I'm taking a break from Work in Progress...rest assured that the 'work' continues, but the blog will be silent for a bit There will be stories to share...trust me--stories are guaranteed. In fact, setting aside a few of my latest posts...if you would, pray for us. :)
**I find all the new visitors so fun...take a look at the Traffic Feed at the bottom. Such exotic locations. :) Welcome!**
Friday, July 30, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
10 Years and Many Blossoms Later...
Six years ago, we inherited three nikko blue hydrangea plants. They were first purchased for decoration at our wedding reception in 2000. Our reception took place at my parent's home and our "theme" was blue hydrangeas. The plants bloomed at our wedding, and with the aid of my mother and some plant acid, the blooms were the ideal blue-purple color.
When we moved south to a more suitable growing zone for the plants, my parents lovingly drove them to our new home. We planted them along side our house and began the endless process of trying to replicate those blue blossoms.
It was harder than it looked.
That first year we went to a seminar at a local nursery on the care and maintenance of hydrangeas. We learned that the direction and size of our yard may not afford the best sun to shade ratio for our plants. They are planted in a row and the first plant, the one that gets the most sunshine, is noticeably the largest. Due to life and other pursuits, we never did amend the soil with acid...mostly because our main goal became the pursuit of a bloom, any bloom...in any old color.
Each year we would think of a new way to winterize the plants. These particular variation of hydrangea bloom off of the "old growth," so it becomes important not to disrupt the buds over the winter and to protect the plants against freezing.
We bought fencing and wrapped each plant...gently filling the bins we created with straw. We gently handled each stem, arranging the straw--just so.
When that enormous amount of work didn't produce any results, we wrapped up the whole of the plants with fencing and filled them (less intentionally) with straw.
After a few years of that protocol, and nearly no change in bloom production, we gave up. The fact we had two young children and a mess of "other things" going on, might have pushed the plants to very last of our concerns.
For two years we have just left the plants alone. They are what they are. We admire their beautiful green foliage. We are suprised and happy to see one or two blooms on each plant. They are always a light pink...perhaps a fuchsia. We talk about the plants...wondering if they would be best served in another location in our yard. We think about adding something to the soil. Something else always needs to get done instead.
This year, as we have directed most of our energies inside--on making our house seem larger and de-cluttered--I hadn't made a loop around to all of the garden areas. A few weeks ago, when I decided we needed to water and deflower my hostas (a family quirk...I do not like the messy nature of the hosta flowers so I cut them off.) I came across this bounty on our hydrangeas.
Each of the three plants has multiple (5 to 7) blooms. I was enjoying the flowers and rich green leafs as I started to water. Then, I spotted this.
And, it isn't alone. On a separate plant, there is another blue blossom. Lighter in color, but still blue.
For reasons that are perhaps only understood by my husband and myself, those two blue blossoms bring tears to our eyes. I stood in our yard, moved to tears by their beauty and all they symbolized.
Ten years later, after much fussing and growth, in spite of poor soil quality and lack of sunshine, after trips to seminars, and lessons from experts along with multiple, exasperated cries of "I give up," there they were: two blue blossoms.
With great joy and much love, I celebrate today.
Happy Anniversary, Mr. Work in Progress. I love you, and give thanks for the life we are working to create.
When we moved south to a more suitable growing zone for the plants, my parents lovingly drove them to our new home. We planted them along side our house and began the endless process of trying to replicate those blue blossoms.
It was harder than it looked.
That first year we went to a seminar at a local nursery on the care and maintenance of hydrangeas. We learned that the direction and size of our yard may not afford the best sun to shade ratio for our plants. They are planted in a row and the first plant, the one that gets the most sunshine, is noticeably the largest. Due to life and other pursuits, we never did amend the soil with acid...mostly because our main goal became the pursuit of a bloom, any bloom...in any old color.
Each year we would think of a new way to winterize the plants. These particular variation of hydrangea bloom off of the "old growth," so it becomes important not to disrupt the buds over the winter and to protect the plants against freezing.
We bought fencing and wrapped each plant...gently filling the bins we created with straw. We gently handled each stem, arranging the straw--just so.
When that enormous amount of work didn't produce any results, we wrapped up the whole of the plants with fencing and filled them (less intentionally) with straw.
