven't hit rock bottom from some sort of addiction or life-threatening situation, but sometimes I am a little envious of their story over mine.
I know a lot of times people question what their purpose is in life, what plan God has for them, I think we all have. Sometimes I wonder why He has spared me of some of the awful things that I have watched others go through (some over and over again) and I am brought back to the simple truth that God has a plan for me. As some would say, maybe he just isn't finished with me yet.
Last year at church camp, our speaker for the older Junior High kids was a preacher from one of the churches in our denomination, not too far from where I attend. I really love to hear him speak. First of all, he is just a very likeable guy. He almost always has a smile on his face, he has a good sense of humor and usually has kind words to share. But hearing him tell this story of a very lost young man struggling with drug and alcohol addictions, abuse, broken relationships, etc., and then hearing him say, "That was me" gets me every time. I have heard him tell his story twice, and I always think, wow, God has used this man and his story for such a greater purpose. Then I thank God for the struggles and things he went through because he is now using his past to help others. And then I wonder if I should be thankful for the terrible things he went through??
So that always gets me thinking about what I have to offer someone. You know what I mean. For example, if you were struggling with a drug or alcohol addiction, would you rather be counseled by someone like me who has never had that particular problem, or by someone who has been exactly where you are? By all means, don't give me the life-is-so-much-better-without-those-awful-things-and-how-can-you-do-that-to-your-body lady, give me the person that has lived it. I always wonder if the person that is asking me for advice about something, that I have no personal experience with, really walks away feeling any better from the words I have offered? Or are they thinking, okay, this chic has no clue what it's like to be me and she's just using all those fluffy words and phrases to make me feel better? I don't know.
Those situations always make me feel like such a failure. I know that I can pray about their predicament, I can even pray with them, I can offer them scripture passages that deal with their particular issue, but I still feel so helpless at times. Every now and then I will catch myself wondering if something big is going to happen in my life, good or bad, that God is going to use as my big story to help others. Then I think, STOP IT, I don't want anything bad to happen in my life, how could I even think that?! I don't want to be the one who is desperately fighting to find a cure for an incurable cancer that a loved one has, I don't want to be the one who is speaking out against this sort of abuse or that, I don't want to be the one speaking to a group of teenagers about the dangers of drugs and/or alcohol because it has greatly affected my life.
But they are out there. All over the place. Loved ones who go through these horrible situations and experiences. They survive it most of the time, at least on the outside. Some do use those situations for good, some do not. I will not judge how they respond with it because I simply have no clue.
Maybe this is my story. Maybe this blog is how I will help others. Maybe not. Maybe I will just be a plain and ordinary Christian and trust what God has planned for me. Maybe I should be thankful for that.
Sometimes when I hear someone's really good story of redemption or how they came to know Christ, I think, man, how come I don't have a great story...mine is so plain and ordinary. I know that should be a good thing, that I should be thankful that I haven't hit rock bottom from some sort of addiction or life-threatening situation, but sometimes I am a little envious of their story over mine.
I know a lot of times people question what their purpose is in life, what plan God has for them, I think we all have. Sometimes I wonder why He has spared me of some of the awful things that I have watched others go through (some over and over again) and I am brought back to the simple truth that God has a plan for me. As some would say, maybe he just isn't finished with me yet.
Last year at church camp, our speaker for the older Junior High kids was a preacher from one of the churches in our denomination, not too far from where I attend. I really love to hear him speak. First of all, he is just a very likeable guy. He almost always has a smile on his face, he has a good sense of humor and usually has kind words to share. But hearing him tell this story of a very lost young man struggling with drug and alcohol addictions, abuse, broken relationships, etc., and then hearing him say, "That was me" gets me every time. I have heard him tell his story twice, and I always think, wow, God has used this man and his story for such a greater purpose. Then I thank God for the struggles and things he went through because he is now using his past to help others. And then I wonder if I should be thankful for the terrible things he went through??
So that always gets me thinking about what I have to offer someone. You know what I mean. For example, if you were struggling with a drug or alcohol addiction, would you rather be counseled by someone like me who has never had that particular problem, or by someone who has been exactly where you are? By all means, don't give me the life-is-so-much-better-without-those-awful-things-and-how-can-you-do-that-to-your-body lady, give me the person that has lived it. I always wonder if the person that is asking me for advice about something, that I have no personal experience with, really walks away feeling any better from the words I have offered? Or are they thinking, okay, this chic has no clue what it's like to be me and she's just using all those fluffy words and phrases to make me feel better? I don't know.
Those situations always make me feel like such a failure. I know that I can pray about their predicament, I can even pray with them, I can offer them scripture passages that deal with their particular issue, but I still feel so helpless at times. Every now and then I will catch myself wondering if something big is going to happen in my life, good or bad, that God is going to use as my big story to help others. Then I think, STOP IT, I don't want anything bad to happen in my life, how could I even think that?! I don't want to be the one who is desperately fighting to find a cure for an incurable cancer that a loved one has, I don't want to be the one who is speaking out against this sort of abuse or that, I don't want to be the one speaking to a group of teenagers about the dangers of drugs and/or alcohol because it has greatly affected my life.
But they are out there. All over the place. Loved ones who go through these horrible situations and experiences. They survive it most of the time, at least on the outside. Some do use those situations for good, some do not. I will not judge how they respond with it because I simply have no clue.
Maybe this is my story. Maybe this blog is how I will help others. Maybe not. Maybe I will just be a plain and ordinary Christian and trust what God has planned for me. Maybe I should be thankful for that.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Jinx
Remember how a couple days ago I told you that I had put off telling you about Frankie, the hamster, because I was uncertain of her life span? Well...(now, shush it, you know we can't help it) the other night we left to go to the Regional basketball game around 6:30 p.m., and when we returned, I heard Lane shriek and start crying...then I saw the hamster cage lid lying next to the cage...and the opening to the cage was uncovered.
After the screaming stopped, my first question was, Are you sure Madolyn doesn't have her out already? (Although it would've been in lightening speed.) Lane was hysterical and unable to answer, but Madolyn popped out of her room and said she didn't have her, realized the situation and said she was just sure she had reattached the lid after she had her out playing before we left for the game (putting it on Jay's head as he was sleeping).
Now, you know whenever your child says that they are absolutely sure about something, and then follow it up with "well, at least I am pretty sure," that is just like saying, I have absolutely no idea if I did or not, but I know I should have. Ah-huh.
It was 10:30 when we got home and it was a school night so we told the kids that they would just have to hope and pray that either Frankie would make enough noise we could find her, or she would come out in search of food. What I didn't tell them, but secretly passed on to Jay, was that I had noticed a large tuft of hair on the kitchen floor when I was searching for Frankie. I picked it up and showed it to Jay who believed it was Frankie hair, not Meepie hair. I tracked down the Meep and checked his whiskers, paws and fur for any traces of blood or other hamster debris. I found none. I also noted that Meep kept pacing at the door to his food which made me think he had not just devoured Fat Frankie...and Meepie's normal custom after slaying an animal, would be to drag the carcass, or what remained, around in front of us waiting for some sort of recognition of this great accomplishment...he did not do so.
I kicked Meepie out for the night just to be safe, and Hank the Tank II was spending the night at his home-away-from-home (a/k/a the vet, because he lost his boy parts yesterday) so he would not be a threat to the hamster's life if she was scurrying around. I read my Nook for a bit before trying to go to sleep and then I just listened...hoping to hear the sounds of a small rodent scratching. I did tell Jay that that thing better not end up on my face in the middle of the night...and thankfully, she didn't. There was no sign of her come morning. I let the Meep back in and she didn't seem the least bit aware of the possibility of an unattended rodent on the loose.
Madolyn happened to have a fever in the night and I kept her home today. I left Frankie's food dish out on the floor in hopes she would come in search of food and told Madolyn to keep an eye out for her. Jay went to pick up Hank, and although one might think that a dog who just had his privates cut out might be calm and lethargic, Hank drug the vet tech down the hall, attacked Jay and ran to the truck like he had been in captivity for weeks. I told Jay maybe Hank would feel up to a little tracking later on this afternoon and help us locate the hamster...otherwise, I'm going to be heading to a pet store this weekend. Wouldn't you know I jinxed the poor girl.
After the screaming stopped, my first question was, Are you sure Madolyn doesn't have her out already? (Although it would've been in lightening speed.) Lane was hysterical and unable to answer, but Madolyn popped out of her room and said she didn't have her, realized the situation and said she was just sure she had reattached the lid after she had her out playing before we left for the game (putting it on Jay's head as he was sleeping).
Now, you know whenever your child says that they are absolutely sure about something, and then follow it up with "well, at least I am pretty sure," that is just like saying, I have absolutely no idea if I did or not, but I know I should have. Ah-huh.
It was 10:30 when we got home and it was a school night so we told the kids that they would just have to hope and pray that either Frankie would make enough noise we could find her, or she would come out in search of food. What I didn't tell them, but secretly passed on to Jay, was that I had noticed a large tuft of hair on the kitchen floor when I was searching for Frankie. I picked it up and showed it to Jay who believed it was Frankie hair, not Meepie hair. I tracked down the Meep and checked his whiskers, paws and fur for any traces of blood or other hamster debris. I found none. I also noted that Meep kept pacing at the door to his food which made me think he had not just devoured Fat Frankie...and Meepie's normal custom after slaying an animal, would be to drag the carcass, or what remained, around in front of us waiting for some sort of recognition of this great accomplishment...he did not do so.
I kicked Meepie out for the night just to be safe, and Hank the Tank II was spending the night at his home-away-from-home (a/k/a the vet, because he lost his boy parts yesterday) so he would not be a threat to the hamster's life if she was scurrying around. I read my Nook for a bit before trying to go to sleep and then I just listened...hoping to hear the sounds of a small rodent scratching. I did tell Jay that that thing better not end up on my face in the middle of the night...and thankfully, she didn't. There was no sign of her come morning. I let the Meep back in and she didn't seem the least bit aware of the possibility of an unattended rodent on the loose.
