The Fragrance of Sweetgrass

Sixty Years.

2011-12-09T20:56:00.003-05:00

Sixty years ago today, a young mother of three made a choice... a dreadful choice. She chose to take her own life.

To do that, she must surely have felt like nothing she did mattered... but this? This mattered. This still matters. The repercussions of her act are still impacting lives today, and not for good.

You see, the poison she drank only poisoned her physical body... but it didn't stop there. The poison of bitterness filled her little daughter, sickening her more and more as she grew.

The poison destroyed the relationship between this now-grown little girl and her own daughter, driving the latter to the same depression and anxiety that plagued her grandmother.

And now the poison is seeping into the relationship of the now-aged little girl and her little granddaughter. Time will tell its impact upon her life -- the great-granddaughter of the young woman who felt herself so unimportant that she thought the world could do without her.

Four generations of women poisoned over a period of sixty years by that one bottle of rat-killer.

It is SO time for this to stop.

If you think you're worthless and the world would be better off without you, please think again. Think of who you'll still be hurting sixty years from now.

Just One Day

2011-08-09T23:25:00.004-04:00

This post is for my own benefit so if you happen to stumble across it and wonder why I think you'd care about all these small details of our days, I don't. :) They just pass by so quickly and children change so much in no time, and I don't want to forget. This is a good place for me to quickly write down the little things, so I'll have a record of it someday when these days would otherwise be forgotten.

Doodle is our alarm clock most mornings, waking us anywhere between 6 and 7. Every once in awhile he'll sleep in till 7:30 or so -- typically on a morning we have to be somewhere early so have to get up before then anyway. If it's a Saturday, it's guaranteed to be 6 am.

Puffins flies out of bed the second she hears my doorknob turn. After a quick change of Doodle's diaper as he wakes up SOAKED, we head for the breakfast table. Doodle is currently in a stage where he really wants to feed himself but doesn't do a terribly good job.

After breakfast, I get Puffins ready for the day, then Doodle (9 times out of 10 he dirties his diaper after breakfast and there's no sense in dressing him before he does the deed!), then myself while the kids play in the living room, then it's off to the sitter's and to work we go!

When I pick them up in the afternoon, I try to have a plan for something we can do or somewhere we go. Really hot afternoons we usually spend at the pool. Nicer ones, we visit a park. If it's raining, the library makes a good stop, although we often run by there on the way home on pretty days as well. If it's later when I pick them up, we generally just go home and play in the back yard.

Doodle is crazy about balls. He spends his outside time digging every kind of ball he can find out of the storage shed. He especially loves t-ball and has mastered the art of putting the ball on the tee and hitting it with the bat all by himself. He will also throw a basketball at a hoop but just can't get it up high enough yet.

Puffins learned to swing by herself earlier this summer, much to my relief, as I got so tired of having to stand there and push her all the time, especially with an active toddler running around like crazy. She's now working on gymnastics skills in preparation for starting classes this fall.

I try to keep them outside and active until about 6:30. We come in for dinner and then I spend a half hour or so with Doodle doing fingerplays and songs with motions, working puzzles, shape sorters, and pop-up toys, and reading books while Puffins has her bedtime snack. He does all the motions to pat-a-cake and "If You're Happy and You Know It," will do some of the motions to "Itsy Bitsy Spider," "Five Little Monkeys" (both versions -- jumping on the bed and swinging from a tree), and loves to scream at the end of Row Your Boat (if you see an alligator, don't forget to scream!) He also loves Eye Winker and does the "gully gully gully" at the end of it and laughs. He's learning "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes."

Both kids are also crazy about singing and dancing. Puffins' favorites are those she sings at Kids Church, especially "Good Morning" and "Boom Chaka Laka." Doodle is WILD about "Mahna Mahna" and will sing the mahna mahna parts of it every time you sing it to him. He can't see a phone or computer without begging for it. His other favorite which he requests verbally all the time is, as he calls it, "Hey yeah, yeah" -- a song from VBS. So a lot of times during or after meals, we play music on the laptop and the kids dance in the kitchen.

At 7:30, Puffins and I put Doodle to bed. I change him and brush his teeth, and then hold him and sing his bedtime songs -- Jesus Loves Me, Rest Easy, Baby Mine, and finally Sleep Sound in Jesus. I say his little bedtime prayer for him, "Dear God, I love you. Thank you for loving me. Please keep me safe, and Puffins safe, and my baby brother or sister safe. In Jesus' name, Amen." Doodle always chimes in himself with the Amen. Then with a goodnight kiss, I lay him down, cover him with his blanket, give him his Mickey, and turn on his mobile. He says "ninight" and he gets one more kiss, and out we tiptoe.

Then begins Puffins' bedtime routine. We get her in her pjs and brush her teeth, and then we each pick out a library book to read. We read those two books first, then we read a Bible storybook, then we read a chapter or two from Little House -- currently on On the Banks of Plum Creek -- and then after some hugs, I tuck her in with her pink blanket first, and then the sheets and covers, read her her short bedtime devotional, then she says her prayer and I turn on her bedtime music and stay with her until she falls asleep, usually less than five minutes.

And that's a typical day in our lives right now.

Water

2011-08-02T21:30:00.002-04:00

"I'm thirsty," came the cry from the backseat on the way to the sitter's this morning.

"Okay," I replied, bracing myself for the tantrum I knew was sure to come. "You can have some water as soon as we get to the babysitter's."

"NOOO!" came Puffin's shrill cry. "I don't WANT water!"

"Well, you're not thirsty then," I replied matter-of-factly.

"I want JUICE!" she insisted.

"You had juice for breakfast. If you're still thirsty, you can have water." Our caloric intake is extremely high as it without adding empty liquid calories to the count.

"I HATE WATER!" she shrieked. "I want milk!!!"

I have to limit her dairy intake due to constipation issues. I reminded her of this, and told her again she could have water.