After a few years of that protocol, and nearly no change in bloom production, we gave up. The fact we had two young children and a mess of "other things" going on, might have pushed the plants to very last of our concerns.
For two years we have just left the plants alone. They are what they are. We admire their beautiful green foliage. We are suprised and happy to see one or two blooms on each plant. They are always a light pink...perhaps a fuchsia. We talk about the plants...wondering if they would be best served in another location in our yard. We think about adding something to the soil. Something else always needs to get done instead.
This year, as we have directed most of our energies inside--on making our house seem larger and de-cluttered--I hadn't made a loop around to all of the garden areas. A few weeks ago, when I decided we needed to water and deflower my hostas (a family quirk...I do not like the messy nature of the hosta flowers so I cut them off.) I came across this bounty on our hydrangeas.
And, it isn't alone. On a separate plant, there is another blue blossom. Lighter in color, but still blue.
With great joy and much love, I celebrate today.
Happy Anniversary, Mr. Work in Progress. I love you, and give thanks for the life we are working to create.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
So Fancy. So Famous
It was a teenage birthday. Perhaps my 16th. My Mom and I drove to Minneapolis to attend the Seventeen Magazine's fall fashion show at Dayton's Department Store. The event took place on the 8th Floor and it was to be my first (and perhaps last?) formal fashion show. I remember the center aisle set up in the grand, wide open 8th Floor. I remember lights and the stage. I remember feeling very old and very important. It was so out of body, that I can't recall many of the details. I don't know what I wore but best guess might have been an Esprit or Benetton sweater. I do remember it as one of my more special birthdays, one I was surprised my Mom came up with . (shopping is not her thing and she did her best not to overly encourage my illusions of grandeur.)
The other very important part of the day surrounded the guest appearances of the cast of Head of the Class. They took part in the show. Coming on stage and giving short interviews. It was my favorite TV shows while I was in high school. So, you'll join me in mutual squeal when I tell you this next part.
We must have sat in our seats for a while following the fashion show, I imagine I wanted to take it all in. Once we got on the elevator, the crowds had cleared. (and upon reflection, this may have been the real reason we hung back...) After a few floors we were alone in the elevator when it stopped and the doors opened...and guess who got on???? I think it was a number of people from the cast, but I especially remember Eric Mardian standing very close to me. It was a very "Happy Birthday to Me" two minute elevator ride. He slumped--so cool, so in character--against the elevator wall. In my mind he wore shades, and was just impressed to see me as I was to breathe air near him.
I think she was there as well
and I hear them talking to each other as I fondly remember our significant elevator ride. It never occurred to me to ask for their autograph. (Did I, Mom? Her memory is decades better than mine.) Then the elevator car bounced into position and they exited ahead of us. I hope I smiled at them. I imagine I might have looked away--pretending this type of thing happened everyday.
Life in Minnesota didn't afford many star sightings. Now, a number of my classmates could report on Tom Cruise's time on the lakes. But I only have second hand stories on such-"he came to the door in his towel"-moments.
To me, my elevator ride with The Head of the Class, was pretty darn fun.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
***I wrote this entry because The Hollywood Housewife is celebrating her 10 years in LA. I thought it would be fun...
The other very important part of the day surrounded the guest appearances of the cast of Head of the Class. They took part in the show. Coming on stage and giving short interviews. It was my favorite TV shows while I was in high school. So, you'll join me in mutual squeal when I tell you this next part.
We must have sat in our seats for a while following the fashion show, I imagine I wanted to take it all in. Once we got on the elevator, the crowds had cleared. (and upon reflection, this may have been the real reason we hung back...) After a few floors we were alone in the elevator when it stopped and the doors opened...and guess who got on???? I think it was a number of people from the cast, but I especially remember Eric Mardian standing very close to me. It was a very "Happy Birthday to Me" two minute elevator ride. He slumped--so cool, so in character--against the elevator wall. In my mind he wore shades, and was just impressed to see me as I was to breathe air near him.
and I hear them talking to each other as I fondly remember our significant elevator ride. It never occurred to me to ask for their autograph. (Did I, Mom? Her memory is decades better than mine.) Then the elevator car bounced into position and they exited ahead of us. I hope I smiled at them. I imagine I might have looked away--pretending this type of thing happened everyday.
