I GUESS IT'S THAT OLD "CIRCLE OF LIFE" THING.

I'm home. Paul picked me up on Wednesday. Kayla took the day off school to make the drive with him.

I have a really cool dad, I guess. He drives (when he's healthy) a 2005 red Mustang GT (with black leather interior). We drive a 2006 Toyota Sienna mini van that seats 8 (and although I only gave birth to 2 kids the seats are usually full - another math puzzle). Dad and Marilyn quickly realized how easy our van was for them to get in and out of, he with his sore back and she with her crutches. So Paul offered to leave the van with us and he'd rent a car to drive home. "No," Dad said. "Drive the mustang." Yay, Paul.
So Paul got to spend the week with the red baby. And the kids got to ride to school and all their activities in style. But alas, the joy ended when we came home, and Dad could not be persuaded to let us leave him the mini van "for his own good, you know" and we would drive the mustang "just to help them out." They'll be sorry. They'll miss that van. I know they will.

Anyway, Dad and Marilyn were very easy patients. They have a very set routine but they were very easy going and flexible about it. They are funny and positive. They are fiercely protective of each other. For example, Dad said he had questions for the doctor but did not want Marilyn to hear them because they would make her sad. And anytime Dad said he was craving something (since he has very little appetite), Marilyn got her purse out and handed me money so I could rush out and buy it before the craving passed. They are very much in love and so devoted to each other. They touched each other's hands during a conversation or would reach over and rub each other's shoulder. They've been married for 25 years, and I could see that they were truly best friends and truly enjoyed their marriage.

Now, I know this is all very normal stuff for those of you who grew up in a normal home. But this was the first time I had seen one of my parents in a loving, happy relationship. I loved witnessing it. Do I wish I had been exposed to this all of my life? Yes. Do I wish that it was my mother instead of my step mother with whom Dad shared this? Yes. Do I feel a great sense of relief that Dad has this special woman by his side during this difficult time? Yes. I am relieved they have each other, and I told them that we would be there to take care of Marilyn too, as the years passed. I do wish we could convince them to move back here, but they are set up with a great medical team now and they couldn't possibly move at this point anyway.

Now, about their routine.
They get up at 3:45. Yes, that is 3:45. IN THE MORNING. That would be 2:45 my time. Dad has always been an early riser and even though he isn't working now, the habit remains. So they get up at about the time I would have been feeding a newborn baby years ago. Then they have their coffe and watch Fox News for a couple of hours. Then they take their naps (only since they have both become sick/injured). Then they are ready for lunch at 11:00. Then more Fox News and napping. After lunch is when I had my daily "battle" with Marilyn to let me do her housework. She is one energetic woman. She has always worked out daily and she has the sleekest arms and legs I've seen on a woman, regardless of age. I think that is why she is adjusting to crutches easily. It is absolutely driving her crazy to be helpless. Their kitchen chairs have wheels on them, so she would simply push herself with her good foot, and do what chores she could. I did take Dad to the office one day so he could pick up some work to do at home. Anyway, after afternoon rest time - at about 3:30, we headed to Damon's. Damon's has been part of their evening routine for years. At Damon's Marilyn would have 2 glasses of white wine (she only had one when I wasn't driving. So that second was a treat) and Dad would have 2 beers, and I would have one diet Pepsi and they'd visit with all their friends, who were also very nice and funny. And then I'd drive them home and fix them supper. Then by 7:30, they'd both be exhausted and ready for bed. They slept in the family room on the couch and love seat because it was simply easier for them. I got their bedroom and bathroom. So after settling them in, I had the evening to watch tv, or read. Yep, it was a fairly easy job. Except for seeing how OLD my dad looks. And how slowly he walks. And how sad and scared they both are, despite their efforts to remain upbeat.
In case any of you are wondering. NO, I did not get up at 3:45. I rarely slept at all, though, because I woke up at the slightest sound from them through the night, especially if I heard Marilyn's crutches moving down the hall. I was so worried one of them would fall or something. It was a fall that started this whole thing, after all. But once I heard them getting their coffee at 3:45 IN THE MORNING, I slept pretty good for a couple hours because I knew they had made it through the night and the routine would begin again. I told them it was like taking care of a couple of babies. Feed them, keep them happy for a couple hours, then put them down for a nap again. And boy was it hard to leave, but there are still things that need to be done at home. Our lives seem to carry on, crisis or not.
I miss them. I know I won't be able to go back for awhile because I can't leave work. Well, until his surgery. Isn't it ironic, that I've started working after 15 years, and a parent becomes seriously ill? I am praying for guidance in that area of my life. Paul may go over for a few days, though, as he can easily work away from the office. Now, isn't that a sweet man? Willing to go take care of his sick father-in-law for a few days.

Interestingly, my sister can't go because she has "so many issues to deal with" and she doesn't want to leave her children. EXCUSE ME??? We all have issues, and it wasn't pleasant for me to leave my children, and to ask for a week off from work, and miss Kayla's ball game and to go days without sleep....But so far I have kept my mouth shut and tried to keep the peace.

The next time I post, I am going to ask this question: Why are some people trying to convince me to hold a grudge?

AND NOW....THE REST OF THE STORY

I am posting from my dad's house where both of my patients are resting. This experience of caring for them will make for lots of blog material.

This is for Jen3 who has asked for the whole story of the homecoming fiasco experienced by my son. Please be patient.

First a little background. We live in a town of about 2000 people (that's two thousand). We are in a consolidated school district with a town of about 1000 people (that's one thousand). That town is 7 miles up the highway. In the ten years we've been here, our school district has never been ranked below number 2 in state testing for our region, so even the consolidation is little bother for the fantastic schools we think we have. Our town is basically connected to a town of about 80,000. It has several public schools and one private Catholic high school (St. T) This school is our ARCH RIVAL in sports. It is a rivalry that seems to have reached animosity - at least when you are speaking to teenagers (and some parents, actually.)

Blake's friend Taylor was dating a girl from St. T. Seems she already had her dress for OUR homecoming,when Taylor broke up with her. So she asked Blake to take her to HIS OWN dance, even though she attends a different school. Boys being boys, Taylor didn't care a bit, other than to say "let Blake deal with the headache." I should have seen the red flag.

So she tells Blake her dress is green and he tells me his tie has to match her dress so I ask "what color green? Pine green? Sage green? Lime green? John Deere green?" He doesn't know but he'll ask her. She responds by saying she has a tie she wants him to wear, which I thought sounded a little controlling, but what do I know?

So we buy Blake his dress pants and shirt and a new belt and I wait around for the tie. Friday night (dance on Saturday) - still no tie. I ask Blake when we are getting that tie so I can make sure it is pressed, etc. Turns out we had to go pick up the tie Saturday morning, because evidently we didn't have enough to do on top of Kayla's basketball tournament, picking up a corsage, pressing clothes, arranging transportation, etc. etc.

Let me back up. On Thursday (two days before the dance) Blake called me from the after school festivities and said "Mom, she just called and said she doesn't want to go to the dance. Can you cancel the flower?" Sure. I think he was relieved. Then he called back 45 minutes later and I felt so bad for him because he said "Mom, now she's called and said she does want to go to the dance with me." Well, I didn't say what I wanted to say, but enough is enough. So I said "Blake you do NOT have to take her to the dance. If you do not want to take this girl, you have my permission to call her back and tell her that you are not going to be strung along by her. She can't play this kind of game with you." Please keep in mind, Blake did not know this girl very well, he thought he was just escorting her to the dance so she could be with her friends who had been invited. She is not the type of girl he has normally chosen to "date."

So, on the evening of the dance, we are all to meet at the pond across from our house for pictures. Blake and his date had their picture taken by her mother and before I could get in position to take one, she said "now Ryan, one with you." Then,
"Alex, one with you." And on it went. So I just said "I'd like one of Blake and his date, please." Though, actually I didn't.

THEN. We all load up to take the kids to Red Lobster and BLAKE'S DATE DIDN'T WANT TO RIDE WITH HIM. And neither did Alex's date. Then after eating, Blake and his date and 2 other couples were supposed to be driven to the dance by my husband. Paul said he got there and one of the girls said "Oh, my mom is taking all the girls." So the girls piled in one van and the boys piled in the other.

Later that evening, all the boys spent the night at our house. That is when Taylor said "next year, no dates. Too much drama."

My theory, and the other mothers agreed, is that these girls simply used the boys to get into the homecoming dance of a rival school. Think of the drama they created by saying they got to go to this dance. Think of how they probably stirred things up with the boys from their own school. And honestly, I am disappointed that our boys did not decide to take girls from their own school, so I do not hold Blake blameless in this mess. I think he has learned a lesson. It was very hard for me to watch all of this unfold, but I was afraid the more I protested, the more tempting it might be for him to not only escort her to the dance but to keep having contact with her. Teenagers are like that, you know.

And guess what. At dinner the other night, Blake asked "Mom, Dad, would I be allowed to attend St. T's homecoming dance.?"
My response: "Not only NO, but NO WAY!!!"

Also, I do know that these girls are just kids and they may very well turn out to be very sweet young women. I do not mean to speak badly of kids. Because they are just that...kids.
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And now, a quick question.

I am nearing 40. And that is fine with me. I am accepting the hot flashes and the creaking my joints do. I am accepting the higher maintence costs in general that come with middle age. I am accepting that I am in a phase of life where I am raising teenagers AND caring for aging, ill parents. But why, oh why if I am on the threshold of middle age, am I still getting pimples?

WHAT HAVE I BECOME?

Me 6 years ago at Blake's little basketball games: "Paul you need to tell him not to be so aggressive. Is he supposed to try to take the ball right out of the other players' hands?

Me Wednesday night at Kayla's basketball game (which by the way we won 31-2):
"WAY TO FIGHT FOR THAT BALL KAYLA!!!!!"

Me last night at Blake's football game: "FACE MASKING!!!!!!!!!" (I mean, really, if I could see it, anybody could....)

Hmmmmm.

UMMMMM....JUST NEWS I GUESS

There's that old saying "when it rains it pours..." yada, yada, yada.