She continued to cry and wail and scream the rest of the way to the sitter's about how mean I am to make her drink water, while I ignored her entirely but sighed inwardly to myself, wondering why it has to be this way. Must everything be a fight?

After dropping the kids off and heading off to work, I turned on the radio. K-Love was hosting a fundraiser for a Water for Life project for Compassion International. I thought of this morning's tussle as I heard story after story of children forced to drink sludge that made them sick, but there was no choice. They had nothing else to drink.

"Puffins needs to listen to these stories," I thought to myself. Not that it would likely make any difference. Four-year-olds are notoriously self-centered, after all.

But as the day progressed, a plan came to mind. For $55, I could purchase a filter that would supply one family in Rwanda with clean drinking water for the rest of their lives. Puffins has no way to earn money, nor any desire to as I've found from past experience, so having her help come up with the money wouldn't work. How could I involve her in this project and teach her a lesson in gratitude at the same time?

It came to me. I told Puffins this evening about the stories I heard, and asked her if she would like to help these poor children who have no clean water to drink. She was interested. We drew up a chart with numbers from 1 to 55. Every time Puffins drinks a glass of water without whining, complaining, or begging for juice or milk, she gets to mark off a number to represent a dollar earned toward the filter. When she reaches 55, we will buy the water filter for the family in Rwanda.

Puffins is excited about this, and asked for water with her dinner tonight. Here's hoping Puffins learns to appreciate what she has, while helping a family in Rwanda at the same time.

Want to help out too? Visit Compassion International and buy a water filter.

Where I've Been

2011-08-02T21:23:00.003-04:00

I've been a little busy lately. My fostering adventure finally began, and boy, has it kept me busy.

My first call came on my nephew's birthday -- an eight week old baby boy was being discharged from the hospital and I needed to come pick him up immediately. What a frenzy ensued -- a happy one!! I loved every minute I had with this precious baby and don't regret a single second, although he only stayed with me eight days before the court ordered him home again, and spent half of that time in the hospital. He was a critically ill baby but I loved him desperately.

The house was so empty after he left. Funny how a house that had always been empty never felt so, but only eight days of a tiny seven-pound boy had filled it so wonderfully full that his absence caused the halls to echo.

Fortunately, this lasted only a couple of weeks, and within the span of five days, two children filled up my home again, Puffins and Doodle.

Doodle came first, a thirteen month old baby boy who stole my cautious heart almost immediately with his precious smile. Puffins followed, a devastatingly sad little girl, just four years old.

Fast forward a very very very busy six months, and Doodle is still winning hearts everywhere with his smiles and hugs and kisses, and Puffins is a much happier child, herself, though time has not yet healed all wounds.

Just a brief update before I begin posting again, lest you wonder who on earth are these children who appeared out of nowhere named Puffins and Doodle. :)

Merry Christmas to Me

2010-12-23T18:47:00.002-05:00

It's been a great Christmas so far, and it's not even Christmas Eve yet!

My best Christmas present is a girl named Mariamu. I recently heard about this 14 year old from Tanzania who was waiting for a sponsor through Compassion International -- Australia. I don't live in Australia, so I couldn't sponsor her -- or could I?

I very much wanted to sponsor Mariamu. There are hundreds of kids waiting on the Compassion USA site, but Mariamu needed me. You see, she's been waiting six and a half years for a sponsor. Six and a half years.

That is mind-boggling. I can't even imagine how much she has hurt over the years, watching every other child receive letters and gifts and love from their sponsors, and month after month, year after year, nobody ever sends her anything. Nobody cares about her.

To make matters worse, Mariamu was recently orphaned. So not only has she had to sit more than six years waiting for someone to care about her enough to sponsor her, but she has watched both of her parents die -- and she has no siblings. She's all alone in the world now.

Or at least she was. I was able to obtain permission to have Mariamu transferred to the Compassion USA site so that I could sponsor her. Merry Christmas to me!!! I am so excited about adding this new sweet girl to my Compassion family, and only hope that I am up to the challenge of pouring enough love out to her to make up for the six and a half years of nothing.

There are many children like Mariamu waiting for a sponsor. Do you have some extra love to share with a child who desperately needs it this Christmas? I highly encourage you to sponsor a child. Compassion's programming is so successful at releasing children from poverty -- at truly making a difference. There are lots of good ministries out there feeding the hungry, putting shoes on bare feet, digging water wells, etc., and those are wonderful things to support. But Compassion takes a different approach. Rather than changing the child's circumstances and hoping for a change in the child, they believe if you change the child, then the child will change their circumstances. They use a child development model, to help children learn and grow and be loved and achieve their fullest potential, in spite of their circumstances.

There are children of all ages and countries waiting for you to change their world today, for a mere $38 a month and the time invested in your correspondence. Go now, and bring "home" a child for Christmas this year.

Besides Mariamu, my Christmas has been fun so far due to getting the opportunity to play Santa Claus -- and seeing God's hand work in that situation.

I asked my preschoolers at church to bring in birthday presents for Jesus. Some brought money, which I had not wanted them to do as I wanted it to be meaningful for the kids, and I don't think preschoolers really get the point when Mom or Dad forks over money, instead of them wrapping up a toy they'd really like to have themselves and giving it away. But what can you do?

As it turns out, God had a plan for that money. I learned of a 7 year old boy who wanted nothing for Christmas except a bicycle. His name went on a Salvation Army tree and was chosen... by a person who bought him a shirt, a hat and gloves, some Matchbox cars... and a bicycle helmet.

What a slap in the face, to give a child who wants nothing but a bike, a HELMET with no bike. I don't know what on earth they were thinking.

Well, as it turns out, my kids brought in $50. A boys' bicycle cost $49 at Walmart. Is that God or what? That little boy is getting his bicycle for Christmas, courtesy of my preschoolers. :o) I just had the fun of dropping it off, and was his grandmother ever grateful.