Life in Minnesota didn't afford many star sightings. Now, a number of my classmates could report on Tom Cruise's time on the lakes. But I only have second hand stories on such-"he came to the door in his towel"-moments.
To me, my elevator ride with The Head of the Class, was pretty darn fun.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
***I wrote this entry because The Hollywood Housewife is celebrating her 10 years in LA. I thought it would be fun...
What Did I Miss?
It is all in God's time.
God has a reason.
Everything happens for a reason.
My prayers were answered when we got a new car...dishwasher...found money...someone helped us...
I'll have to pray about that...
I will pray that God takes away that pain.
After the conversation with my parishioner--let's call her Jane--I wrote a long email to my friend and colleague. In her response to me she mentioned my own prayer life. Did Jane's comments bother me because they hit close to a truth? Did I feel my prayer life was lacking?
The answer is 'yes.'
The answer is 'no.'
I consistently feel as if I am missing something about prayer. I want to cast off statements like the ones at the beginning of this post as being "poor theology" but when I constantly hear people talking this way, I begin to wonder who has the "poor theology?" People seem to attribute all of sorts events and occurrences that I chalk up on a small scale to 'coincidence', 'luck', 'hard work', or 'the way things go,' to God's hand. I really don't want God to put much effort in to finding me a parking spot...
It should be noted that I am in a deep, deep house selling funk. I keep thinking about this family that put their house on the market, sold it and moved in to their new house...just like that--right away. They got the government tax credit, they got new appliances...their prayers were answered. I keep thinking about them and I wonder..."What are we doing wrong?" (remember, I'm a first born rule follower.) What am I missing? Why is my family seemingly stuck in neutral...constantly?
So, 'yes' my own prayer life is in question.
But if prayer is meant to keep us in contact with God...if it is meant to be daily-hourly-minute to minute conversation with God...if it meant to keep our heart and eyes and hears open to the work of the Holy Spirit and all the ways we are being shaped...if that is what you mean by prayer, then 'no.' No, my prayer life is healthy and active and flourishing. I am in constant--honestly--conversation with God.
I see the young men walking the street with bags on their backs and I give them to God. I hear an ambulance and I ask God to be with those involved. I watch my young daughter clasp her hands, muttering the events and names that touched her day and stand back in awe of God's creation. I give thanks that I have been brought into its care. My son calls my name for the 50th time that hour and I know patience will come through the work of the Spirit on me. My tears as I listen to the stories of oil destroying the waters we were created to be caretakers of, are prayers. Prayer is how I breathe as I go through my day.
Prayer for me is about 'bigger' things and events--redemption, sanctification. It moves me beyond 'God-as-the-one-holding-the-strings-on-my-life, so-I go-to-God-in-hopes-of-getting-what-I-want.' As if God doesn't already know what I need...
Perhaps, we all want prayer to be more than it was meant to be. Perhaps, it is all a bit of semantics--how we give 'name' to the events around us.
God will bring the perfect family to live in your house.
In God's time.
You are growing with each challenge God gives you.
Ask and you will receive.
God has a reason.
Everything happens for a reason.
My prayers were answered when we got a new car...dishwasher...found money...someone helped us...
I'll have to pray about that...
I will pray that God takes away that pain.
After the conversation with my parishioner--let's call her Jane--I wrote a long email to my friend and colleague. In her response to me she mentioned my own prayer life. Did Jane's comments bother me because they hit close to a truth? Did I feel my prayer life was lacking?
The answer is 'yes.'
The answer is 'no.'
I consistently feel as if I am missing something about prayer. I want to cast off statements like the ones at the beginning of this post as being "poor theology" but when I constantly hear people talking this way, I begin to wonder who has the "poor theology?" People seem to attribute all of sorts events and occurrences that I chalk up on a small scale to 'coincidence', 'luck', 'hard work', or 'the way things go,' to God's hand. I really don't want God to put much effort in to finding me a parking spot...
It should be noted that I am in a deep, deep house selling funk. I keep thinking about this family that put their house on the market, sold it and moved in to their new house...just like that--right away. They got the government tax credit, they got new appliances...their prayers were answered. I keep thinking about them and I wonder..."What are we doing wrong?" (remember, I'm a first born rule follower.) What am I missing? Why is my family seemingly stuck in neutral...constantly?