My dad had his first chemo treatment on Monday. My step mom broke her foot on Wednesday. He cannot get off the couch. She cannot walk.
They called yesterday to ask if I could come for a few days. I have used the time since then to find temporary homes for my kids and make arrangements at work. So after Kayla's basketball game tomorrow morning, Paul will drive me to Indiana and come home on Sunday. Then he will come back and get me....well, whenever they can manage or one of my siblings can relieve me or when Marilyn can get a walking cast put on her foot.

I cannot express the emotions swirling in my head. I have 2 brothers and 1 sister and, of the four of us, I have had the most distant relationship with my dad. There are a number of reasons for that, I guess. But suffice it to say, I have had less contact with him than the other three. There is no animosity or resentment on either part. But there is, I think, that uncomfortable feeling for each of us, that tells us there should have been more. Regret maybe?
So when they called and asked ME to come and help. I was overwhelmed with thankfulness. I just wanted to say "ME? You've chosen ME? Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."
First, Dad and Marilyn are very independent and private people. I know how humbling it had to be for them to call and say "We can't do this. Can you please come and help us?" Especially given our history. Second, (and I don't want this to sound pompous) but I thought maybe, just maybe, in our rare contact with each other, something of me has shone through to him. Something of me (and my husband) has shown him that yes, we will come running when he calls. Something of me has said that the past does not matter. And I am so thankful that God has let me show whatever quality that is. We are in a phase of life now where he needs my help and I am able to give it. I am blessed to have a job that I can leave. I am blessed to be surrounded by families that will take my children in on short notice and I know they will be happy and comfortable. I am blessed to have a husband that will say "of course, we'll come" and then start making phone calls to arrange things so I don't have to worry about all the details.
Now, I just have to tell my mom. She is coming around, but I know it will be a difficult conversation. In our last conversation about this I simply said that I am doing these things for my dad for a variety of reasons but, as a mother, she should understand my main reason. And that is: my children are watching me. As in every situation, they are watching to see how I handle this. And I will not let them see me turn my back on a parent who needs my help, regardless of the past.

And on a humorous note; as I left work today my boss asked me to call in with the numbers at which I could be reached. I told him of course I would. But I wanted to say "uh...you really have no idea how little I do around here, do you?" He was afraid somebody might call looking for me. I have no idea who that would be. The only people who call me at work are my husband and my children and they will know where I am. All I do at work, basically is answer the phone. But let me tell you, some of these men go into a panic when that phone is unattended. One day when I was leaving and the other assistant was out, the phone rang. One of the brokers actually looked at it and raised up his hands and said "I don't know how to pick up." I guess I perform a valuable service after all.

SO LONG, FAREWELL, AUFWIEDERZEHN, GOODBYE....

A few weeks ago, I started thinking that blogging was a waste of my time. I started blogging for 3 reasons:
1. I love words. I love to express myself in written form.
2. My daughter reads it and I had hoped that someday both of my kids would view it as a legacy.
3. My husband travels a lot. When my kids were babies, I'd sometimes go days without speaking to another adult. Blogging has been a good way to use up my quota of words, especially when Paul is out of town.
Now though, I think it might be a little silly for me to spend my time putting my words to paper (so to speak)for, well...none of the world to see. I REALLY appreciate the 3 of you who have read and commented, but I am no Erma Bombeck (loved her) and perhaps my thoughts are best left un-typed.
However; just as there are times when I simply can't keep my mouth shut about something, I'm sure there will be times where I can't keep my fingers still and will just have to let my view be known. As for the legacy for my kids - I can always do that on a Word Document and print it out for them.
But before I go, I have one last request.
The news on my dad is not nearly as good as we had hoped. His cancer is inoperable. The doctors have said his lung capacity is too low for them to consider surgery. He has been prounounced "incurable." Yet, they are planning to start chemotherapy and radiation. I don't understand that. Does this mean there IS hope, or are they just giving him more time? I have many questions.
So please pray for him and for my step mother. And please pray for my siblings and me as we try to care for him from a distance, and as we try to manage this whole thing without angering our mother. Also, please pray for my mom, that she will finally see that when we give love to somebody else, we are not taking it away from her.

Thanks.

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEEEEEEASE LET THIS OLD DOG LEARN NEW TRICKS

I've been a terribly indulgent dog-owner and I am now changing the rules on her. I did not want to spend my child rearing years yelling at the dog "Get Down, Get Down..."while I was yelling at my children "Get Down, Get Down..."
Now, though, I realize my mistake. Well, I realized it a long time ago, but you know how it is? So I went out and bought a dog bed (another one). The first dog bed I bought was quickly taken over by our 24 pound cat. So I placed new the dog bed by her favorite love seat and I stood the cushions to the love seat on end so she couldn't climb up there. Then I got a piece of cheese and had my daughter hold the cheese. My plan: have Cookie get on the bed and every time she got on the bed, Kayla could hand her a bite of cheese. Cookie wouldn't get on the bed. I even rubbed the bed all over her to get her smell on it. Then I put it back down and pointed to it and said "get on the bed, Cookie... get on the bed Cookie, geeeeet on the bed Cookie." Her ears stood straight out sideways from her head and she looked at me as if to say "but the loveseat is my bed." Then I dragged her onto the bed and held her squirming body down and said to Kayla in a panic "give her the cheese, give her the cheese!" Then Cookie jumped off the bed with her cheese and ran in circles around the coffee table and stopped and cocked her head at the bed with her ears sticking out sideways from her head again. We reapeated this until one slice of cheese was gone. Then I sat on the dog bed and called her to me. She came over and stopped a mere centimeter from the bed. I dragged her on to the bed and gave her more cheese. Then she started the circles again and I was exhausted and sweating. Then the cat came in and I threw him out of the room and gave up.
But when I went upstairs last night, SHE WAS ON THE BED.
This morning, she was by the front door, but you gotta look at the small victories.

THERE, I'VE SAID IT...

We skipped church today. We were not out of town. We did not over sleep. Nobody is sick. We just skipped. There I said it. And it felt good to sleep in a little. It feels good to look forward to a quiet day with the family. Even though our church is 40 miles away, we are usually not daunted by the drive, but after the hectic weekend we've had, we were eager to stay close to home and have a leisurely day doing, well, probably nothing. Although I do have a stack of clothes on my bedroom floor. I was in the middle of cleaning out my closet when I finally went to bed at 2 a.m. (more on that later)
3 years ago at our former congregation we would have been racked with guilt if we missed church for no "good" reason. We didn't necessarily have a desire to be there, but it was a good place to get a healthy dose of guilt from the pulpit and also from all the older members who would ask when they saw you next "and where were you last week?" REALLY. That was probably what kept our attendance regular for the last year we were there.
Now, though, it is the opposite. We have a tremendous desire to be part of worship services and we do not feel like we are being judged on the rare occasion we miss. Nor do we feel like we owe an explanation. You know sometimes, somebody will say "I missed you last week..." and there is the question hanging in the air: "Where were you?" Now it is just more of a "I'm glad to see you" attitude. No judgment. No guilt. No explanation needed. So I may actually miss church a little more now that we drive 40 miles, but I feel closer to God, and more spiritually fed, then I have in a long time.
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I was cleaning out my closet at 2 in the morning because my son had a group of boys spend the night after the dance. He also had about 4 girls over until 1. Let me tell you something. This was not a pleasant evening. We told the girls we were taking them home at 1 (because they all said they had to be home between 1 and 1:30, which I think is a little late but I'm not their mother) so while the girls were here, Paul and I had to take turns going to the basement every ten minutes to make sure the kids knew we would be going to the basement every ten minutes to monitor them. I didn't even try to be discreet. I started just stopping at the bottom of the steps, looking around and going back up.
So anyway, at 12:50 I went downstairs and said "ladies, in 10 minutes Mr Woolard will be taking you home. Do any boys want to go home?" One did. So at 1:00 the boy (they call him Chili) was waiting in our living room to go home. No girls. So I called down the steps "girls, it's time to go" One of them makes a call on her cell phone. 5 minutes later, "girls. we need to get going." They ignore me again. So I tried my old family attention getter. I flipped the light on and off really fast several times. And I hear a voice say "we gotta go." 10 minutes later one girl comes up and tells us that instead of all of the girls going to one place they were going to two different places. I am not happy. Still missing 3 girls. I finally say "girls, you have to come up now. Your parents are expecting you." Up they come. So Paul takes the girls and Chili home. He has to make a huge circle to two different homes for the girls and then take Chili home last because he does not want to be alone in a car with teenage girls at 1:30 in the morning. Poor Chili, but it was the smart way to do it.
So then I headed to the basement to talk to the boys and ask Blake if he had a good time "No, I'm never going to another dance again." And then Taylor chimes in "from now on we are just having a get together like this, no dance, and no girls either. There's too much drama with these girls." I wanted to say "oh my sweet innocent boys, you have no idea. This is just the beginning." But I will post later on why these boys had such a terrible time. And you can decide if I'm just a mom who babies my boy or if THESE GIRLS WERE RUDE TO THEM ALL EVENING.

TWO WORLDS COLLIDE

Back before I had children, I worked at a long term care facility for the mentally ill residents. I was in charge of care plans and admissions for 127 mentally ill individuals. Mostly schzophrenic. I great stories at the end of each day to share with Paul.
There was the lady who, every day of my first two weeks, fired me. And she was a different person each time. Martha Washington. General Eisenhower. Ronald Reagan. I knew who she was each day because she'd say "you're fired. And I'm Martha Washington so I have the authority."
There was the man who sat in my office and talked all day. His conversations went something like this "popcorn, got a washtub full of popcorn. Does the doctor want popcorn. is the doctor sick haha the doctor needs a doctor. tennis shoes, do you have red tennis shoes...hey Heidi, got any shoestrings. livin' on a shoestring, haha. " Sometimes this man would drink so much water that he'd wash the psychotropic drugs out of his system. Then he'd get...well, amorous. He was about 75 and bald and the few teeth he had were yellow and he'd get right in my face with his amorous self and say "kiss me Heidi (kissy noises) come on give me a kiss. MAKE LOVE TO ME BABY." And I'd say the same thing. "you know that is inappropriate and if you can't stay in your chair and be nice you'll have to leave my office." And sometimes I'd tell him he was being a dirty old man and he'd laugh.
Then there was the little old 80 year old lady who just sat in my office and ate hard candy and laughed. Just laughed. Every now and then she'd cry and that made me sad. But usually she just rocked and laughed and sucked on her candy.
Then there was the lady who one day was on a rant looking for "that Heidi" but nobody knew why. Every time she asked where " that *!@#$^%$ Heidi" was, people would act ignorant. She even asked me to my face where that "that little (expletive) Heidi" was and I said I sure didn't know but that I'd let Heidi know she was looking for her. Then the storm passed and I didn't have a hit out on me anymore and the lady was as sweet as could be.
Many many stories.