I also had the pleasure of dropping off all the toys the kids brought in to a family I just met last week -- after having asked the kids to bring in presents with no idea who I was going to give them to. I knew God would show me who needed them, and He did. This poor little boy had absolutely nothing for Christmas, and his parents are too concerned about saving up money to get the water turned back on to be able to spend anything on gifts. There's no stockings hanging up in that house, no tree of any kind. You wouldn't even know it's Christmas. At least, you wouldn't a couple of days ago. With the pile of brightly wrapped gifts I just dropped off to them this afternoon, chosen by my preschoolers as gifts they themselves would like to receive at Christmas, I think this little boy's Christmas is looking a lot merrier. :o)

And then a gift for me -- I unexpectedly received in the mail -- unexpectedly because after thinking things had finally fallen into place so that I could begin fostering, more red tape intervened and I thought right now I was just on hold again -- my certificate of approval for fostering/adopting. FINALLY!!

Now I just wait on a phone call to go pick me up some kids! :o) Hallelujah!

Why Children Don't Have Homes

2010-07-27T19:14:00.002-04:00

I've refrained from writing about this for months and months but I'm mad enough now I can't keep from doing it any longer. Not that it matters that I write it. But at least I can vent. And have a record for myself of this ridiculously lengthy timeline to look back on someday when it's all over. Assuming that someday ever comes.

February 7, 2009. I filled out an application to become a foster parent. The application stated that the process can take up to six months to complete.

About a week later. I received a packet of information on the process, as well as signup sheets for mandatory classes to become certified to foster and/or adopt. No problem. I signed up for the soonest class available. After all, I was ready to go. Immediately.

May 2, 2009. I completed the last of five full Saturdays in training. Fingerprints were taken in the first class, the first week of April. Next step -- and last one: Home Study. Someone would contact us to set that up, we were told. I specifically asked if there was anything else I needed to do in the meantime. Anything to fill out. Anyone to call. No. We're done with everything. We just need to wait on this phone call. It may take several months due to them being backed up. Court-appointed home studies must be completed first because they have a deadline. Kinship care comes next, because those children are already in the foster homes and they must hurry to do the home studies to ensure those children are safe. So "resource families" as they called people like me who just want to give a home to a needy child that is not a relative are last on the list. Fine. A few months. I can wait a few months.

August 2009. I begin calling the office to find out if they're going to schedule my home study soon. I call for over a month before I actually get to speak to a human being. Over a month. You can't imagine how many calls that is, or how many messages that is. Nor how frustrating it is to never be able to get ahold of anyone.

September 2009. At last, someone calls me. But not the person I've been trying to reach. Not that person's supervisor. Not anyone from my county at all. But a person from several counties away calls, because their supervisor told them to call me because he was too busy to do it and the person I've been trying to reach is out on maternity leave. At last, I get to speak to a human being, although it's not a human being who can help me. Except that said human being asks if I've submitted my home study information yet. What home study information? Why, a huge packet of information I'm supposed to fill out before they'll call me. Remember I specifically asked if there was anything I needed to do or fill out at that last class and was told no, nothing, just wait for a call? The call was never going to come, because if you don't fill out this packet of information then they assume you are no longer interested and don't call you. THANKS. I had her send me the packet. I filled it out that very day and sent it back in. And waited.

October 2009. I begin calling again. Maternity leave lady was supposed to be back in early September. I want to make sure they know I'm interested. And know I've been waiting. Since February. And trained since May 2. I'm very tired of waiting. Christmas is coming, and I want children in my home for Christmas. Can we please get this taken care of? I finally reach the lady who does the home studies, who tells me I need to come into the office to speak with her and take care of some things. Finally, I think! Progress. I make the appointment. I go in. Fingerprints... the ones taken SIX MONTHS AGO? They came back rejected. Not because I'm a criminal. Because the FBI was apparently unable to read the prints. She fingerprinted me again, then told me that this was her last week at this office so she won't be doing my home study. Someone else will and she'll be sure to let them know I've been waiting a long time and she's quite sure they'll get to me soon.

November 2009. I call the new lady. I ask her if she can give me an estimate of when she's going to be able to schedule my home study. She launches into the spiel I have now heard repeatedly, "We have to do the court-appointed studies first, and then we have to do the kinship care, and folks like you are at the bottom of the list..." I said, "I understand that, ma'am, but it's been 9 months since I got on the list... I was thinking surely my turn must be coming up soon." (Seeing as how the application states the process can take UP TO six months, if you'll recall.) In an annoyed tone, the new home study lady replies, "We never even get through all the kinship studies. You will ALWAYS be at the bottom of the list."

WELL THEN!

They could have told me that in MAY and saved all this hassle! Why even pretend like they're going to eventually come out and do my home study if they know good and well it's never going to happen? and WHY can't it happen?? What on earth are they DOING all day long five days a week 52 weeks a year that they can't come out to my house for an hour and get this done?? And then they complain that they don't have enough foster families, and that there are alllllll these children waiting for adoption that nobody will adopt. Well, gee, I wonder why???

So. I hung up the phone and called a private agency. If the department were doing their job, there would be no need for the private agency. Because the agency does foster care, as well -- they get the kids that the department is unable to find homes for. Why can the agency find homes when the department can't? Hmm, might it be because the agency will actually come out and do home studies!?!!? I called them in late November.

December 2009: The lady from the agency came out and did my initial home study, and two weeks later my follow-up home study. Fingerprints taken again. After the follow-up, I was informed that everything was great and ready to go, as soon as the fingerprints cleared, I was ready to start taking kids. It will take about 6 weeks, I'm told. Terrific! After this lengthy wait, the end is finally near!

January 2010: My fingerprints from the state came back clear, but the fingerprints from the FBI have not yet arrived. Waiting. Waiting.

March 2010: I've heard nothing. I call the agency. "No, those prints aren't back yet, they've been taking a long time. There's nothing we can do about it but just wait."

Notice the agency did their part rapidly. The government dawdled for months upon months and got nothing done and in less than a month, the agency's part was done. Fingerprints? Back to the government. And so we wait.