Madolyn happened to have a fever in the night and I kept her home today. I left Frankie's food dish out on the floor in hopes she would come in search of food and told Madolyn to keep an eye out for her. Jay went to pick up Hank, and although one might think that a dog who just had his privates cut out might be calm and lethargic, Hank drug the vet tech down the hall, attacked Jay and ran to the truck like he had been in captivity for weeks. I told Jay maybe Hank would feel up to a little tracking later on this afternoon and help us locate the hamster...otherwise, I'm going to be heading to a pet store this weekend. Wouldn't you know I jinxed the poor girl.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Frankie
I have been somewhat reluctant to post about our newest addition but here goes. A friend of mine posted on Facebook that her son was moving away and she was left with a hamster. I teased her by saying that Lane was just dying for one and if they got sick of it, to send it over. It wasn't an hour or two before I received a text asking if I was serious because she would gladly give it to us.
Lane has been asking for a hamster for a couple months now. Jay and I had some in high school as science projects. They stayed at his house and we didn't keep them too long. I had a guinea pig for a couple years in college and loved that little guy, Floyd. He was so sweet. In my favorite books, the ones I wrote about a few weeks ago, the main character has a hamster named Rex. I just told Jay a few weeks ago, as I was reading books 17 & 18, that I kind of wanted a hamster. Jay was not for this acquisition, but I vetoed and brought home Frankie, the hamster. Lane was tickled to death.
As I was leaving my friend's house, she added that she wasn't exactly sure how old Frankie was, but she knew that before her son had her, it was her nephew's and they had had her for a couple years. My mind was churning...hhm, wonder what a hamster's life span is?
So I did what anyone would do, I googled it. Ha, the average life span is two-three years, possibly as long as five years in perfect conditions. Yeah, right. When you factor in the risks of living at the Wilhoit Ranch, a life span of two-three years is easily decreased and we think Frankie is already two to three years old. I was also told that her hair color "used to be red" and now it is a faint tan or light gray. I see how this is going to go down.
From the get-go, I have told the kids the average life span of a hamster, how we are unsure exactly how old little Frankie is, but we know she has to be about two to three years old, and that if something happens to her, we will get a new one. I constantly remind them to be gentle with her because she is elderly.
For Valentine's Day, I bought Lane a hamster ball for Frankie to run around in (and oh, how she loves to run in it). Jay happened to mention to Lane that the exercise could be good for Frankie's health and she may live longer. Great. Lane has told me that now at least three times.
Oddly enough, Hank the Tank II and Meepie, the soul survivor, don't seem all that interested in little Frankie. Hank can't seem to get the ball in his mouth, and I'm guessing that Meepie finds her such easy prey, she doesn't see the need to bother with her. We have only lost Frankie once, after she escaped from a poorly latched ball, and we have remembered to feed and water her.
I was afraid the new environment a/k/a shock of our household would do her in quickly. Every morning, I check and make sure Frankie is breathing...so far so good, but we know it's just a matter of time.
Lane has been asking for a hamster for a couple months now. Jay and I had some in high school as science projects. They stayed at his house and we didn't keep them too long. I had a guinea pig for a couple years in college and loved that little guy, Floyd. He was so sweet. In my favorite books, the ones I wrote about a few weeks ago, the main character has a hamster named Rex. I just told Jay a few weeks ago, as I was reading books 17 & 18, that I kind of wanted a hamster. Jay was not for this acquisition, but I vetoed and brought home Frankie, the hamster. Lane was tickled to death.
As I was leaving my friend's house, she added that she wasn't exactly sure how old Frankie was, but she knew that before her son had her, it was her nephew's and they had had her for a couple years. My mind was churning...hhm, wonder what a hamster's life span is?
So I did what anyone would do, I googled it. Ha, the average life span is two-three years, possibly as long as five years in perfect conditions. Yeah, right. When you factor in the risks of living at the Wilhoit Ranch, a life span of two-three years is easily decreased and we think Frankie is already two to three years old. I was also told that her hair color "used to be red" and now it is a faint tan or light gray. I see how this is going to go down.
From the get-go, I have told the kids the average life span of a hamster, how we are unsure exactly how old little Frankie is, but we know she has to be about two to three years old, and that if something happens to her, we will get a new one. I constantly remind them to be gentle with her because she is elderly.
For Valentine's Day, I bought Lane a hamster ball for Frankie to run around in (and oh, how she loves to run in it). Jay happened to mention to Lane that the exercise could be good for Frankie's health and she may live longer. Great. Lane has told me that now at least three times.
Oddly enough, Hank the Tank II and Meepie, the soul survivor, don't seem all that interested in little Frankie. Hank can't seem to get the ball in his mouth, and I'm guessing that Meepie finds her such easy prey, she doesn't see the need to bother with her. We have only lost Frankie once, after she escaped from a poorly latched ball, and we have remembered to feed and water her.
I was afraid the new environment a/k/a shock of our household would do her in quickly. Every morning, I check and make sure Frankie is breathing...so far so good, but we know it's just a matter of time.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
FIRED UP
That would describe our crowd at the high school boys basketball game last Friday night. And I loved it. However, I didn't love the fact that for some reason the three officials clearly had it out for us early on. I have seen that 'crew' before and don't recall them being quite so bad, unfair, thin-skinned, sensitive, determined, side-tracked, just plain awful - frustrating. That is simply as nice as I can be.
The atmosphere was just like in the 'olden' days. The bleachers in the new NEW gym were full on our side. We even had a few sitting on the other side behind the bench. It was Senior Night so the band members, cheerleaders and basketball players were recognized. Emotions were high. There was royal blue everywhere.
I had invited folks to come out on my Facebook and was pleased when my cousin/friend/classmate, I'll call Benny, walked in with his little boy in tow. I ran out to greet him and he came and sat with us. At times I was embarrassed because he probably thought I was nuts, but then I remembered, he did graduate with me, he knows exactly how I am :) His adorable little son was probably in shock at all the ruckus. I swear it was the longest game ever. I think it was finally over by 9:30.
At one point after, I think, the second father had been ejected, one of my kids bent down and asked if Grandma had been kicked out too...because she had just walked down the aisle and out of the gym. My cousin laughed and I said, "Well, my guess is that Grandma had to leave a) before she got kicked out or b) to take a very deep breath. If you have ever watched the Cardinals, the Colts or a ball game with my mother, you know what I'm talking about. (I don't know where I get it.) It seems as though the Quackdaddy banging his cane on the bleachers, all the yelling going on around her...and probably her need to cool off caused her to step out for a bit!
At times it was extremely difficult to maintain control and composure. I won't say that we lost the game because of the refs, but they sure did not help us at any moment...and at times they killed our momentum. There were three fans/fathers ejected from the game. One of our best players (we have about seven of them;) had four fouls with two minutes left in the FIRST QUARTER. I call him "Raging Bull," and although I didn't give him that nickname because of his gentleness, he absolutely did not have four good fouls in the first quarter...which meant he had to sit the bench until the third quarter basically. It was a detriment for sure.
I must brag on the Bluestreaks because even with all the commotion going on with the refs, their complete inattention to the game and total focus on the crowd, the boys held it together. They could have come out swinging. They could have been throwing tantrums out there every time they were called for a bogus foul, but they didn't. Our coach could have went ballistic and scored us a couple technicals...or worse, but he didn't. He maintained his composure and carried the team through to the end. Back in the day, that probably wouldn't have happened :) Although with Regionals this week, it was vital that the coach not be ejected!
High school basketball for the Bluestreaks used to be so alive and we were the dominating force. We were the team smashing everyone else, with winning seasons every single year, winning the regionals, the conference tournament, playing in the Sectionals. But unfortunately, that season had passed for us...for a while. We are on a comeback. People are getting excited. Fans are interested and coming back for more. Alumni are asking how to get it back to the way it used to be. Our new school has helped generate some of that pride. We have a group, Martinsville on the Move, that is working to better our community. Everyone is getting all fired up! Our kids are starting to gain confidence and realize what it feels like to win, instead of losing every single game...not just in basketball, but other sports as well.
I know it can be exhausting, but I've taken a break and now I'm ready to go. I have no earthly idea how I am going to handle myself when my kids are playing regularly. I may need medication. The really neat thing is that there is a group of former Bluestreaks who have kids about my little boy's age. As we go to the games and sit and cheer for the Blue, there is our future watching (although sometimes not paying attention) and feeling the buzz. I can just imagine those little boys in blue out on the floor in a few years and how cool it will be to hear their names called (and mispronounced;)...just as their dads had been back in the day.
I believe everything cycles around. I believe that the Bluestreaks are on that return cycle and I cannot wait. That game on Friday was our last regular season game, but we will play in the Regionals this week, and hopefully if we keep our heads on straight, we'll win a couple games.
As we got up from our bleachers on Friday night, I thanked my cousin for coming and told him it was good to see him. I also told him that he was not invited back because obviously he had jinxed us. He laughed and said it was great, he had never heard a little kid ask if their grandma had been kicked out before. And to that I say, Welcome back, Bluestreaks. We sure have missed you.
The atmosphere was just like in the 'olden' days. The bleachers in the new NEW gym were full on our side. We even had a few sitting on the other side behind the bench. It was Senior Night so the band members, cheerleaders and basketball players were recognized. Emotions were high. There was royal blue everywhere.
I had invited folks to come out on my Facebook and was pleased when my cousin/friend/classmate, I'll call Benny, walked in with his little boy in tow. I ran out to greet him and he came and sat with us. At times I was embarrassed because he probably thought I was nuts, but then I remembered, he did graduate with me, he knows exactly how I am :) His adorable little son was probably in shock at all the ruckus. I swear it was the longest game ever. I think it was finally over by 9:30.
At one point after, I think, the second father had been ejected, one of my kids bent down and asked if Grandma had been kicked out too...because she had just walked down the aisle and out of the gym. My cousin laughed and I said, "Well, my guess is that Grandma had to leave a) before she got kicked out or b) to take a very deep breath. If you have ever watched the Cardinals, the Colts or a ball game with my mother, you know what I'm talking about. (I don't know where I get it.) It seems as though the Quackdaddy banging his cane on the bleachers, all the yelling going on around her...and probably her need to cool off caused her to step out for a bit!
At times it was extremely difficult to maintain control and composure. I won't say that we lost the game because of the refs, but they sure did not help us at any moment...and at times they killed our momentum. There were three fans/fathers ejected from the game. One of our best players (we have about seven of them;) had four fouls with two minutes left in the FIRST QUARTER. I call him "Raging Bull," and although I didn't give him that nickname because of his gentleness, he absolutely did not have four good fouls in the first quarter...which meant he had to sit the bench until the third quarter basically. It was a detriment for sure.