So, 'yes' my own prayer life is in question.
But if prayer is meant to keep us in contact with God...if it is meant to be daily-hourly-minute to minute conversation with God...if it meant to keep our heart and eyes and hears open to the work of the Holy Spirit and all the ways we are being shaped...if that is what you mean by prayer, then 'no.' No, my prayer life is healthy and active and flourishing. I am in constant--honestly--conversation with God.
I see the young men walking the street with bags on their backs and I give them to God. I hear an ambulance and I ask God to be with those involved. I watch my young daughter clasp her hands, muttering the events and names that touched her day and stand back in awe of God's creation. I give thanks that I have been brought into its care. My son calls my name for the 50th time that hour and I know patience will come through the work of the Spirit on me. My tears as I listen to the stories of oil destroying the waters we were created to be caretakers of, are prayers. Prayer is how I breathe as I go through my day.
Prayer for me is about 'bigger' things and events--redemption, sanctification. It moves me beyond 'God-as-the-one-holding-the-strings-on-my-life, so-I go-to-God-in-hopes-of-getting-what-I-want.' As if God doesn't already know what I need...
Perhaps, we all want prayer to be more than it was meant to be. Perhaps, it is all a bit of semantics--how we give 'name' to the events around us.
God will bring the perfect family to live in your house.
In God's time.
You are growing with each challenge God gives you.
Ask and you will receive.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Does God Pick Out My Parking Place?
I've been thinking about prayer. I had an odd conversation with someone a few weeks ago. I still don't have a secure handle on what the parishioner was telling me, but she opened with, "I have been praying for you all week." I immediately thanked her and then began to wonder, "Oh. Dear. Why?"
I had led a retreat on prayer the week before which she had attended. Apparently something I said triggered something in her. In a large group conversation someone said something about how she is so delighted when God gives her a good parking spot. I have lost the specific context of the conversation--I think it was about when God grants the smallest of our prayers. I know I didn't initiate the exact train of thought. I know this because I don't have "God granted me a parking spot" prayers...or moments. I know I said something along these lines...or rather I tried to re-frame the comment. It was a pretty casual conversation so I know I disagreed a bit and offered my take on God as micro-manager. They weren't buying what I was selling.
Which, I think, is what spurred my parishioner's prayer life.
Now she also could have been praying for me to have a more open mind. Or, for me to learn to just let some comments in a conversation slide by. Or, she could have just felt my whole retreat on prayer was lacking.
This particular person knows me pretty well and is a very vocal advocate for my ministry. I trust she had good and well intentioned prayers. I also believe she was, truly, praying for me.* There was just something about it that I didn't like...
I have a few more entries lined up based on this conversation. Tell me about your prayer life. Do you have stories about people praying for you? Other thoughts?
*(I should have told her that if she was offering up "God as Puppeteer" prayers...I have a house I'd like to get rid of.)
I had led a retreat on prayer the week before which she had attended. Apparently something I said triggered something in her. In a large group conversation someone said something about how she is so delighted when God gives her a good parking spot. I have lost the specific context of the conversation--I think it was about when God grants the smallest of our prayers. I know I didn't initiate the exact train of thought. I know this because I don't have "God granted me a parking spot" prayers...or moments. I know I said something along these lines...or rather I tried to re-frame the comment. It was a pretty casual conversation so I know I disagreed a bit and offered my take on God as micro-manager. They weren't buying what I was selling.
Which, I think, is what spurred my parishioner's prayer life.
Now she also could have been praying for me to have a more open mind. Or, for me to learn to just let some comments in a conversation slide by. Or, she could have just felt my whole retreat on prayer was lacking.
This particular person knows me pretty well and is a very vocal advocate for my ministry. I trust she had good and well intentioned prayers. I also believe she was, truly, praying for me.* There was just something about it that I didn't like...
I have a few more entries lined up based on this conversation. Tell me about your prayer life. Do you have stories about people praying for you? Other thoughts?
*(I should have told her that if she was offering up "God as Puppeteer" prayers...I have a house I'd like to get rid of.)
Monday, July 26, 2010
Knit one...purl, huh?