April 2010: I call again about the fingerprints. They still aren't in. I express great concern. It could not possibly take this long, I say. Please check into this. They check into it. Apparently the FBI has LOST my prints because they don't have them sitting on their desk and apparently have no way to TRACK whether they've done prints or not. Wonderful. I get another set of prints done. This time they have me send in two sets. That way if one set can't be read, surely the other one can. No more delays... no more delays.

July 2010: I call again. It's been three months with no word. "Oh," they say. "Your prints came back last week, but it's not good... they couldn't read them." WHAT? BOTH sets they couldn't read?

At this point, I was beyond furious. And so frustrated I just wanted to scream. I could do this for the rest of my life! Here I've been waiting since CHRISTMAS on absolutely NOTHING but this one stupid set of prints. Stupid especially because my state prints cleared no problem, and I've never lived in another state! Why is this even necessary?? And yet it is. I begin to feel like I could do this the rest of my life and never get anywhere. If you've ever been in a car that's stuck in the mud, so frustrated and desperate to get out that you'll do anything and yet nothing works, your wheels just spin and spin, that's where I'm at. I call them to express my great frustration and my desperation to just get this done. I will drive TO the FBI office, I offer, several hours away to get this DONE. No, I can't do that, it does no good. The only way to get cleared is to send in the prints again, and wait another three months. Maybe my prints I did for the government in October came through okay -- if I could get ahold of them, and if they would send the info.... no, we can't do that.

The only thing that gives me any hope at all is that I am now told that the FBI requires three attempts, and if this third attempt also fails and can't be read, they will do a name search instead. So it WILL eventually be over. But when? Another three months to read these prints -- if they can keep from losing them this time!!! -- and then if they can't read them, another three months to do a name search?

Something has to be done about this. There are children waiting for homes, and ridiculous things like this going on to prevent those homes from being available to them. I have been willing to jump through any hoop they give me, and I do it immediately each time. And here I am a year and a half down the road and still months away from having any hope of getting through those hoops. How does anyone do it?? I've never been so frustrated in my life.

And people wonder why I'm becoming more libertarian (in principle, not in party) every day. The private agency has done its job quickly and successfully in every way. But every step that involves any governmental party has dragged along and been full of hassles and red tape. Something has got to change.

So for now, I wait again. For a third set of prints. And yet another Christmas which will likely come and go with no children in this home.

Did I mention the two beautiful rooms that just sit empty and collect dust month after month after month while hundreds of children in this state sit wishing desperately for a home?

Childless

2010-07-05T22:08:00.002-04:00

Sometimes it can be discouraging when it seems the entire rest of the world has children and year after year goes by and you still do not. Sometimes it can.

But then sometimes I remember.

6 sponsored children through Compassion International. (Two of them call me mom.)

25 children in the preschool ministry I'm director of at church. (Doesn't hurt when one excitedly drags her mother across an amphitheatre because, "I SAW MY TEACHER AND WE MUST GO SEE HER!!!!")

35 infants and toddlers I see day in and day out for therapy (which of course means play for infants and toddlers, and hey, how many people get paid to play all day?)

20 foster children at the summer camp I'm getting ready to volunteer at

A niece and a nephew who glue themselves to me whenever possible. And another nephew who's too young to do it yet but almost certainly will before long. And another foster nephew to play with, on top of all that.

By my calculations, that's 90 children I have the opportunity to influence in this present season of my life. That doesn't count the hundreds who have come and gone (and come and GROWN!) over the years.

And I call myself childless??

“Sing, O barren one, who did not bear; break forth into singing and cry aloud, you who have not been in labor! For the children of the desolate one will be more than the children of her who is married,” says the Lord. ~Isaiah 54:1

Happy Easter...

2010-04-05T00:14:00.002-04:00

Last week in the preschool class I work in at church, our memory verse was, "He is not here; He has risen." When book time arrived, one of my little girls excitedly announced, "Oh, you don't have to tell me my verse, I already know it!" and proceeded to recite: "He is not here; He is in prison."

Oops.

(This is the same little girl who at Christmas shared that you have to believe in Jesus and ask Him into your heart or else He won't bring you any Christmas presents. She's so close... and yet so far away.)

So, this Easter season, I've been reflecting. A series of coincidences have occurred in my life surrounding death and loss, interesting timing for this holiday in which we celebrate victory over death.

You see, yesterday I reconnected with the daughter of an old friend who passed away several years ago. Sharing memories and looking through old pictures just made me miss her all the more.

At the same time, my great-aunt just died. The visitation was today. How strange, to be going to a funeral home on Easter. And yet, how fitting. After all, what better reminder of what Easter is all about? She's celebrating new life, eternal life, in heaven today -- because of what happened on the very first Easter Sunday.

It was still a strange experience, because the relative was on my father's side of the family. While my mother's side is mostly present and very close, my father's side of the family is very nearly gone. But for a couple uncles now, his entire family is gone. I was reminded of that as I walked through the doors of the funeral home, as I've done so many times to bid farewell to his father, his stepmother, his aunt and uncle who raised him, his brother, and others. When I saw the brother of my great-uncle who raised my father, so was much like a grandfather to me, it was like seeing my great-uncle again, though he's been gone for thirteen years. My grandfather's two remaining brothers bear a strong resemblance to him, as well... gone for more than twenty years. The familiar faces from my childhood scrolled through my memory and as I realized those times are gone, those people are gone, I can never have another moment with any of them again (on earth), I felt much sorrow.

What if the little girl was right? What if death had imprisoned Jesus, as it could do to each of us without Him? What if He didn't conquer death, what if He didn't rise again? Life as we know it would be so different -- it wouldn't even feel like life at all. It would feel like death. Death would pervade our entire existence. We'd be robbed of all hope, and filled with constant sadness.

But He did overcome the grave, and He is alive today, and because He is, we have not only the hope, but the assurance of eternal life. Eternity is set in our hearts, you know... and I realize now that this is why I miss my friend... my family members, so much. Because it feels wrong to me to think of them as being gone forever, to think of them as nothing more now but a memory, I find myself longing to see them again, to have more time together, to make new memories.