I must brag on the Bluestreaks because even with all the commotion going on with the refs, their complete inattention to the game and total focus on the crowd, the boys held it together. They could have come out swinging. They could have been throwing tantrums out there every time they were called for a bogus foul, but they didn't. Our coach could have went ballistic and scored us a couple technicals...or worse, but he didn't. He maintained his composure and carried the team through to the end. Back in the day, that probably wouldn't have happened :) Although with Regionals this week, it was vital that the coach not be ejected!
High school basketball for the Bluestreaks used to be so alive and we were the dominating force. We were the team smashing everyone else, with winning seasons every single year, winning the regionals, the conference tournament, playing in the Sectionals. But unfortunately, that season had passed for us...for a while. We are on a comeback. People are getting excited. Fans are interested and coming back for more. Alumni are asking how to get it back to the way it used to be. Our new school has helped generate some of that pride. We have a group, Martinsville on the Move, that is working to better our community. Everyone is getting all fired up! Our kids are starting to gain confidence and realize what it feels like to win, instead of losing every single game...not just in basketball, but other sports as well.
I know it can be exhausting, but I've taken a break and now I'm ready to go. I have no earthly idea how I am going to handle myself when my kids are playing regularly. I may need medication. The really neat thing is that there is a group of former Bluestreaks who have kids about my little boy's age. As we go to the games and sit and cheer for the Blue, there is our future watching (although sometimes not paying attention) and feeling the buzz. I can just imagine those little boys in blue out on the floor in a few years and how cool it will be to hear their names called (and mispronounced;)...just as their dads had been back in the day.
I believe everything cycles around. I believe that the Bluestreaks are on that return cycle and I cannot wait. That game on Friday was our last regular season game, but we will play in the Regionals this week, and hopefully if we keep our heads on straight, we'll win a couple games.
As we got up from our bleachers on Friday night, I thanked my cousin for coming and told him it was good to see him. I also told him that he was not invited back because obviously he had jinxed us. He laughed and said it was great, he had never heard a little kid ask if their grandma had been kicked out before. And to that I say, Welcome back, Bluestreaks. We sure have missed you.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Hey, there's something on...
your cheek....was all he had to say. Jay, that is. We were attending a friend's wedding. I was all dressed up looking as good as I could post-baby-number-two. We were going without our kids. A lot of our friends would be there. I was excited for a night without the children.
We arrive at the church and are quickly seated with friends and acquaintances all around us. We are chatting and visiting with everyone in our immediate vicinity before the ceremony begins. Jay is talking to a guy that I don't really know very well, but I'm kinda leaning back listening and adding my two cents, a friendly smile and a nod to his wife. One of my former teachers is nearby, I converse with her and her husband.
The wedding proceeds. The couple is married. Everyone disperses towards the reception locale. We stop at the Casey's gas station on our way. We are in the truck. I glance at myself in the mirror on the passenger side of the truck...and what is that? That right there on my face. Right there in the crease of my mouth. TOOTHPASTE!?!?
How could it be that I still had toothpaste debris on my face, when it had been nearly two hours since my last brushing? How could it be that out of all the people sitting around us and coming face-to-face with me, that not one single person (a) noticed the white crusty stuff or (b) thought it necessary to mention.
So, of course, I am upset at Jay, who then is mad at me because how is that I can be furious with him, he didn't even notice. Yes, THAT IS THE POINT...You did not even notice. And all the others just didn't feel like they could tell me, I suppose.
I thought of this the other night when one of Madolyn's teachers said that Mad was kind of enough to mention to her that her underwear were showing at the top of her pants. I had to laugh. Although Madolyn regrets to tell me stuff like that ALL THE TIME...she has apparently listened to my rant before because she was nice enough to tell the teacher. Bravo to Madolyn.
Jay says sometimes I hold grudges and can be bitter. I don't really believe that about me, do you? I mean after all...he just needs to pay a little attention to me and let me know if maybe the back of my dress is unbuttoned (oh yeah) or I'm wearing two different shoes (true)...of course, there was this one time that HE wore his slippers to work...hehe
We arrive at the church and are quickly seated with friends and acquaintances all around us. We are chatting and visiting with everyone in our immediate vicinity before the ceremony begins. Jay is talking to a guy that I don't really know very well, but I'm kinda leaning back listening and adding my two cents, a friendly smile and a nod to his wife. One of my former teachers is nearby, I converse with her and her husband.
The wedding proceeds. The couple is married. Everyone disperses towards the reception locale. We stop at the Casey's gas station on our way. We are in the truck. I glance at myself in the mirror on the passenger side of the truck...and what is that? That right there on my face. Right there in the crease of my mouth. TOOTHPASTE!?!?
How could it be that I still had toothpaste debris on my face, when it had been nearly two hours since my last brushing? How could it be that out of all the people sitting around us and coming face-to-face with me, that not one single person (a) noticed the white crusty stuff or (b) thought it necessary to mention.
So, of course, I am upset at Jay, who then is mad at me because how is that I can be furious with him, he didn't even notice. Yes, THAT IS THE POINT...You did not even notice. And all the others just didn't feel like they could tell me, I suppose.
I thought of this the other night when one of Madolyn's teachers said that Mad was kind of enough to mention to her that her underwear were showing at the top of her pants. I had to laugh. Although Madolyn regrets to tell me stuff like that ALL THE TIME...she has apparently listened to my rant before because she was nice enough to tell the teacher. Bravo to Madolyn.
Jay says sometimes I hold grudges and can be bitter. I don't really believe that about me, do you? I mean after all...he just needs to pay a little attention to me and let me know if maybe the back of my dress is unbuttoned (oh yeah) or I'm wearing two different shoes (true)...of course, there was this one time that HE wore his slippers to work...hehe
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Do you ever just get tired...
"But to you who are listening I say: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. If someone slaps you on one cheek, turn to them the other also. If someone takes your coat, do not withhold your shirt from them. Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back." Luke 6:27-30 (NIV)
Do you ever just get tired of being good and doing the right thing all the time? I know I do...of course, that makes me sound like I'm such a goodie two-shoes, I know. But you know what I mean, right? Do you ever have those moments where you don't want to turn the other cheek, swallow those hateful words on the tip of your tongue or smile and wave? I do...unfortunately more often than not.
Sometimes I just want to tell the person I'm talking to exactly what I think about the comments they're making. Occasionally, I want to cut in line, even though I know it's wrong, because why shouldn't I get to be up front every now and then? There are times when I want to ignore the nagging little voice inside my head telling me what I should do for someone else because it's just what they need right now, even though I feel like I'm just too busy and nobody ever does that for me.
And then you'll have someone say, well, you're a Christian, right? Or something about how you should have a good Christian attitude. Well, folks, I hate to disappoint you, but just because you or I claim to be a Christian doesn't mean we won't have those moments where we want to tell someone to shove it. We all have those occasions when we just want to throw a big, fat tantrum...and unfortunately, sometimes the devil wins and an explosion occurs!
And there He goes again in the scripture, telling us to turn the other cheek to our enemies. Oh yeah, just what I want to do: Here, smack me on this side too; oh, this shirt looks so good with that coat, take it too; and while you're at it, take anything I have, you can just keep it! But man, oh, man, sometimes it gets old always being the good guy. Occasionally, I just want to be like a child and scream, "When is it MY turn?" And then I remember, I am a child, a child of God...and at times I do act like a child.
When I pray, I constantly ask for my needs, my wants, my desires to be fulfilled. I may also pray for the needs of others, but you bet that not a prayer goes by that doesn't include my own selfish requests. And then I think of Jesus, who was unselfishly willing to take one for the team. Talk about turning the other cheek. He died to save us, the very people who put him on that cross. When I think about it, God has to turn the other cheek with me daily. Is it too much of me to turn mine?
Sometimes I get tired of doing the right thing...so I cave in and do what is wrong and then watch the consequences unfold. Sometimes I have that urge to be evil...I follow through with it and then carry that guilt around with me for days. Sometimes I say those hateful words on the tip of my tongue when they should've been swallowed...and I regret it almost immediately, words I can never take back...perhaps even a failed witnessing opportunity.
Honestly, sometimes I get tired of being a Christian, but then I am reminded of the many, many blessings that I receive from a God who loves me even when I'm acting like a child. 1 Peter 3:17 is one of my favorite all-time verses that helps me with this battle: For it is better, if it is God’s will, to suffer for doing good than for doing evil. So, friends, let us suffer for doing good and turn the other cheek...even if it's exhausting.
Do you ever just get tired of being good and doing the right thing all the time? I know I do...of course, that makes me sound like I'm such a goodie two-shoes, I know. But you know what I mean, right? Do you ever have those moments where you don't want to turn the other cheek, swallow those hateful words on the tip of your tongue or smile and wave? I do...unfortunately more often than not.
Sometimes I just want to tell the person I'm talking to exactly what I think about the comments they're making. Occasionally, I want to cut in line, even though I know it's wrong, because why shouldn't I get to be up front every now and then? There are times when I want to ignore the nagging little voice inside my head telling me what I should do for someone else because it's just what they need right now, even though I feel like I'm just too busy and nobody ever does that for me.
And then you'll have someone say, well, you're a Christian, right? Or something about how you should have a good Christian attitude. Well, folks, I hate to disappoint you, but just because you or I claim to be a Christian doesn't mean we won't have those moments where we want to tell someone to shove it. We all have those occasions when we just want to throw a big, fat tantrum...and unfortunately, sometimes the devil wins and an explosion occurs!
And there He goes again in the scripture, telling us to turn the other cheek to our enemies. Oh yeah, just what I want to do: Here, smack me on this side too; oh, this shirt looks so good with that coat, take it too; and while you're at it, take anything I have, you can just keep it! But man, oh, man, sometimes it gets old always being the good guy. Occasionally, I just want to be like a child and scream, "When is it MY turn?" And then I remember, I am a child, a child of God...and at times I do act like a child.