I learned to knit about two years ago. Since that weekend lesson, I have made about ten things. Ten baby hats. I had interest in making lots of hats. One for every niece and nephew. A variety of patterns and colors and textures. Then a sister in law began to knit. She knits well and is more bold and secure in her talent. (she makes a variety of hats, whereas I stick to one tried and true pattern.) For this reason, combined with others, I quit knitting. For a while. I just haven't gotten back to it.
I thought about my days of hat-knitting as I drove around town today. I thought of the babies that have grown out of them. Then I thought about the actual hats. Many of them have a flaw in them. A missed stitch here or a knot of some sort. If I made a mistake after the first three, or so, rows, I didn't start over. I did my best to fix or hide the mistake and kept on going. There might have been one hat or two at the beginning of my practice, where the mistakes were so plentiful that I had to start over...a couple of times. Otherwise, I accepted the mistake as part of the hat and kept on. 90% of the hat looked good. I always figured the parent would simply turn the hat on the baby so the blemish was in the back, buried in a car-seat.
I know knitters who talk about ripping apart projects...over and over. I realized that in a few instances, it never even occurred to me to start over.
These hats say a lot about me. Not entirely sure of what they say...but something...
I thought about my days of hat-knitting as I drove around town today. I thought of the babies that have grown out of them. Then I thought about the actual hats. Many of them have a flaw in them. A missed stitch here or a knot of some sort. If I made a mistake after the first three, or so, rows, I didn't start over. I did my best to fix or hide the mistake and kept on going. There might have been one hat or two at the beginning of my practice, where the mistakes were so plentiful that I had to start over...a couple of times. Otherwise, I accepted the mistake as part of the hat and kept on. 90% of the hat looked good. I always figured the parent would simply turn the hat on the baby so the blemish was in the back, buried in a car-seat.
I know knitters who talk about ripping apart projects...over and over. I realized that in a few instances, it never even occurred to me to start over.
These hats say a lot about me. Not entirely sure of what they say...but something...
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Missing.
Sometimes I get too many thoughts running through my head. When this happens I tend not to write. Seems counter intuitive, but history has proven my rhythm.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
The Heat Made Me Do It
I wasn't born for such temperatures. The fact we lived without air conditioning was intended to unite us in solidarity with those whose homes we helped build. (I was more inclined to give a donation to ensure everyone got air conditioning in their homes below the Mason Dixon Line.) The oppressive heat of the July and August in The South made me do things I wouldn't normally do.
Sleeping in a bed where the sheets were damp from humidity made me irritable. Drawers and doors were swollen open, or jammed shut. Sweat dripped off of me as I sat. The only energy I expended was lifting a glass of water. Breathing seemed too much effort at times. If one were to venture outside they were immediately hit with a wall of fire that engulfed your skin and burned your lungs.
I wasn't born for such temperatures and it made me do things I wouldn't normally do.
One weekend afternoon in July, the only thing I wanted to do was lie on my bed and watch a movie. I didn't have a TV. I didn't have a VCR. I didn't have a movie.
My car had A/C and the local Walmart did as well.
I pushed my dripping self up from my chair, slipped on some flip flops and braved the Georgia fireball. I drove to Walmart unsure of my plan but feeling desperate and justified.
Once at the store I headed straight to the television aisle. I looked for a TV/VCR combo that was on the cheaper side. My eyes darted around willing no sales clerk to talk to me. Selecting one in my price range, I lifted it into my cart with one defiant motion. I picked out a romantic comedy that I knew I would watch over and over again. I headed to the candy aisle. Then on to check out.
Driving home I felt quiet rebellious...and smart.
I carried my purchases up the stairs to my room, glad no one else was home to witness or inquire about my purchase. I carefully opened the box and subsequent packaging. As I cleared off the jars and bottles on the dresser I planned to use as a TV stand, I took note of how they were stuck to the tacky veneer. Even my furniture was melting.
I plugged in the TV/VCR wonder. Opened the movie and cracked open a beverage and a bag of twizzlers.
For two plus hours I stretched out on my bed, comatose by the heat and unrealistic love story playing out before me. I came in and out of consciousness. At some point the sun mercifully set and I feel asleep in a pool of my own sweat, refreshed and renewed.