And we will. The reason it feels so wrong to think of them as gone forever is that they aren't gone forever. They've just moved away, and someday I'll move there too, and we'll all be reunited, never to be separated again.

So the song in my heart this year reflects my thoughts upon death and lost loved ones...

"For everything must die to rise again." (Matt Maher)

It's been a long time...

2010-03-08T22:36:00.004-05:00

I haven't blogged since before Christmas -- mainly because there wasn't anything pressing to blog about. It's been a fun few months, a busy few months, but nothing earth shattering has occurred.

Well, except one wee thing. The birth of our precious little Michael Darling in January was pretty earth shattering. I'd had a cold the few days before he was born but was feeling much better the actual day of his birth and had gone to work. I had decided not to go to the hospital because I didn't want to spread my germs to a newborn baby, but I was feeling so much better and I was so sad about not getting to see him that finally after he was born, I asked if I could come over if I promised to stay back from him and not touch him or breathe on him. His parents said sure, come on over, so off I sped toward the hospital.

Unfortunately, just as I got on the elevator to go up to Delivery, my brother called. "They just took him to the nursery, and they said it'll be hours before he's back." My immediate dismay quickly turned to hope, as I recalled following the nurses to the nursery and watching through the window when John was born, so I changed my direction and went straight to the nursery.

When I reached the window, I saw two newborns in the incubators and they were bringing one in. Which one might he be? As soon as the nurse came to the window and laid the new one they were bringing in on the scale, I had no doubt. This was our Michael Darling. Had to be, he looked exactly like John did when he was born! I was thrilled that I could recognize a baby I'd never met.

I watched them weigh him, bathe him, incubate him, and all the other things they put the poor little darlings through, and was pleased that I got to see him for such a long time at no risk to him, due to the nice glass window between us keeping any germs away. And by the next evening, I was still feeling totally healthy and felt the germ risk had passed, so got to hold him and cuddle him and coo at him all I wanted.

John was born allergic to everything, and sure enough, little Michael started out the same way. Fortunately, his parents already knew the ropes from going through it all with John, and removed everything that John was eventually found to be allergic to from the baby, and he's having a GREAT infancy so far! (Poor little John was miserable the first 6-8 months of life, until they finally worked out what all he was allergic to so they could remove it all!) He's a smiley little guy already and sweet as sweet can be.

Nothing much else to report. But I'll stop in when there is. :) 'Til then -- ta ta.

What Christmas is All About -- Well... Sort Of.

2009-12-17T23:35:00.003-05:00

"I asked Jesus into my heart -- did I already tell you?" one of my little five-year-olds in my Wednesday night class at church said to me last night.

"No, you didn't!" I answered. "That's wonderful! I'm so happy!"

"Have you asked Jesus into your heart?" she said, turning to the boy who sat beside her.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Oh, you HAVE to love Jesus and ask Him to come and live in your heart," she said emphatically.

"Well I do!" he declared.

"If you don't," she continued on, "He won't bring you any presents at Christmas!"

Kids -- you gotta love them. :)

Her mom later described the event, which had happened earlier that morning. After she made the decision that she wanted to ask Jesus into her heart, she said she wanted to give Jesus a kiss.

"Well," her mother thought... "You can't really give Jesus a kiss right now, but when we get to heaven, you can give Jesus a kiss."

"But I already did!" she protested.

"How?" puzzled her mother.

"Like this!" And the little girl kissed her hand as if she were going to blow a kiss, then rubbed it onto her heart.

Now come on, folks. It doesn't get much sweeter than that. :)

What I Bought on Black Friday

2009-11-28T00:44:00.002-05:00

Tickets to see Little House on the Prairie, The Musical, with a couple of my best friends.

Yippee!

Christmas Presents?

2009-11-27T10:36:00.004-05:00

I'm not a Black Friday shopper. Hopefully never will be. I guess I don't really see the point. The big ticket items, you can't get unless you sit all night in the parking lot, and the small ticket items -- is it really that big of a sale? There are other times in the year when you get prices just as good, or pretty close, without the chaos.

I hate crowds. I try to get my shopping done before Thanksgiving just to limit the amount of time I have to spend in stores between Thanksgiving and Christmas.

I think another thing that makes me shun Black Friday is all the STUFF. Do people really want and need all the stuff they're grabbing off the shelves? Really? That much stuff?

Now, this time of year, I see tons of bloggers talk about wanting to simplify Christmas (I'm all for that), and only get their kids a couple small gifts (great for them, but I know I could never do it) -- and I also see a lot of comments about Laura Ingalls and her tin cup and peppermint stick Christmas. I see comments such as, "I don't even remember all the stuff I got for Christmas, and people who get just an orange or just a stick of candy remember it their whole lives."

Really? You don't remember the stuff you got for Christmas as a kid? Because I do.

I think of childhood Christmases, and I see the twin dolls and the Holly Hobbie record player I got when I was 3... yes, 3, and I SEE that record player UNDER the tree, unwrapped but with wrapped presents around it, and I see that one little baby doll in its crib waiting for me under the tree Christmas morning, and I see my dad's cousins come in bearing another gift -- the same baby doll -- and my instantly loving them both and raising them as twins. And I was barely three.

Every other Christmas is as vivid, if not more so as I got older. I know what I got for Christmas. I may not remember every single gift -- but I sure remember a lot of them. And I definitely remember the "big gifts". We had several wrapped presents that made their appearance under the Christmas tree at random times throughout the month of December. Always an exciting moment to wake up and discover there are more presents under the tree!! (We never did Santa so the presents could come out whenever my mom got them wrapped instead of having to wait until Christmas Eve, and I wouldn't trade all the joy of anticipation while shaking and feeling and guessing about those wrapped gifts for a belief in Santa that would have later been dashed anyway!) On Christmas morning, our "big gift" sat unwrapped and waiting for us -- a dollhouse, a toolbench (for my brother), a table and chairs set, a special much-longed for doll, etc.