When I pray, I constantly ask for my needs, my wants, my desires to be fulfilled. I may also pray for the needs of others, but you bet that not a prayer goes by that doesn't include my own selfish requests. And then I think of Jesus, who was unselfishly willing to take one for the team. Talk about turning the other cheek. He died to save us, the very people who put him on that cross. When I think about it, God has to turn the other cheek with me daily. Is it too much of me to turn mine?
Sometimes I get tired of doing the right thing...so I cave in and do what is wrong and then watch the consequences unfold. Sometimes I have that urge to be evil...I follow through with it and then carry that guilt around with me for days. Sometimes I say those hateful words on the tip of my tongue when they should've been swallowed...and I regret it almost immediately, words I can never take back...perhaps even a failed witnessing opportunity.
Honestly, sometimes I get tired of being a Christian, but then I am reminded of the many, many blessings that I receive from a God who loves me even when I'm acting like a child. 1 Peter 3:17 is one of my favorite all-time verses that helps me with this battle: For it is better, if it is God’s will, to suffer for doing good than for doing evil. So, friends, let us suffer for doing good and turn the other cheek...even if it's exhausting.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Movie classics
I can't help it, I must write about some classic movies from my childhood. Seeing Matthew Broderick last night in a Superbowl commercial for the Honda CRV got me in the mood. He was re-enacting a couple scenes from my favorite movie...
And my favorite movie growing up was Ferris Bueller's Day Off. I can recite several scenes word-for-word. Just ask my mom, I never, ever got sick of it (although I'm sure she did). "He'll keep calling me, he'll keep calling 'til I come over, he'll make me feel guilty...okay, okay, okay, I'll go...bleep...I'll go." While on vacation in Florida last August, we noticed it in the stack of movies at our condo so we decided to pop it in one night...and I drove the family NUTS. I simply can't help but recite the lines...and apparently that is super annoying if you're not the one doing it, huh? My kids just looked at me like I was crazy. Yes, I know...
Saturday while filing away seven months worth of monthly bills (yes, I know) in my bedroom, I ran across The Outsiders on the movie channel, another classic I thoroughly loved and watched countless times in my youth. So I quoted and filed, quoted and filed..."We'll do it for Johnny, Let's do it for Johnny." I own a copy of this one also and Madolyn now likes it too. I think they read it in 9th grade at our school and then get to watch the movie...Madolyn may be the one annoying everyone else by then!!
Stand By Me, Goonies, Harry and the Hendersons, Adventures in Babysitting, Breakfast Club, 16 Candles (which I finally got Jay to watch and hooked on), Rumble Fish, That Was Then and This is Now (can you tell I liked S.E. Hinton books?), St. Elmo's Fire, Uncle Buck, National Lampoon's Vacation, European Vacation, Police Academy, I could go on and on.
Isn't it funny how sometimes when you sit down to watch one of your favorites from the past, it isn't quite like it seemed back then? Sometimes I'll think, wow, I loved this movie, huh? The other thing that comes to mind is, yikes, there was a lot of cussing in these movies. Seems like people these days tend to think that the movies and shows now are so awful and have all this bad language (and yes, I agree) but they did back in the day too. I was shocked to hear all the cuss words on the Dukes of Hazzard episodes (my son has three seasons of them). And I remember popping in Harry and the Hendersons, Uncle Buck or Adventures in Babysitting for my kids and then quickly turning it off until I could watch it and decide just how many times I was going to have to fast-foward through the cussing!
It didn't bother me at all 20-25 years ago...amazing how a few years and a couple of my own kids can change my perspective. The time will come very soon when Madolyn is going to look at me, roll her eyes and say, "Mom, come on, I am not a baby anymore." Oh, I know, but it seems like just yesterday you thought stupid and fart were cuss words...
And my favorite movie growing up was Ferris Bueller's Day Off. I can recite several scenes word-for-word. Just ask my mom, I never, ever got sick of it (although I'm sure she did). "He'll keep calling me, he'll keep calling 'til I come over, he'll make me feel guilty...okay, okay, okay, I'll go...bleep...I'll go." While on vacation in Florida last August, we noticed it in the stack of movies at our condo so we decided to pop it in one night...and I drove the family NUTS. I simply can't help but recite the lines...and apparently that is super annoying if you're not the one doing it, huh? My kids just looked at me like I was crazy. Yes, I know...
Saturday while filing away seven months worth of monthly bills (yes, I know) in my bedroom, I ran across The Outsiders on the movie channel, another classic I thoroughly loved and watched countless times in my youth. So I quoted and filed, quoted and filed..."We'll do it for Johnny, Let's do it for Johnny." I own a copy of this one also and Madolyn now likes it too. I think they read it in 9th grade at our school and then get to watch the movie...Madolyn may be the one annoying everyone else by then!!
Stand By Me, Goonies, Harry and the Hendersons, Adventures in Babysitting, Breakfast Club, 16 Candles (which I finally got Jay to watch and hooked on), Rumble Fish, That Was Then and This is Now (can you tell I liked S.E. Hinton books?), St. Elmo's Fire, Uncle Buck, National Lampoon's Vacation, European Vacation, Police Academy, I could go on and on.
Isn't it funny how sometimes when you sit down to watch one of your favorites from the past, it isn't quite like it seemed back then? Sometimes I'll think, wow, I loved this movie, huh? The other thing that comes to mind is, yikes, there was a lot of cussing in these movies. Seems like people these days tend to think that the movies and shows now are so awful and have all this bad language (and yes, I agree) but they did back in the day too. I was shocked to hear all the cuss words on the Dukes of Hazzard episodes (my son has three seasons of them). And I remember popping in Harry and the Hendersons, Uncle Buck or Adventures in Babysitting for my kids and then quickly turning it off until I could watch it and decide just how many times I was going to have to fast-foward through the cussing!
It didn't bother me at all 20-25 years ago...amazing how a few years and a couple of my own kids can change my perspective. The time will come very soon when Madolyn is going to look at me, roll her eyes and say, "Mom, come on, I am not a baby anymore." Oh, I know, but it seems like just yesterday you thought stupid and fart were cuss words...
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
What a Romantic
February, the month for love...or at least for that day that is supposed to signify love, Valentine's Day. Jay and I have never made a huge deal out of Valentine's Day, but a couple years ago, Jay was almost giddy in the days leading up to February 14 because of this awesome present he had bought me.
He would give me clues but they were very vague and didn't really give me any indication of what the gift could possibly be. I knew that for some reason it included the fellas at his work, or at least their opinions and input. And I could tell just by the way Jay was reacting to it all, it was something that he really thought was great.
I've always been a little hard to surprise. As a child, I would snoop around the house and find my presents. I always found my presents, which did ruin the surprise but I didn't care back then. Now, I like not knowing what I'm getting for a change. Jay certainly had me stumped on this one.
So the big day came and he was like a small child on Christmas morning. We all gathered around the island in the kitchen and he brought out a heart-shaped box...aah, chocolate...and there was a little chocolate, but he had cut out the center of the heart and lying in wait was a very large Beretta handgun. Yes, that's right, I said handgun.
He had taken the chocolates out and inserted a handgun...it wasn't made of chocolate either. I was stunned to say the least. I could barely lift the handgun without using both hands. It was huge. I wasn't sure I could ever shoot it even if I wanted to. I've often pictured having a cute little handgun that I could tuck away somewhere handy...this wasn't exactly what I had in mind.
We went outside to shoot it, I was still in utter disbelief. I let Jay give it a shot...the kick cut his thumb and it bled. Yep, I think I'll pass on target practice...I have never touched that gun since. Actually, I'm not even sure we still have it. Jay may have sold it when he realized that I wasn't impressed. I hated to be that way because he WAS SO EXCITED, but honestly, I was taken aback by it. There was just NO WAY he bought that handgun for Sarah.
In fairness to Jay, he bought me a camcorder about that same time, so I'm going to assume that the camcorder was for me and the gun was for him. Happy Valentine's Day to us. Thankfully, he hadn't thrown the chocolates from the heart-shaped box away, so all was not lost. I can tell you that I was very, very nervous the following year when Valentine's Day rolled around, but since I can't tell you what I got, if anything, it must have been normal (which may mean nothing) because, as I said, we don't usually make a huge deal out of Valentine's Day...
When April rolls around, I'll have to tell you about a couple birthday presents I've received in the past (although nothing compares to the Beretta handgun).
He would give me clues but they were very vague and didn't really give me any indication of what the gift could possibly be. I knew that for some reason it included the fellas at his work, or at least their opinions and input. And I could tell just by the way Jay was reacting to it all, it was something that he really thought was great.
I've always been a little hard to surprise. As a child, I would snoop around the house and find my presents. I always found my presents, which did ruin the surprise but I didn't care back then. Now, I like not knowing what I'm getting for a change. Jay certainly had me stumped on this one.
So the big day came and he was like a small child on Christmas morning. We all gathered around the island in the kitchen and he brought out a heart-shaped box...aah, chocolate...and there was a little chocolate, but he had cut out the center of the heart and lying in wait was a very large Beretta handgun. Yes, that's right, I said handgun.
He had taken the chocolates out and inserted a handgun...it wasn't made of chocolate either. I was stunned to say the least. I could barely lift the handgun without using both hands. It was huge. I wasn't sure I could ever shoot it even if I wanted to. I've often pictured having a cute little handgun that I could tuck away somewhere handy...this wasn't exactly what I had in mind.
We went outside to shoot it, I was still in utter disbelief. I let Jay give it a shot...the kick cut his thumb and it bled. Yep, I think I'll pass on target practice...I have never touched that gun since. Actually, I'm not even sure we still have it. Jay may have sold it when he realized that I wasn't impressed. I hated to be that way because he WAS SO EXCITED, but honestly, I was taken aback by it. There was just NO WAY he bought that handgun for Sarah.
In fairness to Jay, he bought me a camcorder about that same time, so I'm going to assume that the camcorder was for me and the gun was for him. Happy Valentine's Day to us. Thankfully, he hadn't thrown the chocolates from the heart-shaped box away, so all was not lost. I can tell you that I was very, very nervous the following year when Valentine's Day rolled around, but since I can't tell you what I got, if anything, it must have been normal (which may mean nothing) because, as I said, we don't usually make a huge deal out of Valentine's Day...
When April rolls around, I'll have to tell you about a couple birthday presents I've received in the past (although nothing compares to the Beretta handgun).