In the cool of the morning, before my roommates returned from their weekend adventures away, I repacked my TV/VCR combo...
and returned it to Walmart.
Sleeping in a bed where the sheets were damp from humidity made me irritable. Drawers and doors were swollen open, or jammed shut. Sweat dripped off of me as I sat. The only energy I expended was lifting a glass of water. Breathing seemed too much effort at times. If one were to venture outside they were immediately hit with a wall of fire that engulfed your skin and burned your lungs.
I wasn't born for such temperatures and it made me do things I wouldn't normally do.
One weekend afternoon in July, the only thing I wanted to do was lie on my bed and watch a movie. I didn't have a TV. I didn't have a VCR. I didn't have a movie.
My car had A/C and the local Walmart did as well.
I pushed my dripping self up from my chair, slipped on some flip flops and braved the Georgia fireball. I drove to Walmart unsure of my plan but feeling desperate and justified.
Once at the store I headed straight to the television aisle. I looked for a TV/VCR combo that was on the cheaper side. My eyes darted around willing no sales clerk to talk to me. Selecting one in my price range, I lifted it into my cart with one defiant motion. I picked out a romantic comedy that I knew I would watch over and over again. I headed to the candy aisle. Then on to check out.
Driving home I felt quiet rebellious...and smart.
I carried my purchases up the stairs to my room, glad no one else was home to witness or inquire about my purchase. I carefully opened the box and subsequent packaging. As I cleared off the jars and bottles on the dresser I planned to use as a TV stand, I took note of how they were stuck to the tacky veneer. Even my furniture was melting.
I plugged in the TV/VCR wonder. Opened the movie and cracked open a beverage and a bag of twizzlers.
For two plus hours I stretched out on my bed, comatose by the heat and unrealistic love story playing out before me. I came in and out of consciousness. At some point the sun mercifully set and I feel asleep in a pool of my own sweat, refreshed and renewed.
In the cool of the morning, before my roommates returned from their weekend adventures away, I repacked my TV/VCR combo...
and returned it to Walmart.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Nursing is NOT in my future
EG has Hand-Foot-Mouth disease. This is *not* the same as Mad Cow Disease, which is what my husband, her father, heard me say over the phone when I called him to report on her on going health problems this week.
At first we thought it was molars cutting through. Which it is. A fever and mild vomiting are both fairly common occurrences with EG, so that didn't alert us to anything amiss. (she has a very slight gag reflex and gets fevers on a regular basis.) But then open canker sores developed on her tongue and throughout her mouth. Then spots on her body, and sure enough hands and feet.
But it wasn't any of this that put me over the edge, it was the crying that has me on the bottle by 5pm and turning to my husband and saying things like..."I have to leave her...right now." "In the interest of our family, I need to leave the house." "Get me the *&*;^%$ out of here...now." She has had me in tears. Multiple times.
The cumulative crying in her first twelve months of life wouldn't add up to the amount she has cried in the past day....let alone the past week. (In fact I have had to leave twice while trying to type this post.) For three nights she did not sleep, nor did we. Her voice is squeaky and hoarse. She has lived off of water, popsicles and applesauce. For all the encouragement of her grandma, she would not eat ice cream.
This is not my strong suit. In fact, I am driven mad, mostly by how bad I am at taking care of her needs. I actually looked at a two year old and said, "There is nothing else I can do for you. You'll have to toughen up a bit here."
She looked up at me with her strong, deep brown eyes--she had a finger jammed back into her side molar and her other hand was wrapped around her opposite arm to rub her own elbow--the look on her face told me, I had better take my own advice.
*My deepest and sincerely apologies to all we came in contact with this week. We really did think it was teething...and it is. I don't think she licked or shared drink with anyone...but I can't be sure of that. Big SIGH.
*Isn't this just the most stimulating of all my posts. I reread it and realized no one, not even their grandparents may want to know this much about my kids' health. So, I apologize for that as well and offer up one last SIGH before signing off.
At first we thought it was molars cutting through. Which it is. A fever and mild vomiting are both fairly common occurrences with EG, so that didn't alert us to anything amiss. (she has a very slight gag reflex and gets fevers on a regular basis.) But then open canker sores developed on her tongue and throughout her mouth. Then spots on her body, and sure enough hands and feet.