I remember those gifts, I see them clearly in our living room, sitting on that red felt Christmas tree skirt and sometimes spreading over onto the blue shag carpet. I see the tree, with its gawdy gold tinsel, icicles abounding everywhere, those enormous bulb lights with the foil underneath them that looked like cupcake wrappers, and the familiar ornaments, some we made, hanging on the branches. I see those red stockings with fabric initials sewn on them, hanging against that brown paneling on the wall over the heater. It was the 70s, after all. I even remember the stocking contents -- those big plastic candy canes filled with M&Ms, socks and panties, hairthings, pretty pencils and notepads, lip gloss, and other little things that make little girls happy.

So I have to admit, I don't understand these people who don't remember their "big Christmases" and marvel at the memory of the child who only got an orange. It leaves me pondering -- what made the difference?

The only thing I can come up with is the possibility that perhaps these children got lots of things all the time. We didn't. We got a couple of small things for our birthday, and we got a nice Christmas. We didn't get things the rest of the year. I watch Wendy beg for something every time we go to the store -- and most of the time, my dad buying whatever it is she wants -- and I remember that we never asked... never thought to ask because why on earth would we get a toy for no special reason? We asked for what we wanted, sure -- but we always asked as a gift. If we were at the toy store and found something we loved, we asked if we could have that for Christmas.

So maybe I remember all those lovely Christmas gifts because it was the only time in the year -- with the exception of birthday, which was much much smaller -- when we got all those things. Maybe the other people got toys and things year-round. I don't know.

But I do know that the best way to make, and keep, something special and magical for your child is to abstain from it most of the time. And that's something I think our culture has lost. If a child loves something, we want to give it to them again and again -- and it loses its appeal because it isn't special anymore.

So, I will spoil Wendy and John at Christmas. Because -- other than a birthday gift -- I don't give them stuff throughout the year. Other people do, unfortunately, especially the begging Wendy because John's parents are much firmer and don't allow constant gift-giving, but not me.

So what did I buy for the kids' Christmas this year?

Wendy gets a Skitter and an Active Live Outdoor Games Wii game. Got to keep that couch potato active any way I can make it happen. :) I gave John a Skitter for his birthday and she loved it and has been begging for one, so I know that will be a hit -- and hopefully she'll love the Wii game and stay active all winter because of it.

John's is a little more interesting. After much thought and much online research into the world of Thomas and his little train friends, I finally settled upon a set and an expansion kit that I thought made the most sense for him. I could have saved myself the trouble. My brother took him out window-shopping several days after I had made my purchase and while looking at the Thomas stuff, he kept pointing to one particular set and saying, "Want THAT one!" My brother pointed out set after set, but he kept returning to the one set. My brother called to see which one I'd chosen -- and wonder of wonders, the set I had purchased was the same one that John has his heart set on. Hooray! And now whenever you ask him what he wants for Christmas, his answer (except for the occasional time when he still answers Disney World!) is a firm, "THOMAS." He should have a happy Christmas. :)

He also gets some floor puzzles and Disney's Robin Hood on DVD. He loves Peter Pan so much that I thought Robin Hood might also have some appeal...

(The Black Friday sale on the Thomas stuff is buy one get one free. I got it two weeks ago for 40% off. Which I actually think is a better sale because you aren't forced to buy two sets to get the discount! See? Who needs Black Friday?)

So... I'm ready for Christmas. Are you? :)

Best iPod Apps for Toddlers with Speech Delays

2009-11-25T20:38:00.004-05:00

As a speech therapist doing early intervention with toddlers in their homes, sometimes it's helpful to have a trick or two in my back pocket for those times when attention just can't be held any other way. And so, an iPod has become my newest best friend. But while there are some really wonderful apps available for language-learning toddlers, I have scoured the web looking for recommendations and find them very poor. There are recommendations for toddlers or preschoolers, recommendations for so-called "learning activities" for this age range, but I just don't have the same idea of what constitutes a good learning activity as most people. Yes, there are preschool apps galore for "teaching" colors and shapes and letters and numbers, but most of these I don't honestly find to be all that great, and our speech-delayed little ones need more basic skills than that anyway.

So for any other speech therapists out there looking for app recommendations for their own iPod or iPhone, or for parents of little ones with speech disorders who are looking for something new to use with them, here are my recommendations. Keep in mind that I don't view these apps as something to hand the child and expect them to soak up learning from; the intent is for an adult to sit with the child and use the app as a teaching tool -- but the adult is still the one doing the talking and the teaching!!

1) Peekaboo Barn. ($1.99, lite version free)
I love this one. Absolutely love it. There are many apps with animals and their sounds, and some of those are nice too, but I love that this one makes the child think. An animal is shut up inside the barn. The child listens to the animal sound and guesses which animal it is. Touch the barn and the animal appears. It's great for so many things -- working on simple animal names and sounds, focused listening skills, answering questions ("Who is in the barn?") -- and kids LOVE it and will play again and again. At the end of the paid version, the animals go to sleep, so you can work on simple words and sounds like "Shhh" and "ninight" as well. The only fault I find with this app is that while inside the barn, the animal sounds are very quiet, making the app unusable with our kids with mild hearing loss or even just an ear infection.

2) SmackTalk! ($.99)
Have a quiet little one that you just can't seem to motivate to talk? Try this fun app. Talk into the device and a guinea pig, kitty, or puppy will say it back to you in their own fun modified way! Gets even the quietest toddler yapping away! Note: If you're using an iPod touch, you'll need a microphone.

3) Baby Sign ASL and Signing Time (both are $4.99, but both have free lite versions)
I list these together since they obviously both work on teaching kids to sign, and because I can't choose a favorite. The free versions will be enough to start your kids off, and if you find that they love one or the other and have learned all the signs offered for free, then you know where your money should go. I only wish that Signing Time would add some of their wonderful Baby Signing Time songs to this app!