Friday, February 10, 2012
Carnival
My family is gearing up for the annual 4H Carnival at the Roosevelt gym in Casey, 6:30 to 8:30 p.m. tomorrow (Saturday) night. There will be lots of fun games, cake walks, snacks and the King/Queen, Prince/Princess contest. It is a very cheap night of fun for the family.
For many years it was in the "old gym" at our high school, and people just crammed into that place. It was literally wall-to-wall, shoulder-to-shoulder with people trying to follow their kids as they run from one game to another. I must admit it was nice having it in our hometown, but it was way too crowded.
Each 4H club comes up with a game/activity and sets up a little carnival booth or stand and tries to entice participants to play their game. There are prizes, of course, awarded at every stand. Over the years there have been some very creative ideas, and sometimes you see some that were creative, but just didn't work out.
When I was younger, I always looked forward to that carnival night at our old gym, but never really made the connection that it was a 4H thing, we just went, bought tickets and played the games. When Madolyn was old enough to take, we went and it was a nightmare because it was so crowded and she was darting everywhere. I now realize that my parents probably weren't as excited as I was about going back in the day!! Now that my kiddos are older, it's nice to go and just give them ticket money and let them have at it. They work their shifts in our club's booth and go off to score some major prizes (ha!).
Three or four years ago, the Cloverbud group had some games for the younger kids. Lane, who was probably only four or five, worked his shift and never left. He had sooo much fun helping the other kids play the games. Of course, one of them had to do with a snotty nose and nostrils and the other was sticking your hand up the snout of an elephant to get a peanut! He was all over it. We'll see how committed he is to working his shift tomorrow!
So if you're local and you want to experience some family fun without spending a fortune, come on over to the Annual 4H Carnival at the Roosevelt gym in Casey. You don't have to be affiliated with the 4H program to come and enjoy the evening. And you know there's nothing better to do on a Saturday night around here if there aren't any ball games...
For many years it was in the "old gym" at our high school, and people just crammed into that place. It was literally wall-to-wall, shoulder-to-shoulder with people trying to follow their kids as they run from one game to another. I must admit it was nice having it in our hometown, but it was way too crowded.
Each 4H club comes up with a game/activity and sets up a little carnival booth or stand and tries to entice participants to play their game. There are prizes, of course, awarded at every stand. Over the years there have been some very creative ideas, and sometimes you see some that were creative, but just didn't work out.
When I was younger, I always looked forward to that carnival night at our old gym, but never really made the connection that it was a 4H thing, we just went, bought tickets and played the games. When Madolyn was old enough to take, we went and it was a nightmare because it was so crowded and she was darting everywhere. I now realize that my parents probably weren't as excited as I was about going back in the day!! Now that my kiddos are older, it's nice to go and just give them ticket money and let them have at it. They work their shifts in our club's booth and go off to score some major prizes (ha!).
Three or four years ago, the Cloverbud group had some games for the younger kids. Lane, who was probably only four or five, worked his shift and never left. He had sooo much fun helping the other kids play the games. Of course, one of them had to do with a snotty nose and nostrils and the other was sticking your hand up the snout of an elephant to get a peanut! He was all over it. We'll see how committed he is to working his shift tomorrow!
So if you're local and you want to experience some family fun without spending a fortune, come on over to the Annual 4H Carnival at the Roosevelt gym in Casey. You don't have to be affiliated with the 4H program to come and enjoy the evening. And you know there's nothing better to do on a Saturday night around here if there aren't any ball games...
Thursday, February 9, 2012
The Whistle
I try not to be a pack rat. Jay would probably disagree with that statement, but I really try to keep only things that really mean something and not every single thing that means anything...if that makes sense.
When my Grandpa K died, I wanted one thing of his to keep: I wanted his whistle. I think it was in 1970 that my grandpa had his first cancer. I say first cancer because he had cancer a few more times after that, which is scary because you would think that once you beat it, you've had enough and shouldn't have to go through it again...Apparently, that's not how it works.
So the first cancer my grandpa had was cancer of the larynx, or voice box, and he had half of his voice box removed as part of his treatment. That was nearly 42 years ago, a lot has happened in the medical science field since then, and I'm not sure what they would do now. But as a result of the removal, from that day forward his voice was a whisper. I never, ever heard my grandpa's voice in full volume. Not a super big deal, but kinda strange when I think about it now nonetheless.
I should also add that my grandpa was a smoker/chewer or something. I don't know what his habits were way back, but I vividly recall the spittoons around the house...and boy, they were fascinating to a young child :) He may have smoked in his younger years and he may have even smoked up and to the day he had his voice box removed, I have never asked.
Since my grandpa's voice wasn't loud, he carried around a whistle sometimes. That way when he was out farming or messing with fence or over at the barn, and got in a pickle he could whistle (oh that rhymes:). Back at that time, cellular phones were unheard of and the country folk relied on the good 'ole CB as a means of communication. If in distress, grandpa could blow the whistle into his CB and grandma would know he was needing her.
I don't really remember hearing him use the whistle. I talked to him countless times on the CB and the phone, I never had a problem hearing him. He came through pretty well on the CB despite the scratchiness. And you know, a man can even "yell" at his grandchildren and get mad at those around him without "raising his voice." You could tell by the tone of his whisper when he was not pleased with a situation.
I recall some family gathering at my parents house many, many years ago and my little cousin from my mom's side was there. I would guess he was around three or four years old. My grandpa leaned down and asked him a question, and my little cousin whispered the answer right back at him. It was so cute. He thought my grandpa was whispering to him on purpose.
Funny thing is growing up, I really never gave it much thought at all about my grandpa's voice. Everyone around me knew why he was like that and no one ever talked about it. It was just the way it was, you know. Of course, I wish my kids would've had the opportunity to meet him, but he passed away on July 13, 1996 before our kids were born. I do bring him up every now and then, referring to him as Grandpa Great (to make the connection to Grandma Great) and have made a point when the subject comes up on smoking to tell my kiddos that Grandpa Great had half of a voice box thanks to cancer. I'm not sure they really "get it" but it sounds good.
The other night I was in the basement surveying the damage three little boys had caused at Lane's sleepover and I saw a whistle on the floor..."Aaahh," I said, "You cannot play with THAT whistle, that was my grandpa's whistle." And I ran upstairs to hang it on my shelf. That whistle sure doesn't look like anything special, but it is to me.
When my Grandpa K died, I wanted one thing of his to keep: I wanted his whistle. I think it was in 1970 that my grandpa had his first cancer. I say first cancer because he had cancer a few more times after that, which is scary because you would think that once you beat it, you've had enough and shouldn't have to go through it again...Apparently, that's not how it works.
So the first cancer my grandpa had was cancer of the larynx, or voice box, and he had half of his voice box removed as part of his treatment. That was nearly 42 years ago, a lot has happened in the medical science field since then, and I'm not sure what they would do now. But as a result of the removal, from that day forward his voice was a whisper. I never, ever heard my grandpa's voice in full volume. Not a super big deal, but kinda strange when I think about it now nonetheless.
I should also add that my grandpa was a smoker/chewer or something. I don't know what his habits were way back, but I vividly recall the spittoons around the house...and boy, they were fascinating to a young child :) He may have smoked in his younger years and he may have even smoked up and to the day he had his voice box removed, I have never asked.
Since my grandpa's voice wasn't loud, he carried around a whistle sometimes. That way when he was out farming or messing with fence or over at the barn, and got in a pickle he could whistle (oh that rhymes:). Back at that time, cellular phones were unheard of and the country folk relied on the good 'ole CB as a means of communication. If in distress, grandpa could blow the whistle into his CB and grandma would know he was needing her.
I don't really remember hearing him use the whistle. I talked to him countless times on the CB and the phone, I never had a problem hearing him. He came through pretty well on the CB despite the scratchiness. And you know, a man can even "yell" at his grandchildren and get mad at those around him without "raising his voice." You could tell by the tone of his whisper when he was not pleased with a situation.
I recall some family gathering at my parents house many, many years ago and my little cousin from my mom's side was there. I would guess he was around three or four years old. My grandpa leaned down and asked him a question, and my little cousin whispered the answer right back at him. It was so cute. He thought my grandpa was whispering to him on purpose.
Funny thing is growing up, I really never gave it much thought at all about my grandpa's voice. Everyone around me knew why he was like that and no one ever talked about it. It was just the way it was, you know. Of course, I wish my kids would've had the opportunity to meet him, but he passed away on July 13, 1996 before our kids were born. I do bring him up every now and then, referring to him as Grandpa Great (to make the connection to Grandma Great) and have made a point when the subject comes up on smoking to tell my kiddos that Grandpa Great had half of a voice box thanks to cancer. I'm not sure they really "get it" but it sounds good.
The other night I was in the basement surveying the damage three little boys had caused at Lane's sleepover and I saw a whistle on the floor..."Aaahh," I said, "You cannot play with THAT whistle, that was my grandpa's whistle." And I ran upstairs to hang it on my shelf. That whistle sure doesn't look like anything special, but it is to me.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Happy birthday, D!
If you're reading this on February 8, 2012, give a shout out to my cousin/friend "Danielle" for her 37th birthday. Oh man, I can't believe we are turning 37 this year. Can you, D?!
She is an undocumented follower, she doesn't comment on here, but sends me texts so I know that she will be reading this at one time or another. :)
Times flies when you're having fun. And where does the time go? Seems like only yesterday we were cruising around in the Festiva...Remember the Ford Festiva? D's family had one, bright red, and they had it FOREVER. I'm even guessing it's still around somewhere in their family today. Am I right? It always cracked me up because D was from a family of seven and her parents were so tall, her brothers were so tall, she was tall, her sister was tall. And to see any one of them bend down and cram into that Festiva was hilarious. I have a very vivid picture in my head of seeing her dad zip around in that thing.
I used to spend so much time with D because they lived just down the road from us in this beautiful log cabin that her maternal grandmother had built. D and I were the same age, as was another friend I'll call "Brandi". We had some great times together...and can still carry on when we have the opportunity.
D is the type of person that no matter what the situation, it is ALL good. She can click the worst picture on this planet and tell you how fabulous it is...and even though you know she's lying through her teeth. I swear if she were lying in a hospital bed in the worst pain ever and you asked her how she was doing, she would force a big smile and say "Great. How are you doing?" (Am I right?!)