And it all came back today when I answered the phone at work "Smith Barney, this is Heidi, may I help you." And there was a stream of nonsense words from a man talking a mile a minute, obviously paranoid about his investments from 10 years ago. He wanted me to call GM and McDonald's and find out why he had not seen a return. He was calling from a pay phone. He remembered the name of his broker from 10 years ago. Evidentally he had called last week too and was wanting the number for the SEC so he could file a complaint. I think I will hear from him frequently and I think I have found some ways to calm him down. I really hope he is under the care of a professional, but who knows.

I always thought it was interesting that I have a Bachelors in Social Work and I am working at a brokerage firm. I guess you never know. Or as my grandma would say "who'd have thunk it?"

GIVING CREDIT...

There are a few movies which, no matter how many times I watch them, are still fascinating to me. Apollo 13 and Remember the Titans are two such movies. I think it's because each time I watch them, I am reminded of the "behind the scenes" heroes.

In Apollo 13, we see the engineers at NASA working frantically to bring our astronauts home. They are given an impossible task. They are asked to make a square peg fit into a round hole, and they do it. And yet, it is the astronauts that are considered the heroes. Don't get me wrong; those astronauts are definitely heroes. They were working in a dire situation to save each other and themselves. They stretched their expertise and training beyond limits to come home. But most Americans don't know the names of the engineers. I know I wouldn't recognize any.

And then there's Remember the Titans. First let me say that 5 years ago, if anybody had told me I'd be one to use a sports analogy, I'd have said they were out of their tree. But I am in a phase of life (as is every phase of parenting) where you love what your children love. Many scenes in this movie give me chills. I love the scene where the coach takes them on a 3 a.m. run to the civil war cemetery. When they finally arrive at the cemetery and listen to his speech, they finally get it. The team finally starts coming together. I also love the end where they are playing the championship game. In football it seems to me (in my limited understanding of the game) that there are 2 players who get most of the credit. Of course, there is the quarterback. And then there is the running back. Every Saturday during the fall, people are reading about the number of yards passed by a quarterback and the number of yards run by the runnning back to score in the game the night before. And these gifted young men deserve the credit. But what about the young men "on the line" making their jobs easier? What about the young men whose job it is to stop anybody in their way so the running back can score or the quarterback can pass? Do you supposed it's difficult for any of these young men to do such a good job and watch somebody else get credit? At the end of Remember the Titans, we see the final touchdown play. We see the young man running for a touchdown; but in front of him is another young man knocking down anybody who gets in his way. It is the job of the man in front to make a path for the man with the ball, the man who will score and get the credit. Last time I watched this movie (just last weekend) I watched that scene and thought of...well, Life. How nice, I thought, to have somebody running ahead of me through life to knock down anything and anybody that tries to stop me from achieving my goal. And then I was ashamed. Because I have that. I have that in our Lord. And unfortunately, I sometimes fail to give credit where credit is due.

WHERE WERE YOU...?

September 11, 2001 will be our generation's "where were you when?" moment.
Paul and I were nearing the end of the building process of our house. We had an appointment that day to meet at the house with the "tile guy" so we could decide on the tile for our jacuzzi tub. I saw the first plane attack on tv before I left. I called my sister and told her to turn on her tv. We watched together as the second plane hit. I remember saying "Rena, we're under attack." Strangely my first thought was that an American had done this. Remember Timothy McVeigh?
I felt so shallow and nearly ashamed leaving the tv to take care of a such a mundane task as choosing bathroom tiles. I told Paul I couldn't believe that our country was under attack and here I am walking in to our brand new home to decide what tiles will go around my tub. I wondered what kind of person I must be to carry on with life like that.
My brother was already scheduled to fly to Egypt 3 weeks later for military training with the Egyptian Army. We were very frightened for him and hoped he would not have to go. He went. We could not reach him on 9/11 but his wife said he was fine. He worked nearly 24 hours a day on the army base that week securing it. It was chilling to hear later the details of what they had to do to make sure their base was secure. I realized then that bases all over our country - all over the world - were going through the same thing; working frantically to secure themselves and ready their troops for what might come next. The base at which he was stationed was the main supplier of heavy arms. "Tank Row" is several miles of tanks parked side by side on each side of the road - just waiting until they are needed. My sister in law said it was surreal to watch those tanks be moved. Each time she went on base, there were fewer tanks there. When we visited several months later, tank row was nearly empty. The tanks that were left were being painted - changed from green camouflage to desert camouflage. It was a sight that answered many questions about what the future held for us.
My brother was not deployed to Afghanistan or to Iraq. His company was. The young men he trained were sent over. His wife said it was hard on him. Of course he did not want to go to war, but these "boys" who were half his age, these boys who were only 3 0r 4 years older than my son is now, were going.
I am VERY proud of our military. Both my grandfathers fought in WW II (their stories were heart wrenching) my dad was in the Army, and my brother served 21 years in the Army. My father-in-law(Paul's step dad) was a medic in Korea and Vietnam and
Paul's dad served nearly 20 years in the Air Force before he died. I am proud of any man or woman who will put themselves in a situation to have to do what our military is doing now, with very little pay and sometimes very little praise. And I am just selfish enough to be thankful for these sons and daughters who CHOOSE to serve so that my son or daughter will not HAVE to serve.
So to every service member, every police officer, every fire fighter...
THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU.

NOT THAT THERE'S ANY THING WRONG WITH THAT...

First...my dad is doing better. His surgery to cement the vertabrae went well, he is walking a little bit. He is not eating, though. His biopsy results will be back next week and we are still waiting to see when we will drive over.
I am hoping this will be the catalyst to a better relationship with him.
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My son is a jock. No doubt about it. He loves his sports - football and wrestling being the top two. Grades have not been a priority for him, and I simply cannot comprehend that. There are days I just want to bang my head on the counter top while we discuss this issue. But he might be changing his attitude. I attribute this change in large part to his best friend's older brother. Cubbie's brother is a senior and a star football player. He is also a TOP student who is getting offers for academic scholarships as well as athletic. Oh and Cubbie's brother is Blake's transportation to all things football, which give Blake lots of time with him. We give him gas money and he drives Blake to and from practices and camps. It is worth every penny. This young man is not only a great student and a great athlete; he is a very respectful young man - just a great kid. I think he has been a tremedous influence on Blake by letting Blake see what diligence in the academic field will do for him.

Lately Blake's interests seem to be expanding to include more of a...well, down home, bubba kind of thing. He has developed a love for country music. He is now interested in Nascar and even bought a Nascar cap. And today - when we bought his school shoes...he bought cowboy boots.
Cowboy boots. Black leather with the stitching up the side and everything. He says he will now need some more jeans. I asked if he would want a different kind of shirts. I wouldn't put Nike t-shirts with cowboy boots and jeans, so I thought we'd pick up a dressier look - you know, something with a collar (gasp.) No. He just wants jeans. With his cowboy boots and Nike t-shirts. Not that there's anything wrong with that...I'm just sayin'.

APOLOGY ACCEPTED?

I realized the other day that I spend much of my life apologizing; I'm sorry I'm not a size 5 anymore, I'm sorry I'm not a better housekeeper, I'm sorry I can't be at that family dinner, I'm sorry I have to miss your event to go to your sibling's, I'm sorry I can't get dinner on the table when we are on the go from 3 til 9 most evenings, I'm sorry I am missing another church function, I'm sorry I'm choosing a family outing over a church outing, I'm sorry I can't do that class party or supervise that field trip, I'm sorry if I've put you out in any way at all. And so it goes. Forever it seems.

Of course these apologies are in my mind only and I'm sure nobody else is giving as much thought to these issues as I am. Simply put, I feel guilt too easily. I want to please people and I feel terrible anxiety when I think I've let somebody down or have not made the decision they expected me to make. I don't know how many times I have done something I didn't want to do, just so I didn't disappoint somebody or because it seemed the more accepted choice. I'm not talking about letting myself slip into immoral behavior, or feeling resentful about helping somebody in need. I'm talking about simply not living up. I'm talking about not being assertive enough to simply say, "No thank you. I have something else I need/want to do." Or "Actually, I just don't feel I can take that on right now." I know that this all boils down to lack of self esteem - the fear that I am allowing people to think I don't have my priorities straight, even when I know in my heart I do.
When I do make a decision I think will be unpopular, I feel like I have to spend several minutes justifying it, "Well, I really want to. I'm torn about it. But I have this, and this, and this, and well...honestly I think this other thing is just as important.....I'm REALLY SORRY if I've let you down, I really hate to think I've disappointed you."
Much of this is my personality; but some of it is this BUSY phase of life I am in. Do other moms who are in this phase of life struggle with this same guilt? Do they get sucked into the pit of guilt because they can't do everything and please everybody? Do they feel guilty for choosing to forego many other things so they can be with family because they know all too well how fleeting this time is? Do they wonder if others are criticizing their choices?
I simply want to get to the point in my life where I make a choice and stand firm, where I accept myself as I am and feel confident that others do too, where I don't feel the need to apologize or justify.

And I'm really sorry if this has offended any of you.