4) Wheels on the Bus ($.99)
This is a wonderful interactive storybook app, with tons of verses to this popular children's song! When used with an adult, this can be a very language-rich activity with simple words that children can imitate ("poke" the bear; the horn goes "beep beep"; "pop pop pop" the bubbles; "tickle tickle" the bird; etc.) and some great concepts are included too. (Open and shut the doors; make the bus go fast and slow, etc.) The same company also makes Itsy Bitsy Spider and Old MacDonald which you might also want to give a try, but I've found Wheels on the Bus to be the most usable and fun for the kids!

5) Toddler Flashcards -- itot apps ($.99)
There are tons of flashcard apps available, all of interest to kids, but this one is my favorite because the cards are categorized (another great language skill) and they say the words for the child so this is the one app you can turn your child loose with if you must!

6) Make your own!
I don't know how to make my own app, but I do know how to make the music and photo features of the iPod work for me! I have long used and loved the music from Kids Express Train but have been frustrated at the difficulty involved in bringing music into a home, setting it up properly, etc., just to find and play the one song I need to work on a particular skill with a child. Therefore I haven't used the songs nearly as often as I'd like -- but the iPod has changed that. I uploaded my CDs to my iPod and now they are all just a touch away! And even better, a few minutes on Google's image search and I had pictures to go with my favorite songs. For example, do you have a child working on final consonant deletion? Play "Put the Sound on the End" and whip out a folder with pictures of the 15 words practiced in the song. Kids will want to play it -- and practice!! -- again and again. Voila -- your own speech therapy app!

Have some suggestions for me to try out!? Please leave them in the comments section! (Just don't recommend Preschool Adventure/Arcade!! Seems to be everyone's top recommendation, but I'm not impressed. They're okay... just in my opinion, not the wonderful teaching tools everyone else seems to think they are!)

And Michelle Makes Six

2009-11-23T15:06:00.003-05:00

As an advocate for Compassion International, I volunteer to work at the Compassion table at local events. A dangerous position for me, to lay out or pass out packets of several hundred children in need of a sponsor, because I invariably find myself wishing I could sponsor at least half of them. But I must show restraint. I have five sponsored children already. I just can't take another.

Saturday I was working an event when a startling picture caught my eye. It looked like my little niece Wendy was laid out amidst all the dark-skinned dark-haired brown-eyed boys and girls on the table. I snatched up the packet to take a closer look. Sure enough, a little girl with blonde ponytails and light eyes looked back at me.

Everyone marveled over her. The official Compassion point person, who travels from one event to another to do this very job, who has seen thousands of child packets, even said she had never ever seen a blonde haired Compassion child before. It was clear that this child was really something special.

I laid her back on the table and said a little prayer that she would find a sponsor that day.

I kept an eye on her even during our busiest times at the table. When people swarmed the table and shoved forms and checks our way and peppered us with questions, still I kept glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. Person after person picked her up. And person after person set her back down.

At lunch, I started to contemplate sponsoring her myself for the first time. I remembered my little Rebecca in Uganda -- a child whose family brings home about a dollar a day to feed their family of ten or more -- who told me that she is praying for God to triple my income. The question of being able to afford to sponsor another child seemed ridiculous in light of that thinking. These kids have nothing. I have so much. Of course I can sponsor one more.

But should I? I prayed again for little Michelle to find a sponsor. If she wasn't meant for me, the right person should take her. But if by day's end she was still on the table, I would know God intended her for me.

Guess what. She's mine.

Welcome to the family, little Michelle from Colombia. I can't wait to see what amazing things God is going to do through you.

Want to sponsor a child?

My Shorts Smell Like Poor People

2009-11-09T12:43:00.004-05:00

One day this summer, I'd just gotten home from work and a friend wanted to do something. "Well, give me a minute to change clothes first," I replied. "My shorts smell like poor people."

I said it without thinking for it was entirely true. I can't explain the smell but there is a SMELL of poverty. And when you spend time in the midst of it, especially sitting on the floors of impoverished homes, the smell clings to your clothing. It just does.

My friend just laughed and laughed, thinking the statement the funniest thing she'd heard in a long time. But really, it isn't funny. The sentence has come back to me from time to time, and I've spent some time dwelling on the deeper meaning behind it. For there is deeper meaning. But somehow, it never seemed the time to blog about it.

Today, suddenly, it is. The Compassion bloggers are on their way to El Salvador to see what Compassion is doing in that country, and to share it with the rest of us throughout the week. And you know what? I bet their shorts are going to smell like poor people. And that's okay. Because sometimes you have to get right in the middle of it, you have to wear the smell of poverty, before the need and the compassion to meet those needs can really sink into your heart.

You too can have shorts that smell like poor people. Just dive in. Pour your heart into one of these needy little ones, and carry the smell of poverty proudly. It will change your life.

Happy Halloween

2009-10-31T11:51:00.004-04:00

Our little tykes decided to be venomous and villainous this year.

Wendy is a bumblebee.

And John? None other than Captain Hook!

More Overheards...

2009-10-26T17:39:00.003-04:00

Having already begged most of the adults in the family to take her outside to play, Wendy tried Grandma as a last resort. Grandma doesn't set foot outside the house. But still, Wendy thought she'd try.

"Grandma, pleeeeeease take me outside to play!!"

Grandma replied, "Noooo, I'm too old. Go ask someone else."

"No, you're not!" protested Wendy. "You're the PERFECT AGE!"

Who knew? For the record, 58 is the perfect age for taking children outside to play. Mark it down.

------------------------------
"What do you want for Christmas, John?" I asked. Wendy always wants something. Littlest Pet Shops. Webkinz. Some fad toy that she already has a million of. But John hasn't gotten the hang of figuring out what he wants and asking for it yet, when it comes to distant gifts. Still, I thought I'd try.

As it turns out, John totally has it figured out. He's a very wise boy. His immediate response?