D's dad and my dad are first cousins. If you get those two in a room together reminiscing (and if D's uncle were still alive) there isn't a dry eye in the house. Those two can tell stories like no other. D and I have talked about how we should get them together to tell stories and that I should bring my steno machine and record their conversation so that we can have them in writing. Even the two fellas end up with tears streaming down their faces.
As times passes, families spread out and people pass on, our families see less and less of each other, but we have had some very good times. I'd say it's about time we round everyone up and get together, D, don't ya think? Maybe I'll bring along my machine and we'll let the good times roll!
Happy birthday to one of my favorite cousins/friend! (I put your card in the mail today, but I'm not sure if you'll get it in time!)
She is an undocumented follower, she doesn't comment on here, but sends me texts so I know that she will be reading this at one time or another. :)
Times flies when you're having fun. And where does the time go? Seems like only yesterday we were cruising around in the Festiva...Remember the Ford Festiva? D's family had one, bright red, and they had it FOREVER. I'm even guessing it's still around somewhere in their family today. Am I right? It always cracked me up because D was from a family of seven and her parents were so tall, her brothers were so tall, she was tall, her sister was tall. And to see any one of them bend down and cram into that Festiva was hilarious. I have a very vivid picture in my head of seeing her dad zip around in that thing.
I used to spend so much time with D because they lived just down the road from us in this beautiful log cabin that her maternal grandmother had built. D and I were the same age, as was another friend I'll call "Brandi". We had some great times together...and can still carry on when we have the opportunity.
D is the type of person that no matter what the situation, it is ALL good. She can click the worst picture on this planet and tell you how fabulous it is...and even though you know she's lying through her teeth. I swear if she were lying in a hospital bed in the worst pain ever and you asked her how she was doing, she would force a big smile and say "Great. How are you doing?" (Am I right?!)
D's dad and my dad are first cousins. If you get those two in a room together reminiscing (and if D's uncle were still alive) there isn't a dry eye in the house. Those two can tell stories like no other. D and I have talked about how we should get them together to tell stories and that I should bring my steno machine and record their conversation so that we can have them in writing. Even the two fellas end up with tears streaming down their faces.
As times passes, families spread out and people pass on, our families see less and less of each other, but we have had some very good times. I'd say it's about time we round everyone up and get together, D, don't ya think? Maybe I'll bring along my machine and we'll let the good times roll!
Happy birthday to one of my favorite cousins/friend! (I put your card in the mail today, but I'm not sure if you'll get it in time!)
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Play the game
Don’t you realize that in a race everyone runs, but only one person gets the prize? So run to win! All athletes are disciplined in their training. They do it to win a prize that will fade away, but we do it for an eternal prize. 1 Corinthians 9:24-25 (NLT)
Last week one of our youth kids came up to me at my daughter's volleyball game and asked me if I had heard that he was ineligible for basketball this week. I said no and asked him what was going on. He then told me that he was flunking Math because he didn't do his homework, but they had taken some aptitude test (or whatever they're called) and he had the highest scores. He was giggly about it and thought it was funny...you know, I'm so smart, the homework is stupid and I don't have to do it.
My reply to this young boy was something along the lines of, it doesn't matter how smart you are, you have to do your homework and "you have to play the game." And I went on to explain to him that even though he may understand all there is to know about mathematics (which I highly doubt) and he may have gotten the highest test score and the homework may be stupid or boring or too simple...you have to do it. You have to play the game and the name of this game is high school.
I think he was listening to me. I gave him my advice in the best I'm-not-your-parent-way that I could. He is not dumb and he knows what he needs to do. He is one of those kids that I just love...and sometimes I just want to strangle. He is the type of kid that could soooo easily turn south and head down the wrong path, but I pray that he doesn't. He has a very likable personality and is jovial most of the time. We even persuaded him to pray the other night at youth and he rattled one out that was pretty good. I don't remember him having prayed out loud for us before. Awesome.
How often do we hear that the kids think this or that is stupid, why do I have to take this class or follow this stupid rule? (And I'm sure I've said a few of those things a time or two myself.) But I'm realizing that there are just some things you have to do in life, and one of them is to graduate from high school. It is an absolute must. I don't believe everyone has to go to a four-year college or get some fancy degree; there are many opportunities out there with vocational/trade schools, business colleges and union jobs. But you really need to get your high school diploma or GED to move on to the next game.
Graduating from high school is not only about getting the right grades, it shows that you are willing to do what needs to be done to accomplish something. It proves that you can follow directions and obey rules. It is an indication to a future employer that you are willing to commit to something. And as some will say, "It ain't worth doing, if it ain't worth doing right." So you might as well try to do your very best while you're at it, right?
Even as adults it doesn't get a whole lot easier with the games that are played. Sometimes we get jerked around at our jobs, maybe we're not treated fairly, etc., but in the end, if we need a job to support ourselves and our family, we end up staying in the game or changing to another one. It can make for some very frustrating and difficult times and can often become a bit ridiculous.
But, ahhh, there is hope. The scripture above is one of my most favorite in the bible. I'm not so good at being disciplined (I know you're picking up on that), but I try. While we're down here on this temporary earth playing this game called Life, we, as Christians, better play it the best that we can because in the end, we are going to receive the greatest prize of all, one that isn't temporary...Eternal Life. And I say we run to win!
Last week one of our youth kids came up to me at my daughter's volleyball game and asked me if I had heard that he was ineligible for basketball this week. I said no and asked him what was going on. He then told me that he was flunking Math because he didn't do his homework, but they had taken some aptitude test (or whatever they're called) and he had the highest scores. He was giggly about it and thought it was funny...you know, I'm so smart, the homework is stupid and I don't have to do it.
My reply to this young boy was something along the lines of, it doesn't matter how smart you are, you have to do your homework and "you have to play the game." And I went on to explain to him that even though he may understand all there is to know about mathematics (which I highly doubt) and he may have gotten the highest test score and the homework may be stupid or boring or too simple...you have to do it. You have to play the game and the name of this game is high school.
I think he was listening to me. I gave him my advice in the best I'm-not-your-parent-way that I could. He is not dumb and he knows what he needs to do. He is one of those kids that I just love...and sometimes I just want to strangle. He is the type of kid that could soooo easily turn south and head down the wrong path, but I pray that he doesn't. He has a very likable personality and is jovial most of the time. We even persuaded him to pray the other night at youth and he rattled one out that was pretty good. I don't remember him having prayed out loud for us before. Awesome.
How often do we hear that the kids think this or that is stupid, why do I have to take this class or follow this stupid rule? (And I'm sure I've said a few of those things a time or two myself.) But I'm realizing that there are just some things you have to do in life, and one of them is to graduate from high school. It is an absolute must. I don't believe everyone has to go to a four-year college or get some fancy degree; there are many opportunities out there with vocational/trade schools, business colleges and union jobs. But you really need to get your high school diploma or GED to move on to the next game.
Graduating from high school is not only about getting the right grades, it shows that you are willing to do what needs to be done to accomplish something. It proves that you can follow directions and obey rules. It is an indication to a future employer that you are willing to commit to something. And as some will say, "It ain't worth doing, if it ain't worth doing right." So you might as well try to do your very best while you're at it, right?
Even as adults it doesn't get a whole lot easier with the games that are played. Sometimes we get jerked around at our jobs, maybe we're not treated fairly, etc., but in the end, if we need a job to support ourselves and our family, we end up staying in the game or changing to another one. It can make for some very frustrating and difficult times and can often become a bit ridiculous.
But, ahhh, there is hope. The scripture above is one of my most favorite in the bible. I'm not so good at being disciplined (I know you're picking up on that), but I try. While we're down here on this temporary earth playing this game called Life, we, as Christians, better play it the best that we can because in the end, we are going to receive the greatest prize of all, one that isn't temporary...Eternal Life. And I say we run to win!
Monday, February 6, 2012
That's my boy...
Every year at the beginning of the new school year, our school system, like most others, has an open house for the parents and grandparents to come meet the teachers, see the classroom and look around. One particular open house comes to my mind today for some strange reason.
I believe it was Madolyn's first grade year, 2006/2007. Lane was a little over two years old. He loved three things unconditionally: his bunk (he still sleeps with it), his boots (any kind) and hats (of all shapes and sizes). This warm day in August was no different than any other for us, except that we were going in for Madolyn's open house at school and it was time to get ready to go.
Lane decided he needed at least two of his three favorite things, boots and a hat, for this outing...and I can remember what he was wearing, denim shorts and a navy blue polo-type shirt, his boots and a bicycle helmet. Yep, a blue bicycle helmet with bees on it. He had fallen in love with the bicycle helmet and wore it constantly. I had learned (even back then) that you have to chose your battles so I let it go. Surely, I thought, he'll take the stupid helmet off before we go in the school.
And as is often the case, I was wrong. He insisted that he keep the helmet on. So we went...and I had two people ask me if Lane was suffering from sort of head injury. Nope, I smiled and said, he is juststubborn perfect.
I believe it was Madolyn's first grade year, 2006/2007. Lane was a little over two years old. He loved three things unconditionally: his bunk (he still sleeps with it), his boots (any kind) and hats (of all shapes and sizes). This warm day in August was no different than any other for us, except that we were going in for Madolyn's open house at school and it was time to get ready to go.
Lane decided he needed at least two of his three favorite things, boots and a hat, for this outing...and I can remember what he was wearing, denim shorts and a navy blue polo-type shirt, his boots and a bicycle helmet. Yep, a blue bicycle helmet with bees on it. He had fallen in love with the bicycle helmet and wore it constantly. I had learned (even back then) that you have to chose your battles so I let it go. Surely, I thought, he'll take the stupid helmet off before we go in the school.
And as is often the case, I was wrong. He insisted that he keep the helmet on. So we went...and I had two people ask me if Lane was suffering from sort of head injury. Nope, I smiled and said, he is just
Friday, February 3, 2012
The Shopping Cart Corral
And you yourself must be an example to them by doing good works of every kind. Let everything you do reflect the integrity and seriousness of your teaching. Titus 2:7 (NLT)
I believe that's what they call them anyway...When I'm looking for a place to park at Wal-Mart, my goal is to park somewhere near the vicinity of a shopping cart corral so that I don't have to walk a mile back to the entrance of the store or in search of another corral. Last night, we were at a different Wal-Mart and I was, of course, in a hurry so I didn't think about it.