SUMMER IS OVER

Summer is over - and I am not really disappointed about that because I LOVE AUTUMN.
This is how I know Summer is over:
1. I was alone in the house last night because Paul and the kids were at the Friday night football game. I had said I was going to go more this year but then the thought of a night alone in the house became too tempting.
2. My sinuses are a little bothersome in the mornings
3. The mornings and evenings are cool - love it!
4. We had our last shaved ice on Sunday evening. We had gotten into the routine this summer of going out to get shaveed ice on Sunday evenings. It was our way of being sure at least Kayla would hop in the jeep with us and spend 30 minutes connecting before the week began. Last weekend, Blake went too. And we noticed the hut was closing for the summer later that evening. So we ordered our last 4 (we even got MEDIUMS) - pina' colada for mom, rootbeer float for dad, rock-n-roll for Kayla and candy apple for Blake. Loved it. Loved it. Loved it.
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There are five children sleeping my house at the moment. I gave birth to two children. This is a common mathematical puzzle in our house. But I love it. I knew each of the kids was going to have a friend over last night. So when Blake walked in with an extra I just had to tease said extra; "Uh, Taylor, no offense....but why are you here?" He wasn't even flustered. He just smiled and said. "Blake already got the ok from Mr. Woolard."
So anyway after 20 minutes of these FIVE kids being here and all of them talking NON STOP and laughing I quietly asked Paul "Did you shoot caffeine straight into their veins?" I mean every kid was talking at once and they all seemed to be able to answer the others. How is this done?
Anyway, one of Blake's VERY BEST friends is different from Blake in many ways. His name is Jordan but his nickname - from kindergarten days - is Cubbie. (Cubbie spent the night last night too - his parents call me his second mom) Cubbie is 6 foot 3 inches tall and weighs 250 pounds (Quite understandable considering is dad is 6'6"). Blake is 5'10 and 140 pounds. Blake and Cubbie play side by side on the line in football and that is where their physical differences are really noticeable. First, their size - quite obvious. Second, Cubbie is bi-racial. So his dark brown arms are quite the contrast to my son's pale, freckled, red-head complexion-type arms. Cubbie is quiet and shy and quite gentle ( His mom told me that the coaches tell him "Cubbie you are the biggest thing on the field, you gotta get TOUGH") Blake is more outgoing and boisterous. They each have a great sense of humor, though. And boys can tease and "rag" on each other without a problem. They showed me a picture last night from their game this week. Cubbie is standing with his arms out in a gesture of exasperation. Blake goes "Dude, that's when you were yelling at me for missing those blocks." Cubbie say "Well, you were missing everything on that play - you couldn't do a thing." They cracked up. AMAZING. Girls would be mad 3 days later. Girls would be trying to get each other out of the carpool (over my dead body) But not boys. These boys were cracking up about how they yelled and screamed at each other through the game. But at the final buzzer - no more yelling or screaming... just more laughing at each other and themselves. It probably helped that they won again, but anyway...
But I wonder how many adults could learn something from teenage boys. You know, if someone says something that offends you, just laugh it off. If someone criticizes you or leaves you out - just laughingly say "um...that kind of bothered me" Or "DUDE... that was lame." Whatever it takes to let us move on. I know I need to be reminded of that quite often.

WHAT A GOOD MOM....

That's what Paul said to me the other day when I told him what I had bought at the store on the way home from work:
ingredients for homemade chicken noodle soup and NIGHT CRAWLERS.
It's not the homemade soup that impressed him; it was the night crawlers. I have made a few trips to purchase night crawlers for Blake.
This time he needed two tubs. I segregate the nightcrawlers in my cart - placing them in a far corner and making sure no other item touches them. Then I double bag them. Then when placing them in the van I hold the bag as far away from my body as I can and place them in the corner of the "stow-n-go" well and drive home fearing that the nightcrawler tub will pop open. They ARE alive you know. In fact, the label says "our night crawlers will catch fish or die trying." Then I carry all the other groceries in (except cases of water and soda, which Blake has to carry in for me) except the night crawlers because Blake knows once they hit our drive way he must take custody of them.
I just noticed a tub of night crawlers in the fridge. This is not ok. See, Blake has a dorm fridge in his room (he bought it with paper route money) that he uses for his gatorade and his allotment of soda for himself and his buddies. He is also supposed to use it for night crawlers.
Did you know a night crawler tub is the same size as a sour cream tub, or a cottage cheese tub, or a large margarine tub? Can you imagine the ramifications of a "tub" mistake.....

UM...WHAT ABOUT OUR CARPOOL?

Well, Kayla made the basketball team. She is sore and tired but very excited. Honestly their practice schedule is more intense than the football players.
Anyway, one of the girls in our carpool didn't make the team, but has decided to be manager. It seems to have worked out for her because she had said if she played basketball she wouldn't be able to see her Dad until November (her parents are divorced) So she is trying to see the positive in this. Her mom admitted she was probably more disappointed than the daughter. I told her I was sorry for her disappointment, and I am but I'll be honest. In my head I was thinking "ok, that's one less person in our carpool. This rotation is not going to be easy." I have been given the task of setting up a carpool schedule. We are down to 3 girls in our carpool for an average of 7 trips a week (5 after school pick-ups, a Saturday drop off, and a Saturday pick-up). I even called a couple other moms today to see if they'd like to join our carpool. "Well, thanks, but I'm already in one," was the standard response. One mom is not going to be happy. She is one that was pushing for 7 or 8 girls in the car just so we'd have fewer trips each week. So I've decided my options are:
1. buy a 15-passenger van by Saturday
2. Move to Maora by Saturday
3. offer to drive every trip myself to avoid making somebody mad
4. do my best to come up with a reasonable schedule and hope that the other parents catch on to our mantra..."this is the phase of life we're in...it goes all too quickly anyway so just relax and make the best of it."

On another note. My daughter commented today about how stinky the van was when the football players piled in after practice. I just had to let her know that these young ladies were not exactly smelling like a trip through Bath-n-Body Works when they get in the car after practice now. I started to feel panic moving in this evening as I thought "what if the smell is permanent in my van? What if it smells like sweaty locker room mixed with cucumber melon mixed with gatorade...FOREVER? What if it really smells like this ALWAYS but I only NOTICE it when I'm driving 17 kids around?"OK 3 or 4 kids but it sounds...and smells like 17. The other night I had an almost uncontrollable urge, as I was driving 65 mph on the highway, with 4 smelly kids in the van, to roll my window down and stick my head out and inhale sweet, fresh, midwest farm air. Oh sweet relief when we finally make it home and the kids trudge in the house, drop their bags on the floor and utter the sweetest words of the day..."I'll be in the shower."

FOR LADIES ONLY......

DISCLAIMER - This was NOT my experience, but an e-mail my mother received from a co-worker.....read on and laugh
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Too Funny!
This was too funny not to share...
All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of
easy, painless removal - The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now...the wax.
My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner,
play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully
in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit
out of the medicine cabinet." So I headed to the site of my
demise: the bathroom.
It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot wax,
you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you
peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you
pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean,
I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out.
(YA THINK!?!)
So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other
stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in
so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ("Cold wax,"
yeah...right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around
it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it
wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am
She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin
extraordinaire.
With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I
sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the one strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my *hoo-hoo* and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek (Yes, it
was along strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself....RRRRIIIPPP!!!!
I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!....OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!! Vision
returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip.
CRAP!!! Another deep breath and RRIIPP!! Everything is swirly and
spotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...Do I hear
crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal.
I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so
much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory
that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip!
There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX???
Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the
hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax.
CRAP! I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now
covered in cold wax and matted hair.
Then I make the next BIG mistake...remember my foot is still propped up on
the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put My foot down.
DANG!!!!!!!! I hear the slamming of a cell door. *hoo-hoo*? Sealed shut! Butt?? Sealed shut!
I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think
to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!"
What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!!!
I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the
wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off,
right???
WRONG!!!!!!!
I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture
prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit.
Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together is
having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub...in
scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax.
So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied
myself to the porcelain!!
God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put
in the bathroom!!!!!
I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret
of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter - "So, my
butt and who-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!"
There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but
she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where
the wax is located, "Are we talking cheeks Or who-ha?"
She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her. I give her the rundown and
she suggests I call the number on the side of the box. YEAH!!!!! Right!!
I should be the joke of someone else's night.
While we go through various solutions. I resort to scraping the wax off with
a razor. Nothing feels better then to have your girlie goodies covered in
hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then
dry-shaving the sticky wax off!!
By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm
pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for
this event.
My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace....the
lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What
do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GOD!!!!!!!

The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend.

It's sooo painful, but I really don't care. "IT WORKS!! It works!!"
I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up.
I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief
and despair....THE HAIR IS STILL THERE.......ALL OF IT!!!!!!!!!!

So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now.
Nothing hurts.
I could have amputated my own leg at this point.

Next week I'm going to try hair color...... Now that's funny ........
Notttttttttt Send this on to other ladies who need a good laugh


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THAT'S ONE FOR MY SIDE....

Since most, I mean both, of you who read this have probably given up on Paul's blog since he so rarely posts, I wanted to give you a nudge to go read his post today. If you are a crumpled-receipt-in-the-bottom-of-your-purse type girl, this is a victory for our side. That's at
woolard66.blogspot.com.

PILED IN LIKE SARDINES

I will be praying for Kayla over the next few days. She has try-outs for Jr High basketball.

I will also be praying for myself. The carpool we have been invited to join has 8 (eight) girls in it. Now that is all good - it should mean fewer trips than normal. But. Most of the ladies have 7 passenger vans and a couple have 5 passenger SUV's. We happen to have an 8 passenger van so it will work out fine for us. IF I AM PLANNING ON LETTING MY SEVENTH GRADE DAUGHTER DRIVE while I stay at home. Also the carpool is made up of 2 or 3 neighborhoods and I think it would be more logical to break it down. So I am deciding whether to rock the boat (or van?) and suggest breaking this thing down into 2 carpools. To be honest piling kids into a car like so many sardines doesn't really bother me. I've only done it once, we took 7 kids somewhere and one of Blake's friends had to ride in the "grocery section" of our van. But that was one time. And of course, I was raised sitting wherever there was room in our wood-panelled station wagon. When we drove my dad's mustang, I would sit between my mom's knees in the front and the other 3 kids fought over who had to sit on the hump in the back seat.
And of course we probably wouldn't have known what a seat belt strap was after we dug it out from between the seats. I'm sure we thought it was a built in weapon of some kind to be used against a sibling who was on our side or who was looking at us.
But now things are a little different and we know the safety issues and we could get a ticket and blah, blah, blah....
So after this evening I have to decide whether to take a stand for safety and...well, common sense, or pile Kayla into one of those vehicles and tell her if she's gonna swing that seat belt strap, keep the buckle part down......