But it wasn't any of this that put me over the edge, it was the crying that has me on the bottle by 5pm and turning to my husband and saying things like..."I have to leave her...right now." "In the interest of our family, I need to leave the house." "Get me the *&*;^%$ out of here...now." She has had me in tears. Multiple times.
The cumulative crying in her first twelve months of life wouldn't add up to the amount she has cried in the past day....let alone the past week. (In fact I have had to leave twice while trying to type this post.) For three nights she did not sleep, nor did we. Her voice is squeaky and hoarse. She has lived off of water, popsicles and applesauce. For all the encouragement of her grandma, she would not eat ice cream.
This is not my strong suit. In fact, I am driven mad, mostly by how bad I am at taking care of her needs. I actually looked at a two year old and said, "There is nothing else I can do for you. You'll have to toughen up a bit here."
She looked up at me with her strong, deep brown eyes--she had a finger jammed back into her side molar and her other hand was wrapped around her opposite arm to rub her own elbow--the look on her face told me, I had better take my own advice.
*My deepest and sincerely apologies to all we came in contact with this week. We really did think it was teething...and it is. I don't think she licked or shared drink with anyone...but I can't be sure of that. Big SIGH.
*Isn't this just the most stimulating of all my posts. I reread it and realized no one, not even their grandparents may want to know this much about my kids' health. So, I apologize for that as well and offer up one last SIGH before signing off.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Summer Dreamin'
Today I woke with a dream. I hatched a plan. It was to be a grand adventure, meant to free us from the illness and busy, frantic pace of the past few weeks. It felt like something from from my 20's....all carefree and spontaneous.
Remember those trips that involved nothing more than throwing somethings in a bag, grabbing some cash, filling up on gas and driving? No baggage. Nothing slowing or weighing you down. Only your own schedule to clear. You could drive all night, arriving at dawn and ready for fun and festivity.
My plan involved quick packing, surprise and joy, a long drive, followed by an nearly immediate turn around. It could be done. All involved could pull it off. I emailed my partner (in crime) and set out my plan before him.
His email response came within a few minutes..."Sounds like fun!"
and then a few minutes later...
"I have a meeting at noon."
Remember those trips that involved nothing more than throwing somethings in a bag, grabbing some cash, filling up on gas and driving? No baggage. Nothing slowing or weighing you down. Only your own schedule to clear. You could drive all night, arriving at dawn and ready for fun and festivity.
My plan involved quick packing, surprise and joy, a long drive, followed by an nearly immediate turn around. It could be done. All involved could pull it off. I emailed my partner (in crime) and set out my plan before him.
His email response came within a few minutes..."Sounds like fun!"
and then a few minutes later...
"I have a meeting at noon."
Friday, July 09, 2010
Grandma's Gift
Dear Great Grandma B,
We know that your 85th birthday was last month. We started some gifts for you way back in June, but the artists are having a creative crisis. They are having so much fun painting the gifts. So much fun, in fact, that They just keep repainting them.
As an example, this birdhouse was completely red. Then it was covered in purple. After that, parts of it became red, again. The artist signed his work in green. Then painted over it.
Hopefully, he will be able to relinquish artistic control and we can mail it to you before you turn 86.
I won't even report on the younger artist. Except to say that I may have to just send her in the mail...there is more paint on her than your gift.
With great love,
Your Granddaughter on behalf of your Great-grandkids
We know that your 85th birthday was last month. We started some gifts for you way back in June, but the artists are having a creative crisis. They are having so much fun painting the gifts. So much fun, in fact, that They just keep repainting them.
I won't even report on the younger artist. Except to say that I may have to just send her in the mail...there is more paint on her than your gift.
With great love,
Your Granddaughter on behalf of your Great-grandkids
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
The Next Thing I Found to Do
Dear God, Thank you for the bounty of gifts...
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
Sunday, July 04, 2010
What My Friends are Saying...
Unseen Ending comments on an article I read this week. (I didn't get around to articulating thoughts on it...so I share hers.)
Thursday, July 01, 2010
Independence
Happy 4th of July to you and yours. I am off to pack up suitcases and coolers.
Wishing you a safe and fun...and long, weekend!
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