As I was loading the car with my groceries, my little man hollers, "Hey, mom, the shopping cart thingy is way over there." I see where he is pointing, Ugh. Then he says, "Or you could just leave it right here where this other cart is." And I saw where someone had left a car in between cars instead of putting it where it belongs.
The dilemma. I'm in a hurry. But it's not raining or freezing out. There is already a cart there so someone is going to have to grab it anyway. But that's not where the carts are supposed to be left. I'm sure no one will think twice about me stashing my cart close by. But my son is watching.
This is one of those parenting moments where I find myself having that little tug-o-war in my mind. I finally decide that although I need to hurry, another 30 seconds isn't going to make one shred of difference. (Shush it, Jay, I know you are laughing at that one.) So I start towards the corral Lane had pointed out and realize that just three spaces down there was one in our own parking aisle. So I made a u-turn and headed over to leave my cart.
You know it would have been so much easier to just leave the cart right there with the other one and it would've saved me 30 seconds, but my little man was watching. In my mind, I knew that I had to make the effort, take the extra time to put that cart where it belonged. Because how could I, in the future, have this same discussion with my kiddos, telling them to put things where they belong and not just where it is convenient to put them, knowing they've seen me doing the convenient thing?
I know it probably sounds trivial, but it is the little things like that that are important when teaching our mini me's, don't you think? I read in a de-cluttering guide that we have to learn to put things where they go and not just put them down. I have this struggle at my house, and honestly, it is probably because I like to take the easy road. I shove the stack of papers to the side of my counter so I can clean it off, and they stay there for two weeks. I leave the laundry, clean and folded, in the basket but decide I don't want to put it away right then. So what does the rest of the family do? Yep, my house is usually cluttered.
Our kids are always watching us. They are always listening to us (I know, I know, we feel like they never listen to us). They see those little things. They hear those not-so-nice comments we make about someone or something when we get frustrated. They see us cheat and cut corners wherever we can. It never ceases to amaze me the stuff they bring up days later, things I didn't even realized they noticed.
When I start to get mad and frustrated with my kids because of the way they're behaving or their actions, I must first look at the example I am giving them. When Madolyn says something sassy, I hear myself saying the same thing. When Lane says he doesn't want to put away his clean clothes, he'll just leave them on his dresser where he can get to them quickly, I realize he's probably seen that in my bedroom with my clothes.
I'm on a mission to be a better example in my words and deeds. We'll see how it goes. And next time I'm out shopping, I just need to park closer to that shopping cart corral.
I believe that's what they call them anyway...When I'm looking for a place to park at Wal-Mart, my goal is to park somewhere near the vicinity of a shopping cart corral so that I don't have to walk a mile back to the entrance of the store or in search of another corral. Last night, we were at a different Wal-Mart and I was, of course, in a hurry so I didn't think about it.
As I was loading the car with my groceries, my little man hollers, "Hey, mom, the shopping cart thingy is way over there." I see where he is pointing, Ugh. Then he says, "Or you could just leave it right here where this other cart is." And I saw where someone had left a car in between cars instead of putting it where it belongs.
The dilemma. I'm in a hurry. But it's not raining or freezing out. There is already a cart there so someone is going to have to grab it anyway. But that's not where the carts are supposed to be left. I'm sure no one will think twice about me stashing my cart close by. But my son is watching.
This is one of those parenting moments where I find myself having that little tug-o-war in my mind. I finally decide that although I need to hurry, another 30 seconds isn't going to make one shred of difference. (Shush it, Jay, I know you are laughing at that one.) So I start towards the corral Lane had pointed out and realize that just three spaces down there was one in our own parking aisle. So I made a u-turn and headed over to leave my cart.
You know it would have been so much easier to just leave the cart right there with the other one and it would've saved me 30 seconds, but my little man was watching. In my mind, I knew that I had to make the effort, take the extra time to put that cart where it belonged. Because how could I, in the future, have this same discussion with my kiddos, telling them to put things where they belong and not just where it is convenient to put them, knowing they've seen me doing the convenient thing?
I know it probably sounds trivial, but it is the little things like that that are important when teaching our mini me's, don't you think? I read in a de-cluttering guide that we have to learn to put things where they go and not just put them down. I have this struggle at my house, and honestly, it is probably because I like to take the easy road. I shove the stack of papers to the side of my counter so I can clean it off, and they stay there for two weeks. I leave the laundry, clean and folded, in the basket but decide I don't want to put it away right then. So what does the rest of the family do? Yep, my house is usually cluttered.
Our kids are always watching us. They are always listening to us (I know, I know, we feel like they never listen to us). They see those little things. They hear those not-so-nice comments we make about someone or something when we get frustrated. They see us cheat and cut corners wherever we can. It never ceases to amaze me the stuff they bring up days later, things I didn't even realized they noticed.
When I start to get mad and frustrated with my kids because of the way they're behaving or their actions, I must first look at the example I am giving them. When Madolyn says something sassy, I hear myself saying the same thing. When Lane says he doesn't want to put away his clean clothes, he'll just leave them on his dresser where he can get to them quickly, I realize he's probably seen that in my bedroom with my clothes.
I'm on a mission to be a better example in my words and deeds. We'll see how it goes. And next time I'm out shopping, I just need to park closer to that shopping cart corral.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Temptation
No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it. 1 Corinthians 10:13 (NIV)
I'm sure you've heard it said before, "God won't give you more than you can handle," and I used to believe that...and I've said that to others in rough patches too. You know how it is, you're trying to reassure someone and you offer them that piece of advice. After all, that is in the Bible, or is it?
The words used in the above verse relate to temptations. He doesn't say that you won't be given adversity and difficult situations. He tells us that we won't be tempted beyond what we can bear. But my favorite part of this verse is the second part of that verse where He tells us that He will provide us a way out so we can endure it.
We have sort of used this as the theme or motto for our high school/college age youth group. What teenager isn't faced with temptation of one sort or another on a daily basis? (The same could be said about adults too!) It is important to let our children (and others) know that there will continue to be temptations and struggles regardless of whether Christ is in our hearts. Those things don't just up and disappear at a certain age. It doesn't matter if we're 15, 30 or 60, we all struggle with temptations.
Our hope lies in the second part of this verse, "He will also provide a way out so that you can endure it." We must call out to God for help with the temptation and he will equip us with what we need to get through it. Does that mean that that fresh, warm, gooey pan of chocolate brownies will suddenly disappear from the counter so that I don't eat the whole pan? Hmm, well, maybe not exactly like that (although if a certain precious 80-lb beast of a puppy jumped up there and ate it...oh, wait, chocolate is deadly to dogs...scratch that.)
Seriously though, it is amazing that sometimes you can look back on a situation in which you were tempted with something, trying to figure out what to do and how suddenly a Plan B appeared...that was God. It could be as simple as a telephone call distracting you (me) from that pan of brownies, or a friend texting at the right moment to give you a better (safer) option for a Saturday night.
I find myself whispering to myself "Devil, get outta here!" every now and then when I feel temptation creeping up on me. Sometimes, I even know the temptation is coming and I choose to ignore doing what is right because I want what I shouldn't have. As a simple example, for instance, the car I am riding in is stopping at DQ and how do I get out of this without having a hot fudge sundae? I know that I shouldn't, I know that I should just get a diet Pepsi or a simple child-size cone, but instead I order the hot fudge sundae and feel guilty. That is a situation where I could have easily asked God for a little help with overcoming that temptation, to provide a way out, i.e. the Diet Pepsi, but instead chose to fulfill my own desires.
I just got back from a quick visit with Grandma Great who is in the nursing home. She has been worried for weeks about February 1, because that meant another weigh-in. I suppose I can relate to that (only it's every Tuesday!) She had gained a few pounds on her January weigh-in and was super concerned about tacking on more weight...why? Because she has finally gotten into size 14 pants and doesn't want to have to go back to buying 16's or 18's. I have to laugh because the woman is 93, almost 94 years old and she is still worrying about her pant size. Heaven help us, will we never stop!?
Today she shoved a ziplock bag of chips, cheese and crackers and two sugar cookies (Bingo prizes) into my hands and told me to take them home, she had gained another 7 pounds and she was done with the sweets. Just like that. Bravo to her for being so strong. A 7-pound weight gain tends to make me feel depressed, and I would probably be more inclined to eat some cake or cookies...or a hot fudge sundae to make myself feel better. Now, thanks to Grandma Great, I have a bag of goodies in my car that I'm gonna have to toss out the window or something.
Sometimes all we have to do is remove the temptation, and sometimes all we need to do is call up the name of the Lord to help us get past it. Temptation will never go away, even at 93 years of age. Memorize this verse, friends, it is a good one!
Correction: Grandma told me last night that she had gained 1 pound since her January weigh-in and 7 pounds since she entered the nursing home last March...I keep reminding her that when she entered the nursing home, she had been on a feeding tube! Anyway, I wanted to correct her weight gain...she may get mad at me :)
I'm sure you've heard it said before, "God won't give you more than you can handle," and I used to believe that...and I've said that to others in rough patches too. You know how it is, you're trying to reassure someone and you offer them that piece of advice. After all, that is in the Bible, or is it?
The words used in the above verse relate to temptations. He doesn't say that you won't be given adversity and difficult situations. He tells us that we won't be tempted beyond what we can bear. But my favorite part of this verse is the second part of that verse where He tells us that He will provide us a way out so we can endure it.
We have sort of used this as the theme or motto for our high school/college age youth group. What teenager isn't faced with temptation of one sort or another on a daily basis? (The same could be said about adults too!) It is important to let our children (and others) know that there will continue to be temptations and struggles regardless of whether Christ is in our hearts. Those things don't just up and disappear at a certain age. It doesn't matter if we're 15, 30 or 60, we all struggle with temptations.
Our hope lies in the second part of this verse, "He will also provide a way out so that you can endure it." We must call out to God for help with the temptation and he will equip us with what we need to get through it. Does that mean that that fresh, warm, gooey pan of chocolate brownies will suddenly disappear from the counter so that I don't eat the whole pan? Hmm, well, maybe not exactly like that (although if a certain precious 80-lb beast of a puppy jumped up there and ate it...oh, wait, chocolate is deadly to dogs...scratch that.)