FOUR YEARS PLUS ONE GAME

Blake's first high school football game ended in a victory for us - 35 to 6. That makes 4 years plus one game that these boys have gone undefeated. They did not lose a game in their four years of JFL and so there are high expectations for them. But also, pressure, I guess. As Blake says "we all have targets on our backs." It was a beautiful day...if you are a tree frog from the rain forest and love sauna like conditions. Also, I am sure my hair looked beautiful by the end of the game. The two brief down pours we had were actually a relief, though.
Here's the thing. Injuries happen in football and I have been told by my son "Never come onto the field if I am lying there hurt." And I have accepted that. But today, when our best player took a helmet in the groin, and the other team's crowd cheered at his injury and continued to cheer as he struggled to get up; and then remained silent when he finally walked off the field....well, that is just plain wrong. What is matter with these ADULTS? I suppose they were out to get this kid all day. He played on the varsity team last night and actually scored (against their varsity team) yes he's a freshman. He is a phenomenal athlete - at everything he does. And I suppose that is what happens when you have made a name for yourself. But come on!! Is there no sportsmanship left? No compassion? I expect that behavior from kids sometimes, but from adults? Well, I will just say some victories are sweeter than others.
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Now, for my one of the sweetest people in the world - second only to Aunt Rena. We just saw Miss Judy at Sam's.
When Blake was a toddler, Paul traveled A LOT. There was a time he was gone 7 out of 9 weeks. Like to Pakistan. Or Columbia. Or Peru. Or Brazil. He was not in Chicago, or any place where he could get home in a couple of hours. When I got pregnant with Kayla, I needed a person with whom I could leave Blake for my doctor's appts, etc. So a friend introduced me to Miss Judy. The biggest blessing of my life at the time. When Kayla came along and I first introduced her to Miss Judy she said "oh, she's just no bigger than a minute." And I soon left both kids there occasionally. When Kayla was a toddler, I went through a very difficult time with what was eventually diagnosed as depression (another post, someday). I was raising two preschoolers practially alone with a husband that spent more time across the world than at home and I had very few outlets or contact with other adults. So one of the things we decided to do was take Kayla to Judy's two days a week. It was basically her pre-school. Blake was not thrilled with it so he didn't go most of the time. So from the age of 2 to age 5, Kayla spent two days a week at Judy's and it was such a blessing to our whole family. Judy ran her daycare like a preschool but with lots more personal touches. She fed the kids a home cooked meal every day - usually leftovers from her family's suppers. That is where Kayla learned to eat broccoli. They were allowed 30 minutes of tv each day and the kids voted on what show it would be. She taught them how to use the phone. She ordered butterfly larvae and she and the kids watched them mature and one day had a "butterfly party to release them into the sunshine of the backyard." On hot summer days, she would dress the kids from her "emergency clothing bag" and let them go crazy with water in the back yard. She kept my kids after hours during emergencies and "never charged for after hour visits." She had a birthday party for each child, and Christmas parties and Halloween parties with toddler relays. We invited her to Kayla's birthday parties. When she retired (right when Kayla was entering kindergarten) she had a mini carnival in her backyard and I helped paint faces and hand out prizes. One day she told me "Kayla is very good at letting me know what the other kids are up to." Basically she was telling me that Kayla was a tattle tale; but what a sweet way to let me know. And she called Kayla "Lady Jane" because she said she had the best table manners and was quite prissy. And since she has retired, she has had 2 reunions for "her kids" where they got together to eat pizza and play games and "memory trivia." Some days I would pick Kayla up and she would not want to leave with me. Thankfully I was smart enough to know that was a good thing. It meant there was just one more person in this world who loved my child and whom my child loved. Kayla still asks about Judy and hopes for another reunion. Now Judy works at a special school for at- risk children - in the birth- to- 3- year- old class. I cannot imagine a better person for that job. For one of Judy's birthdays, after she had retired, all the parents got together and gave her a charm bracelet with a little silouhette of each child that had their names engraved on each charm. What a blessing Judy was to us. And what a thrill to see her. Kayla will be so disappointed to hear that she missed her. I bet in the next couple of weeks, Kayla will convince me to drive across town to drop in on her to visit. And I bet Miss Judy will be one of the people I will see in Heaven.

HOW CAN THIS HAPPEN...?

Did you hear? They've closed Pluto. Yep, it's no longer a planet. I don't know how this happened, or what committe gets to make these decsions, but the latest news is that Pluto is out of the lineup. Did Pluto fail to meet a quota of some kind? All I know is Grade school teachers everywhere are scrambling to come up with new jingles to teach their students the solar system. Let me know if you can come up with anything. And what do they think we're supposed to do with all the Plutos hanging around on solar systems made by millions of children over the years all across the world. Do they think because Pluto just hung out at the end of the song, we can just pluck it off and nobody will notice? If we do that we are just going to have millions of little Plutos lying around NOT being Pluto.
How does a planet suddenly become NOT a planet? I'm pretty sure it's been there a LONG time. Pluto has paid it's dues. It's spent its share of eons spinning in the solar system, efficiently keeping scientist busy wondering and studying. And now suddenly, someone just decides it does not qualify as a planet anymore. This is dangerous, folks. I mean, what's next?
Is the sun not the sun? Is the wind not the wind?
And another thing to think about: I do not think this bodes well for that dog that hangs out with Mickey Mouse.

GIVE ME A C...GIVE ME AN H...GIVE ME AN E-E-R

I was a cheerleader in 5th grade. We wore hand sewn jumper things with a big L(for Lovington) on the front and we followed the 5th and 6th grade boys to their games and cheered them on and felt like big stuff doing it.
I moved to a new school in 6th grade and they didn't have cheerleaders. In Jr. High I didn't try out because I didn't have the confidence. In High school I had come into my own, as they say, and realized cheerleading wasn't for me. I made my mark in school by having a lead part in the school play all four years (and by getting good grades and just being plain nice) In my high school the cheerleaders weren't the most popular girls - the jocks (jockettes?) were. Especially the ones in the class above us. Now that I look back, though, I wonder if they were popular or just feared; because some of them were just down right mean. Anyway.
Kayla has decided she will not be a cheerleader because they are "too perky." To cheer or not to cheer. Whatever.
I WILL say I am impressed with our high school cheerleaders and what they have so far done for the football players - even the freshmen. During the "3-a-day" practices the cheerleaders came during break and handed out fruit, gatorade, cookies, crackers-n-cheese. And all 80-ish players - including freshman, have big decorations on their lockers. Now, I am impressed by this because one of my fellow football moms, who is in the midst of raising 9 (yes, NINE) children said "wow, they've never done anything for the freshmen before. " And I know my son was very impressed. He commented several times on the snacks and the way the cheerleaders hung out to talk to them(well, of course) He asked me several times how I think they got the money to do all that. We have been thrilled with the football program overall because it is very inclusive - even of freshmen. The varsity players invite the freshmen to join them for lunch, give them matching specialty t-shirts, include them in just about everything. Yes, the freshmen have to "pay their dues" but their seems to be a genuine team spirit there and a desire to help these young ones do their best. So, Kudos to the cheerleaders and to the football jocks.

Now, being the non-jock that I am I have to say I do wish that the debate team, the FHA members, the chorus and band, and all other non-sports students could get the same kind of recognition. There are so many ways to shine, and however a young person decides to stand out - everybody needs a cheerleader.

IF IT IS NOT AN EMERGENCY, PLEASE STAY OUT OF WAL-MART FOR THE NEXT FEW WEEKS.

I just made a quick trip to Wal-Mart to pick up a few things for Kayla's party tonight. I pushed my cart through the store with a mental scream going through my head the entire time. I simply am not used to shopping on Saturday when everybody else is out shopping. And I do mean EVERYBODY else.
When my kids were babies, I stuck to a routine most of the time. Since they were early risers - usually up by 6 in the morning - I would have them fed and dressed by 8 and that is when I ran my errands. Because the babies were full and rested and we'd be home in time for a 10:00 nap. I somehow never got out of that habit. Even as they have reached the teen and preteen years and they sleep late and can be left home alone, I have still felt compelled to get my errands done first thing each day.
Well, I can't do that now that I'm working. Yes, I go in at 10:00 but I can't get groceries on my way to work because they'd have to sit in the car for 4 hours. And I can't always get them after work because there is usually a car pool to drive or some pick-up or drop-off to tend to. I usually hit the ground running when I get home at 2:15. Before I started working, if the kids asked to go to Wal-Mart on a Saturday, I'd say "We do not go to Wal-Mart on Saturday because I can go through the day during the week and avoid the crowd." Now, I am thinking I may have to join the Saturday Wal-Mart madness. I did it today and I did not handle it well. I just kept thinking one thing - "AAAAAAAARGGHHHH!!!"
Judging by our son's schedule for football ( and his academic load), and our daughter's jr. high schedule, I am not going to have many free evenings. So I am going to adjust my attitude and get used to the Saturday Wal-Mart madness. Perhaps if I go earlier from now on. But until I get used to it, I would be very appreciative if the rest of you would just stay out of Wal-Mart on Saturday. I'll let you know when you can come back.
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I have felt the last couple weeks as though I am just preparing for something to happen, but I didn't know what it was. I wonder if this is how a sky diver feels before leaping the first time. I have now realized what I'm bracing myself for - my son growing up and moving on. I know, I know. It sounds melodramatic. But I feel as though I am getting ready to leap out of a plane, and once my feet leave the solid floor boards, there is no turning back. I have four years left with him at home. FOUR YEARS. You parents know how quickly that will go. He told Paul today that this would really be his last time to have to drive carpool because for baseball in the spring he can walk to the field. And next year he will have his license before football starts. Yes. Next year he will have his license before football starts. How did this happen? How did our lives suddenly become stuck in fast forward? AND, the other night on our walk Paul said "Six years, Heidi...six years until Kayla leaves for college." OH. MY. GOSH. As she sits in the kitchen now making a sign for her party tonight (7TH GRADERS, THIS WAY) I am hearing the same refrain in my head. How Did This Happen? How did our lives suddenly become stuck in fast forward?