Seriously though, it is amazing that sometimes you can look back on a situation in which you were tempted with something, trying to figure out what to do and how suddenly a Plan B appeared...that was God. It could be as simple as a telephone call distracting you (me) from that pan of brownies, or a friend texting at the right moment to give you a better (safer) option for a Saturday night.
I find myself whispering to myself "Devil, get outta here!" every now and then when I feel temptation creeping up on me. Sometimes, I even know the temptation is coming and I choose to ignore doing what is right because I want what I shouldn't have. As a simple example, for instance, the car I am riding in is stopping at DQ and how do I get out of this without having a hot fudge sundae? I know that I shouldn't, I know that I should just get a diet Pepsi or a simple child-size cone, but instead I order the hot fudge sundae and feel guilty. That is a situation where I could have easily asked God for a little help with overcoming that temptation, to provide a way out, i.e. the Diet Pepsi, but instead chose to fulfill my own desires.
I just got back from a quick visit with Grandma Great who is in the nursing home. She has been worried for weeks about February 1, because that meant another weigh-in. I suppose I can relate to that (only it's every Tuesday!) She had gained a few pounds on her January weigh-in and was super concerned about tacking on more weight...why? Because she has finally gotten into size 14 pants and doesn't want to have to go back to buying 16's or 18's. I have to laugh because the woman is 93, almost 94 years old and she is still worrying about her pant size. Heaven help us, will we never stop!?
Today she shoved a ziplock bag of chips, cheese and crackers and two sugar cookies (Bingo prizes) into my hands and told me to take them home, she had gained another 7 pounds and she was done with the sweets. Just like that. Bravo to her for being so strong. A 7-pound weight gain tends to make me feel depressed, and I would probably be more inclined to eat some cake or cookies...or a hot fudge sundae to make myself feel better. Now, thanks to Grandma Great, I have a bag of goodies in my car that I'm gonna have to toss out the window or something.
Sometimes all we have to do is remove the temptation, and sometimes all we need to do is call up the name of the Lord to help us get past it. Temptation will never go away, even at 93 years of age. Memorize this verse, friends, it is a good one!
Correction: Grandma told me last night that she had gained 1 pound since her January weigh-in and 7 pounds since she entered the nursing home last March...I keep reminding her that when she entered the nursing home, she had been on a feeding tube! Anyway, I wanted to correct her weight gain...she may get mad at me :)
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Itchy-itchy-eeeew
I have no idea if that is how you spell itchy-itchy-eeeew, but you'll get it soon enough. There are a few creatures on earth that I cannot seem to find a true purpose for...today I will speak on the louse or lice. I know that now your head is just starting to itch...
I was fortunate enough growing up to not experience the horror (to put it nicely) of head lice. (My mother owes me for that too.) I have been unfortunate enough as a parent with a daughter who has long, thick hair to experience it twice. It is terrible.
The first time she was in first grade and I had absolutely no clue what to do. I got the call while at work (50 miles away) and was horrified and a swarm of nerves all the way home...after picking up a lice kit at the CVS...which was the most embarrassing thing ever...at least almost. I did what the instructions said, although I was a little freaked out by all the warnings on the shampoo, so I was careful not to overdo it and hurt her little scalp. Then I sat her down and picked through her hair. Pretty good, I thought. Sent her back to school the next day. (I know that you are itchin' all over now, aren't ya?)
And was called again that I had not gotten rid of the nits or eggs. Okay, here we go again. I was frantic and bewildered because I felt like I had done a fairly good job. So I sought advice from my friend "Beth" who was a grade school teacher. She said she would come over and we could look through her hair together. Cool. Apparently, I had no idea what I was doing the day before when I spent two hours picking through my daughter's hair...because the things "Beth" was showing me (stupid nits), I had paid no attention to...oops.
We even took her up to the school and used a big lamp with a magnifying glass on it and checked through her hair. I was not sending her back to school again without that head being spotless. The nits are clear or translucent and tiny, easily overlooked. We got it under control and that was that.
Until last year...and yes, I thought that because my daughter was older that we were past this. Nope. Lice has no age requirement. Eeeew. This time I was completely ignorant and kept buying dandruff shampoos because I thought she had a dry scalp. It was wintertime and she always battles dandruff and an itchy scalp. (I know what you're doing right now, scratch-scratch.) I even asked a hairdresser for an opinion on shampoo, I never once thought that, duh, it could be those awful little pests. But it was.
And of course, this conclusion was reached about 8:00 p.m. on a winter school night with the closest Walmart 20 miles away. Jay was working. I made a dash to the local Walmart, the best I could with snow on the roads and came back to begin the treacherous task of shampooing and pick, pick, picking. Nitpicking. It was, again, just terrible. Not even my worst enemy deserves head lice. Yuck. And I have told one of my friends with three daughters who have long hair that if they ever have the pleasure of this experience, she must call me and I will come help her. I cannot imagine dealing with more than one head of hair. Thankfully, none of the rest of us ever got it.
I also learned that unless you spend countless hours, and yes, I mean hours of nit-picking, you won't get the problem under control. My daughter thought she knew who always had it in their class back in first grade and she would sometimes make mean comments about her. I told her that it wasn't her fault, it was more her mother's and her mother had her hands full with multiple children. I cannot even imagine that battle. I felt sorry for the whole family.
The other part of that battle is that it is costly. I think the kit with the shampoo and comb and maybe some special gel or whatever is maybe $12-$14 approximately. Now multiply that by four or five or six...and you're not going to have food, toilet paper or gas money for two weeks. It is sad. And so the cycle continues.
These good-for-nothing pests like clean hair. The cleaner the better. Tip: load the hair up with mousse or hair gel and hair spray. I would also blow dry Mad's hair instead of letting it air dry because they don't like heat either. We even smothered her hair in real mayonnaise each time because someone told us it helps to smother them out (they can hold their breath for a little while).
I put this useful information and skill to use last summer at a camp. Wow, what an experience. I checked probably 50 heads of hair in the blazing hot summer June sun for lice. It was quite a day. I wanted to just take a bath in bleach or maybe a whole bottle of that magic shampoo. It was awful and something I do not plan to repeat. I suppose I can say that God started preparing me for that task five years ago, huh? Ha.
I'm sorry that I've given you the squirmies and that you're scratching your hair like crazy. If you ever have a problem with lice and need some help or a tip, give me a shout. Unfortunately, I feel like an expert on the subject. Eeeew.
I was fortunate enough growing up to not experience the horror (to put it nicely) of head lice. (My mother owes me for that too.) I have been unfortunate enough as a parent with a daughter who has long, thick hair to experience it twice. It is terrible.
The first time she was in first grade and I had absolutely no clue what to do. I got the call while at work (50 miles away) and was horrified and a swarm of nerves all the way home...after picking up a lice kit at the CVS...which was the most embarrassing thing ever...at least almost. I did what the instructions said, although I was a little freaked out by all the warnings on the shampoo, so I was careful not to overdo it and hurt her little scalp. Then I sat her down and picked through her hair. Pretty good, I thought. Sent her back to school the next day. (I know that you are itchin' all over now, aren't ya?)
And was called again that I had not gotten rid of the nits or eggs. Okay, here we go again. I was frantic and bewildered because I felt like I had done a fairly good job. So I sought advice from my friend "Beth" who was a grade school teacher. She said she would come over and we could look through her hair together. Cool. Apparently, I had no idea what I was doing the day before when I spent two hours picking through my daughter's hair...because the things "Beth" was showing me (stupid nits), I had paid no attention to...oops.
We even took her up to the school and used a big lamp with a magnifying glass on it and checked through her hair. I was not sending her back to school again without that head being spotless. The nits are clear or translucent and tiny, easily overlooked. We got it under control and that was that.
Until last year...and yes, I thought that because my daughter was older that we were past this. Nope. Lice has no age requirement. Eeeew. This time I was completely ignorant and kept buying dandruff shampoos because I thought she had a dry scalp. It was wintertime and she always battles dandruff and an itchy scalp. (I know what you're doing right now, scratch-scratch.) I even asked a hairdresser for an opinion on shampoo, I never once thought that, duh, it could be those awful little pests. But it was.
And of course, this conclusion was reached about 8:00 p.m. on a winter school night with the closest Walmart 20 miles away. Jay was working. I made a dash to the local Walmart, the best I could with snow on the roads and came back to begin the treacherous task of shampooing and pick, pick, picking. Nitpicking. It was, again, just terrible. Not even my worst enemy deserves head lice. Yuck. And I have told one of my friends with three daughters who have long hair that if they ever have the pleasure of this experience, she must call me and I will come help her. I cannot imagine dealing with more than one head of hair. Thankfully, none of the rest of us ever got it.
I also learned that unless you spend countless hours, and yes, I mean hours of nit-picking, you won't get the problem under control. My daughter thought she knew who always had it in their class back in first grade and she would sometimes make mean comments about her. I told her that it wasn't her fault, it was more her mother's and her mother had her hands full with multiple children. I cannot even imagine that battle. I felt sorry for the whole family.
The other part of that battle is that it is costly. I think the kit with the shampoo and comb and maybe some special gel or whatever is maybe $12-$14 approximately. Now multiply that by four or five or six...and you're not going to have food, toilet paper or gas money for two weeks. It is sad. And so the cycle continues.
These good-for-nothing pests like clean hair. The cleaner the better. Tip: load the hair up with mousse or hair gel and hair spray. I would also blow dry Mad's hair instead of letting it air dry because they don't like heat either. We even smothered her hair in real mayonnaise each time because someone told us it helps to smother them out (they can hold their breath for a little while).
I put this useful information and skill to use last summer at a camp. Wow, what an experience. I checked probably 50 heads of hair in the blazing hot summer June sun for lice. It was quite a day. I wanted to just take a bath in bleach or maybe a whole bottle of that magic shampoo. It was awful and something I do not plan to repeat. I suppose I can say that God started preparing me for that task five years ago, huh? Ha.
I'm sorry that I've given you the squirmies and that you're scratching your hair like crazy. If you ever have a problem with lice and need some help or a tip, give me a shout. Unfortunately, I feel like an expert on the subject. Eeeew.
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