THERE'S ROYALTY IN OUR HOUSE....

How many moms can honestly say they have heard their daughter ask this question: "Mom can you try to fix my tiara?" Well I just heard it today.
Kayla went to a purity retreat several weeks ago and she received a tiara to remind her that she is the daughter of The King. Her request has made me pull out the "letters" she received there. I have been meaning to share them so now is a good time to post one.

MY PRINCESS....You Are My Masterpiece
I love what I've created. I am delighted in you. Don't ever feel insecure about what you think you are not. Because I made you in My image and your uniqueness is a gift from Me. I did not give you a life, My love, for you to squeeze into a man-made mold. You are royalty, but you won't discover that truth by gazing into a mirror. Let Me be your mirror and I will reflect back to you your true beauty. The more you gaze at Me, the more you will see My workmanship in you. The sooner you see yourself for who you really are, the sooner you can begin your reign as My priceless princess with a purpose.
Love,
Your King and Creator

A DAY IN THE LIFE....

Blake started football practice 2 days ago. "Three-a-Days". Since I have been fortunate to have the last 3 days off work, I got to do the early morning drop off and the noon pick-up.
Here was yesterday's "Three-a-day" for this football mom:

6:30 - wake up, get dressed, feed pets, eat breakfast.
6:45 - wake Blake
6:57 - wake Blake
7:00 - tell Blake "you REALLY need to get up."
7:15 - greet 3 boys at the door who have been dropped off for carpool. Hear Kayla complain from her bed that the boys shouldn't ring the doorbell.
7:20- drive 4 boys to practice.

11:00 - drive Kayla to jr. high to pick up school supplies and look around the building.
11:10 - tell Kayla "I am NOT staying here all day so you can socialize with your friends."
11:27 - drive to high school to buy spirit wear.
11:40 - write check for ridiculous amount so we can all look "spirited" in the bleachers. Feel guilty.
11:45-12:10 - sit in high school lobby and watch blinding rain come down, wishing they were selling spirit umbrellas.
12:10 - dash to van in sideways rain, wishing they were selling spirit umbrellas. Had to leave the highscool so the secretaries could go eat lunch.
12:10-12:30 sit in van, wet and grumpy, watching the clock until the boys get in.
12:30 - greet 3 boys as they drip into the van. One is staying in Maroa. Listen to Blake complain about something at home - finally blow up and raise voice at Blake in front of his friends. Tell him I am tired of his complaining as soon as he gets in the van.
12:47 - accept Blake's apology. Tell him not to call people "freak."
1:00 - arrive home - fix Blake 5 scrambled eggs with ham and cheese. Marvel at how much he eats and that he had better table manners when he was 3.
4:30 - wake Blake
4:45 - wake Blake
5:00 - tell Blake "you REALLY need to get up, you don't want your ride to have to wait." Get griped at by Blake for waking him.
6:00 - order pizza for self and Kayla and her friend. Paul is traveling, why cook?
8:30 - greet Blake and notice the mud on him from head to toe. Remember when he was a toddler and loved the mud. Some things never change.
8:45 - watch Blake eat a WHOLE 14 inch pepperoni pizza. Marvel at how much he eats and that he had better table manners when he was 3.
9:15 - hear Blake get out of the shower, yell "good night Mom, I love you."

That was yesterday. Today is pretty much the same. EXCEPT. Add a trip to the hospital for a urinalysis and a trip to the store to buy eggs (see above note about his appetite) and soap and shampoo (3 showers a day for Blake alone.) And a trip at 1:30 to pick up Kayla's friend to take them to the pool. Show up at pool and notice sign on door: POOL CLOSED. Do mental head slap and say "phone first." Oh and since practice is early tonight (4-6:30 instead of 6-8:30) realize I will be driving carpool tonight too since everybody else is still working. What's this about being a STAY AT HOME MOM?

WHO'S HERE...?

Have you stepped outside. It feels wonderful. It is only 81 degrees here at 4:51 pm. That is much better than the 97 it was about 10 days ago. It is a little overcast and breezy. It gives me hope for fall. I LOVE FALL.

And speaking of fall...Paul went to the "all sports parents meeting" at the high school last night. He came home and said "It's going to be an expensive week." Meaning: we register the kids tomorrow and we all know how painful that is. Plus he was wearing a new ballcap sold by the football boosters. It is really unlike Paul to buy something like that so I was impressed. He said he didn't know what to pick out for me but that there would be stuff at registration. I think that was a suggestion to buy myself some spiritwear. Afterall, it is our son's first highschool sport.

And speaking of our son....I was sleeping - yes sleeping just a while ago. Because I had a sinus headache AND my stomach was bothering me, that's why.
Anyway, he came in and said "we're home." Meaning him and Taylor and Ryan. And then he said "Oh, Sarah's here too." "Wait a minute, Blake, who is Sarah?" I ask, hoping he means Ryan's sister. "She's Taylor's girlfriend." Well, nothing gets a mom out of bed quicker than hearing that a teenage boy has a girlfriend in the house. So I change out of my ratty shorts and t-shirt and stumble into my favorite capris, comb my hair and trudge downstairs. I hear 3 teenage males and one female in the basement. And the ping-pong, ping-pong of....the ping pong table. So I think things are safe for the moment. I am fairly confident leaving Blake and his buddies unattended in the house. Well, there was the time that the other parents in the bleachers at the softball game heard me yell into my cell phone "DON'T YOU DARE LIGHT A FIRE IN THAT FIREPLACE!" But usually things are pretty safe. But I am NOT fairly confident leaving Blake and his buddies and one or more girls in the house, even if I am just 2 floors away.

And speaking of girls. In a moment of insanity, I agreed to let Kayla have a back-to-school cookout. She addressed her invitations today. 26 invitations. That means 27 potential guests because one is going to twin boys so they are a "two-fer". Paul was silly enough to suggest he might be out of the country that evening. I didn't say a thing. The look I gave him said it all.

JUICY TIDBITS

I just ate my first fresh tomato of the season. Paul brought it home from a lady at work. I LOVE tomatoes. Each time I eat one I think of my grandpa. I used to stand in his garden and pick a fresh tomato with him. We'd wipe the dirt on our pants and eat them like apples. Then later in the fall, when our apple tree was full of fruit, he'd hold me up to pick the one I wanted. Then he'd pull his pocket knife out and slice the apple right there and hand me slices right off the blade. We'd share an apple right under the tree. This was all back in the day when it didn't bother me a bit to have juice running down my chin onto my neck.
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Yesterday we were at Six Flags. It was 99 degrees. With a heat index of 106. It was MISERABLE. Paul and I spent the day going into shows and sitting in restaurants reading the paper. This was a day for the kids following a big youth rally so it was not like we just got it into our heads to be at a theme park on the hottest day of the year. The kids had fun. Anyway, we had spent the night at the Holiday Inn right by the park and we took their shuttle bus over so we wouldn't have to pay to park. Then at the end of the day, we caught the shuttle bus back to the hotel. We waited about 10-15 minutes for the bus and were with several other people. Just waiting for those few minutes was very hot, especially at the end of such a hot day. When we started getting onto the bus, the driver reached down and opened a cooler and offered each of us an ice-cold bottle of water. We were all thrilled. As each person grabbed his water and said thanks, I was thinking "it's just a bottle of water but look how much it means to all of us." I put an extra tip in his jar. I just thought it was really thoughtful of him to provide that simple gesture that brought so many of us relief from the heat. Now we don't know if it was hotel policy or if he went out and did that on his own; but it was a welcome sight for all of us. I'm going to remind myself of that when I think there is nothing I can do for somebody who needs, well, something. I'm going to remind myself that sometimes the simplest of gestures makes a lasting impression. I'm going to remind myself that "it's just a bottle of water....."

LET ME EXPLAIN

In my previous post I expressed a great deal of anger toward the man who walked out on his wife of 7 months - a dear friend of ours. My anger is not so much at the adultery, although I know that is bad. I know marriages and individuals can heal from adultery and I find those couples and individuals very courageous. My anger is at the verbal and emotional abuse this man was heaping upon his wife. Without an end in sight, that kind of abuse can leave permanent scars. Without any sign of remorse this man, I'm afraid, has forever changed the spirit of his young bride. That's what makes me so angry - angry enough to want to smack him. A couple can move on from a mistake and perhaps come out the other side better and stronger. I've seen it happen. But continual emotional and verbal abuse is an attack that wears away the spirit and leaves the victim nothing but a shell of what she once was. That is what I am praying will NOT happen to my friend.
So there it is. I just felt the need to soften my words a bit.

YEP, THERE'S A HOLE IN MY STOMACH

I have an ulcer. When seeing my family doctor about it, after hearing my symptoms, he asked if I had been taking those anti-inflammatories he had prescribed earlier for something else. Yes, I have. "Yep, I've put a hole in your stomach," he said. I told him I'd forgive him if he could correct this VERY PAINFUL condition.
It's been about 6 weeks since he put me on Nexium and I was seeing some improvement but I seem to have had a relapse. I'm sure vacation didn't help. I wasn't as careful of what I ate, and I took pain relievers for my headaches, and a sleep aid to help me sleep in the hotel. So I am starting all over with trying to heal my stomach. NO chocolate. My doctor said I didn't have to give it up, but it does seem to irritate it. NO soda. NO milk. And probably no caffeine. I had been drinking iced tea in place of soda but I might see if it will help to give that up too. Oh, and I can't take pain relievers for a couple of weeks. Now that is hard because I get migraines and the last couple of days I have had horrible sinus headaches.
Anyway, I ask for your prayers. The burning in my stomach is excruciating at times and I am praying that I can continue healing with medication and won't have to go in for invasive tests. So I ask for your prayers that I can find a helpful diet and that I can be disciplined in following that diet. Also, I just ask for prayers that I can be free of this pain.

Tomorrow my baby boy turns 15. I will probably do a "boo-hoo" type post for that. My mother warned me not to blink after he was born.....

OPRAH STOLE MY MATERIAL

True Confession Time. I read O magazine. Sometimes. I bought a copy to take on our trip to Boston - airplane reading.
Anyway, this month's issue has an article in it about how married couples are more respectful and courteous to others than they are to their spouses.
I've been saying this for years. I've said to Paul several times "the problem with lots of marriages is the lack of common courtesy." What got me thinking about this? You ask.
Well, years ago at a gathering of my family, I was getting up to go get something - probably more dessert - and I asked Paul if he would like something while I was up. He requested a Coke. When I brought it to him, he said "Thank you honey." My cousin's husband said "Paul is THANKING Heidi for bringing him a Coke!!" Like it was the strangest thing he'd ever heard. This was and is just normal behavior for Paul and me but evidently it was not normal for those around us. So I started listening to couples. And sure enough, in some couples there is just no common courtesy. No pleases, or thank-you's. No excuse me's. No "what can I get for you?"

Now, Paul and I ARE NOT the marriage experts. There are many times where the clod in him rears its ugly head. And there are many times when the shrew in me rears its ugly head. I have a hard time keeping my opinion to myself sometimes about something he has done. I sometimes forget that silence is golden and I just have to let him know....And Paul has a hard time thinking before he speaks (it's ok, he knows this about himself.) Someday I'll let ya'll in on some of his best.....
But. At some point in our relationship we decided that we were not going to treat the cashier at Kroger or the waiter at Applebee's with more respect than we show each other. As a side note: we do try to treat service people VERY kindly because we both grew up with a parent who does not; and it was very embarrassing. Anyway, it's really hard NOT to be courteous to your spouse when he asks if he can get you anything while he's up or when she thanks you for the little things you do. Paul always thanks me when the house has been cleaned and I always thank him for mowing the yard. He is better at all this than I am, though. When I ask him to do anything for me, his standard response is "I'd be happy to." Now how can I top that?

IT'S GOOD TO BE HOME

We returned from Boston on Sunday. It was a good week. Very tiring, though. There is so much to see there and in the surrounding cities that we could have used a few more days.
We were able to catch a Red Sox game, which made the boys quite happy. We also went on a whale watching trip - a 3 hour trip into the ocean to spot whales. We spotted several (hope to post pictures soon) and a mother and her calf made several appearances for us. I can now cross "see the whales" off my life list.
We sat through a witch trial in Salem and our audience voted against history. It was the trial of the first woman to be hanged as a witch. Our audience, however decided (not unanimously) that there was not enough evidence to keep her over for the actual trial.
We also sat in the Old North Church and ate at a great little Italian restaurant reccommended by our first cab driver.
The subway system was fairly easy to navigate and we used it daily. And everyone was extremely friendly. Well, everyone but our 15-year-old son, who basically decided that if we weren't doing exactly what he wanted to do all week, he was going to be downright mean and nasty. The only thing that made him civil was cell phone time with his buddies back home. After talking with some friends who experienced the same thing from their teenagers on vacation we felt a little better; it must be somewhat normal. We only had 2 days left on our trip before I finally ripped into him about his attitude. I thought I held out pretty good.
But all in all it was a great trip.
But I'm glad to be home. I'm glad to be able to cross the street without dodging dozens of cars. I'm glad to walk on our bike path and pass 2 or 3 people instead of 200. I'm glad to be able to run my errands without spending 30 minutes on a train. I'm just a small town girl - Cities are nice places to visit.....
Next year, we have decided it will be a "lay on the beach and do nothing" vacation. It's a big year for our family. I will turn 40, Blake will turn 16, Kayla will turn 13, and Paul and I will celebrate 20 years of marriage. So we are seriously thinking of laying on one of those beaches in Hawaii.

GOIN' TO BEANTOWN

We are all leaving for Boston today for our week of family vacation.
Things we hope to do: Red Sox game, whale watching, the Freedom Trail, Old North Church, Paul Revere's house, Salem, JFK library and museum, Sam Adams Brewery, and all the other great history stuff.
Please pray for our safe travel.

Yesterday three men were severely injured in the plant at the company where my husband works. They all received severe steam burns.
One of the men died last night.
He was not a soldier. Or a firefighter. Or a police officer. And yet sometime yesterday his wife got The Call. It's a call I've feared getting. Not because my husband has a dangerous job. He works behind a desk. But he travels a lot. And every time he gets on a plane I know I face the possibility of getting The Call. Especially since he travels overseas. Like to Peru and Columbia and Pakistan and Brazil and Singapore. And even Great Britain and France and Belgium. Seems no place is safe any more.
But this man had not boarded a plane. He had simply driven to work to do his job in a plant that maufactures sweeteners and other food products. A factory located in central Illinois, surrounded by corn fields and soy beans. And now his wife and the rest of his family are facing a life without him.
And the families of the other men are sitting beside their bedsides waiting and wondering and watching their loved ones suffer.
Please pray for all of these families. Pray for the recovery of the two men who have survived. Pray for the wife and family of the man who lost his life.
And please treasure Today.

IT'S A BLOOMIN' MESS....

THUD. THUD. THUD.
That's me banging my head against the computer screen.
I am trying to create a floral arrangment for my mantle.
When we built our house five years ago, I was lucky enough to find cabinet builders who would also build my mantle (to match my kitchen cupboards). The mantle (or fireplace surround) goes to the ceiling and the designer (a woman) did a beautiful job.
Anyway, I have struggled to find just the right things to set on it. I want something that is beautiful but fairly simple so as not to detract from the beauty of the wood of the mantle piece. I have tried pottery, candlesticks, framed prints (propped, not hung) and they all looked fine, but nothing has taken my breath away. Then I decided what I needed was a floral arrangment. That's it. Just a floral arrangment in the middle with nothing on either side.
I wanted one just like the one I saw in Nashville, Indiana. For 299 dollars. And 99 cents. Didn't get that one.
So happens, Hobby Lobby had floral stems 1/2 off today. So I bought some beautfiul reds and golds (not much green cause I have green walls) I've done arrangements before but never one in so prominent a place so I had put off starting this one.

My mind is picturing exactly what it needs to look like. My hands are not getting the picture. At one point I decided it looked like "Floral designs by Helen Keller."
I have at last decided what the problem is. There's too much. And what was making it "too much?" My favorite of all the flowers I bought today. So when I took out the favorites, the big puffy hydrangea-like ones, it started looking better. I am not ready for the state fair, but I now have hope. It is a work in progress.
Could it be that some of my favorite little things in life are ok by themselves but when put with the rest of it, are just "too much?" Could it be that if I take away just a few favorites, I might find that things will start to look just right?
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It's just a flowery day. Today Kayla received flowers. From her Daddy. Just wishing her good luck in her upcoming softball tournament. Blue carnations and yellow daisies. Team colors.
What woman doesn't love to get flowers???

JUST BITS AND PIECES

We now have two baby robins in our tree that we are keepin an eye on. They should be trying to fly soon - their feathers are getting nice and full.
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Kyle and Mandy are home from Russia with their new son. He is ADORABLE. Very personable and social.
We seem to have lots of little ones close to us now. Our friends with a 0ne-year-old, Kyle and Mandy, and our neighbors with VERY friendly children, ages 5,4, and 18 months. We're kind of in a "been there, done that" phase. They sometimes ask advice about the kids, tell us the different stages they are going through, handle tantrums while we just sit and watch, feeling relieved we are past it all. And I like it. I LOVE being around all these little ones. And I like having a LITTLE bit of knowledge and experience in this area where these families are just getting started. And I miss it. Most of the time.
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I hate seeing my kids hurt. Not only the physical hurt, like a broken bone, or sickness, but especially the kind of hurt that attacks their hearts.
Actually I don't remember Blake hurting in his heart in a way that was brought on by his "friends." Boys just don't do that. They poke and jab - verbally and physically - and then they laugh and move on.
Girls are different. Girls can be nasty. Girls can really hurt with words. And girls remember.
My daughter is hurting in her heart. And the pain is being caused by other girls. All because of a math class. Seems a certain group of girls continues to make a huge deal over the fact that they got into pre-algebra and one in particular asks Kayla every time they see each other if she "made it in." She didn't. Which surprised us, because she's always made A's in math, but that's not the point. She will be in basic math.
So when this happens, I almost turn twelve myself and I just want to ....well, pinch the little snots or something. But I try to think of words to make Kayla feel better. Like, "well, maybe some of them won't be so excited after a couple weeks of the class." Or, "you know, isn't it sad that these girls are choosing to judge others based on ONE CLASS in jr. high. I mean if that's all they have, let them have it." But it doesn't work. Because really, she isn't going to feel better until she gets into the routine of school and realizes that there or lots of great kids in basic math. And when it's not the math issue, it will be another issue with these girls because that's the way they are. That's the way their parents have allowed them or taught them to be. Yeah, I hate to see my children hurt.

WE'RE OUTTA HERE

Kayla is at church camp and Blake is at the U of I for football camp. So Paul and I have a few days without children. Well, tonight we are running Kayla back into town so she can be in her team picture for softball but then right back to camp she will go. So, without having to worry about farming the kids out to friends, we are off tomorrow for a little 3 day get-away.
We are going to Nashville, Indiana. We have friends who have been there and Paul's parents have also gone for a day or two. It's full of shops and historic homes, I guess and I think some musical acts. We are going to stay at a bed and breakfast and just wander around and relax.

We used to go away without children about every 3 months. Believe it or not, it was easier when the kids were younger. Grandma would stay at our house or we'd send them to one of the grandparents and everyone was happy. When my mom stayed with them they lived on Monical's pizza and Fannie May chocolates. And they got to raid the cupboards and make EVERYTHING for which they found a mix - muffins, cake, mac-n-cheese, jello. Paul's folks would take them to the zoo, McDonald's, all over the place. What's not to love?

Now, though, the kids are so busy and hate to leave their friends. They love their grandparents but they now know that neither grandma nor grandpa hung the moon. It is hard work to get things organized to leave when you have to make sure somebody can take Blake to football or wrestling and Kayla to softball or piano. And also, make sure everyone knows the rules - how far can Kayla ride her bike without us? Whose house can Blake be at through the day? Who can be at our house? And that's all fine. This is the phase of life we're in.

So, it has just seemed easier to skip the preliminary work and stay home. But now, we are so excited to be preparing for a few days away this week. Another thing...the kids aren't asking why we're going somewhere without them. They just seem to know now that we get to go have fun sometimes on our own. They also know that they'd be bored out of their skulls on this trip.
So, for those who are interested, I'll give a review of Nashville, Indiana in a few days.

AND NOW I KNOW

I thought the days of my children's births were the most joyous I would experience. And now I know I was wrong. I watched my daughter be baptized today. By her dad. And now I know that the day of my child's REBIRTH is the most joyous I will experience.
As I stood and listened to Paul speak some beautiful words about baptism and about our daughter, and as I watched him first hug her and then lead her into the water, I thought of a photo I keep in the drawer of my night stand. It is just a polaroid taken by an OB nurse minutes after Kayla was born. It is labeled "Baby girl Woolard and Dad." Paul is holding her and looking into her face and it looks like he is talking to her. Thinking of that photo, I realized that Paul held her in the first minutes of her life and now he is lifting her out of the water and holding her in the first minutes of her NEW life.

And now my daughter is my sister.

And I look forward to the journey we will walk together.

DOCTOR DOOLITTLE

Last year a dove built her nest on our wicker porch chair. At the first sign of the nest, Paul threw it away, but the next day it was back and this time bigger and stronger. So we decided she was here to stay. We went about our lives, coming and going through the front door and that bird stayed still as a statue on her nest - on my wicker chair with the beautiful red floral cushions. We watched through the dining room window as the babies hatched and finally grew feathers. We watched them flutter and heard them chirp when mama was out getting food. Finally we saw them become so round and fat, they literally spilled over the edges of the nest (there were two). Still, at night, or during a storm, their mother would manage to squeeze every bit of fat feathered baby under her and cover every inch. Then we noticed the babies on the porch, and then off the porch in the flower beds, returning at night to the chair to sleep. Till finally one day they never returned. It was about this time last year that she raised her family for us to see. We are hoping she will come again and allow us to enjoy the show.

Also, last year, we bottled fed two orphaned kittens. My mom's cat died when they were 2 weeks old. After being rescued from under her neighbor's house, they were divided up between my sister and me (my mom worked and couldn't feed them all day). One of ours quickly got the name "nibbles" because one of his siblings had nibbled part of his ear off in its desperate search for food without mama. We estimate they were without their mother for about 3 days because that's how long the neighbor said they seemed to be crying an unusual amount. Anyway, we bought baby animal formula and fed them with teeny tiny bottles. I put baby food chicken in the milk and they got the cutest fattest tummies on them. I also taught them how to use the bathroom because the vet said the mother would have done that. So I potty trained those two kittens. They learned to walk with us. I set up the guest bath for them and when we were home, after their feedings, they'd toddle around the house and try to play with our labrador who was afraid of them. When they were tired, they'd go to their little box and fall asleep with the little teddy bear we stuck in there for them. Then I'd close the door and wait for the show to begin again in 2 hours. When they were old enough they went back to my mom's because we already have 2 cats and a dog. But, what a great time Kayla and I had with those tiny fur balls.

Now, we are protecting a nest of bunnies in our yard. Long story short - our dog found the nest and sent the babies scattering. We managed to gather them up, wearing gloves, and return them home. Last night we saw the dog staring into the face of one of the babies, about 3 feet from it. This was after Blake mowed over the nest - I had forgotten to warn him about the bunnies. The bunny was on the outside of her electric fence (on the opposite side of the yard as the nest, which is INSIDE the fence) and the dog was on the inside. Later last night, Paul had to get one of the bunnies out of the dog's mouth. The bunny was completely unharmed. So once again, Paul ran around THREE yards collecting bunnies and returning them to the nest. At one point, I promise, a baby bunny sprung right off his shoe, trying to run from him. Funny though, the first time he picked them up, they squealed horribly. The next time, they didn't make a sound. They just seemed calm and scooted right into their hole when he put them at the opening. But when they did squeal, mama bunny appeared from nowhere following that sound.
Now we monitor the dog, who seems fairly depressed about her missed opportunity, and we go outside througout the day and look in the nest and count six little ears. And we watch from the family room window and see the mother stop by a few times a day.

So, I don't know how I'll do as a mother in the end, but I have managed to raise two doves, two kittens, and.... it looks like 3 bunnies successfully.

DECISIONS, DECISIONS...

Ever think about the choices we have at the grocery store today.
Blake had eaten some ice cream at a friend's house and wanted me to look for it at the grocery store - birthday cake ice cream. Evidently it is pieces of cake blended into the ice cream. Couldn't find it. So I decided to try to get something else he might like. That's when the pressure began. Now when I was a kid, our ice cream choices were: chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, or "the kind with all 3 flavors" (Neopolitan) or orange sherbet for my mom.
Now, I find myself reading labels like: mocha almond fudge, peanut butter chocolate, bunny tracks, moose tracks, coffee, chunky monkey, chubby hubby, cookies -n- cream, cookie dough, strawberry cheesecake, girl scout cookie flavors, candy bar flavors.....

The same is true of soda. First, when I was a kid everything was a coke. If you ordered an orange crush, you still said you had gone out for a coke. Anyway, the soda choices were: Pepsi, 7up, root beer or orange crush. Oh and fresca for my dad. Real Women drank Tab, I guess. Now, when I buy soda, or cokes, (which is not real often) and I think the kids might like something different, I see: caffeine free diet pepsi (the same for coke) cherry pepsi, coke with lime, Coke Black, diet cherry vanilla dr. Pepper, orange mt. dew, red mt. dew, rasberry diet rite, white grape diet rite, red 7up.....and the pressure is horrible. So I go home with a case of diet pepsi and a case of mt. dew.

When is enough enough?

OK, here's a parenting question.
When your child messes up - kinda big, but not huge - do you punish him based on that one thing or do you use previous similar acts to sway your judgment, therefore making the punishment harsher?
Since the previous acts (one in particular) was HUGE and had HUGE consequences, do we consider that in our punishment because it is a "pattern" of behavior? Or, since this act is not so huge taken by itself, do we punish based on it?
Ok parenting experts, I'm ready for answers. GO!!!

WHEN HOME WAS NEVER YOUR HOME

We pulled up in front of the house and I said "this feels more like coming home than going to my own mother's". And it is coming home. And I need it sometimes.
I visited my Aunt Rena today. I've mentioned her before. And I've mentioned her husband before - the one who was my dad when my father wouldn't be. The only thing that could have made the visit more perfect today was if Ivan was there (well and my son but he's busy with buddies). But Ivan's gone and so is a small piece of my heart. I can't imagine how big a piece is missing from Aunt Rena's heart.
So I sat at Aunt Rena's kitchen table eating store bought chicken salad on wheat bread, using a paper towel as a plate and thought "this is the best sandwich I've had in a long time." Drinking diet coke from a can, I realized it was better than the two meals I had at a restaurant this weekend. I savored every bite. And every word and every laugh.
As we pulled away down the alley where I used to play "kick the can," I told my husband thanks for stopping; now my weekend was complete. And then I thought all the way home of how my relationship with Rena has changed.
I know she held me in her arms when I was an infant. I know she changed my diapers. I know she watched all my school performances. I know she bought me Christmas and birthday gifts all through my childhood. I know she took me to the beach in the summer and to football games in the fall. I know she taught my Sunday school class and, even when my mom didn't go, I walked the block to church alone just to sit in Sunday school and be with Aunt Rena. I know she flew to Arkansas to watch me graduate from College. I know I wanted her husband to walk me down the aisle, but didn't ask because they would never have taken that away from my father. I know she held my children when they were just days old. I know she prayed for me after my two miscarriages.
I know she took care of me when my parents couldn't or wouldn't. I know she came dangerously close to raising me because of my parents' actions. I know she helped my brothers and sisters and me take care of our mother when we couldn't and shouldn't have had to.
And now I feel almost like her equal; although, I will never be as good as her. I sit across from her and munch on chips and drink diet coke and confide in her and listen to her. I share her humor, I sense her loneliness and I feel her pain. And she senses my frustrations and feels my pain. She says I made her day stopping by. She says I have a wonderful family and calls me a dear niece. She says she loves me. Little does she know that one hour in her kitchen feeds my spirit. Little does she know that I leave her home feeling inspired to be more like her, which is ultimately to be more like Jesus. Little does she know that dropping by her house is like coming home even though it was never home.

IT'S IN THE BAG

Did I tell ya'll about the mother's day gift I got from Paul (well, the kids too)?
It's a beautiful red leather purse. From Herrod's. Of London. I love red accessories and he did REALLY GOOD with this.
When he first started traveling to London, I asked for just a little something from Herrod's - so I could have the Herrod's sack and say "oh, this is from Herrod's." He has brought me a coin purse and a bracelet. He doesn't bring me something everytime. As much as he travels, it would be just too expensive for gifts from every trip. But anyway, after this purse, he will not need to bring me anything for quite a while. Unless of course he REALLY wants to.
The purse is so cool. The strap fits on five different ways so you can carry it however you want. And I really like it.
The only thing is; I'm afraid he has (stealing a line from the movie "Toro, Toro, Toro") "awakened a sleeping giant". I love purses. Handbags. Pocketbooks. Whatever you or your grandma want to call them. Tote bags. Book bags.
I now keep noticing other beautiful purses. Handbags. Pocketbooks. And I have WAY TOO MANY. I have been teased mercilessly for the usually large purses I carry. But the teasing stops right quick when I pull something out of there that somebody needs. Tylenol, hand gel, tampon, kleenex, BABY tylenol. Uh huh. Who's laughing now, miss Barbie purse?
So, I saw a really pretty bag today that was 60% off. SIXTY PERCENT. I thought it would be perfect for the pool. But. I hate the pool. Or more specifically I hate to sweat. That is why I have been jumping for joy that Kayla is now old enough to be dropped off at the pool without me and I don't have to sit by the pool all day this summer. So I did not get the bag. Nor did I try to think of other uses for the bag. I simply left the handbag deparment and went to the shoes. Where I bought red sandals to match that great red purse. From Herrods. Of London.