"Disney World!"

I like the way that kid thinks. :)

"Disney World!?" I answered in astonishment.

As if to clarify, he nodded his head and uttered: "Pooh Bear! Peter Pan! DUMBO!"

Yep. He knows what he wants. Too bad he's not going to get it. Do you think Santa would bring it for all of us? :)

Overheard... by Wendy and her parents

2009-10-20T00:21:00.005-04:00

After discussing that her mommy was 29, Wendy was asked, "Wendy, what do you think you'll be doing when you're 29?"

Without missing a beat, she replied, "Shopping a lot."

She is her mother's daughter.

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

"You can buy something with your tooth fairy money if you want to," her stepfather said. "But just make sure you don't buy something you already have. We have a house, not a warehouse."

"What's a warehouse?" asked Wendy, then before anyone could answer, "Is it a house for wolves?"

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

And the next one is by Wendy's mother...

I called and said, "I need Wendy a particular weekend in January. You don't have anything planned for then, do you?"

Wendy's mother: "Nooo... where are you going?"

Me: "Well there's this blind museum..."

Wendy's mother, interrupting with excitement: "OHHHH, she'll LOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE that, she LOOOOOOVES blind stuff!"

How many seven-year-olds do you know would be enthusiastic over going to a museum of the blind?

(She loves blind stuff because she adores and associates herself with Mary Ingalls. Still and all, I didn't expect her mother to get excited about me taking her to a blind museum before I even got the information out that the REASON for taking her to this blind museum was a birthday party for Mary! Now that's something to get excited about!! And we are!!)

--------------------------
And on that note, I'll share the best "overheard" of all: from Wendy's stepfather, this summer when I went to pick her up to go on our big Little House trip --

"Hey... do you all like Laura Ingalls Wilder?"

Assuming that to be some sort of a joke, I ignored it, rushing Wendy out the door while snatching up her prairie dress and sunbonnet, and Charlotte doll.

And then he repeated the question. And this time it sounded awfully serious. Like, he was NOT joking. (And he KNEW where we were going, we'd been talking about it for months!)

I just looked at him for a moment, then slowly answered, "Um... yes... that's why we're going on this big trip to her home..."

"OH!" he says. "Well I was driving the truck through Wisconsin last week and I saw a sign about Laura Ingalls Wilder, and I thought to myself, Hmm, I'm thinking you like her, I better remember to tell you about it."

Where has he been!?!?!?

The View

2009-10-15T22:44:00.003-04:00

I've been looking at thousands upon thousands of rental homes for our family's vacation next summer, and examining their location on the map for proximity to the ocean... and all those google map images, zooming in as close as possible to measure how many feet the walk to the beach is, and zooming out to see where in the big picture each house is must have crossed the barrier into my subconscious mind.

In that stage between wakefulness and sleep, when you're still conscious enough to think but your thoughts blur and don't quite make sense, I had this thought.

When I'm examining google maps, the middle ground on the zoom button doesn't do me a whole lot of good.

I zoom way in to find out what I need to know specifically about the house in question and its distance from the beach access. And I zoom way out to see where in the grand scheme of things this house is located. But the middle? It doesn't tell me anything much.

And somehow, in that dreamy stage before sleep, I got to thinking about how this is sort of like our view as humans, and God's view, of our lives. We get the way zoomed in view of our life -- we see it up close and personal, in the here and now, what today looks like. God gets the way zoomed out view of our life -- he sees today, and our life as a whole, in the grand scheme of things -- the plan for the universe. So we both have very different views of the exact same thing (except of course that He knows the zoomed in view as well since He's omniscient...).

But there's a third view -- the middle ground. From this view, you can see the bigger picture -- in a way. It's not a big enough picture to give you any true knowledge about the location's place in the universe. And it's not a small enough picture to give you any intimate knowledge about the details in the here and now. Basically, your view is almost useless.

And I thought that maybe -- just maybe -- that is representative of others' view of our life. They see parts of it, and they see it from a bigger viewpoint than we ourselves do because they are outside of our personal frame of reference. But they don't see the BIG picture either. They see just about enough to make them feel like they have the authority to make judgments, yet not enough to truly have any authority to do so.

Don't we do this all the time? We judge people by what we see and think of as a bigger picture? Someone shares their thoughts on a certain subject, or a particular happening in their lives, and we think we know better than they do what's really going on.

I guess we're all going to have our opinions on other people's decisions and actions, but before we act on those opinions (by stating them to the person or to others, or by treating someone differently because of our opinions on what's going on), maybe we ought to remind ourselves that we have neither the big picture nor the detailed one. Maybe -- just maybe -- we don't know it all. Maybe we know just enough to get us into trouble.

Or maybe I've just been looking at too many maps.

Men vs. Women

2009-10-14T01:30:00.003-04:00

Men and women are different. Everyone knows that. But the differences are so hard sometimes for me to understand.

Take this weekend, for instance. We took the kids to see some boats on the river and John had a great fascination with seeing the water, from the boat. At the back of one boat was a ledge about waist-length for him, and behind the ledge was a large open hole, easily big enough for a child to fit through.

John kept leaning over the ledge farther and farther, trying to better see the water, and in so doing, his feet even raised off the ground, leaving his head hanging out of this hole. My mother and I kept gasping, and grabbing at him. My dad stood and laughed while my brother -- John's father!! -- kept telling us to quit, and to let go of him!! LET GO OF HIM!!!! So he could fall to a watery grave!? No, thank you!!!

It was quite an incident, as John kept doing it, we kept trying to keep him from falling, and the menfolk acted as if we were crazy. "He's not going to fall!" they both kept saying. The kid is three. Don't tell me he's not going to fall. Better safe than sorry, I think! What harm were we doing in holding onto him for our own peace of mind!?

And then we noticed Wendy. While John seemed oblivious to the turmoil around him, Wendy most certainly was not. She was on the floor of the boat in tears, wailing, "Don't let him falllll!!! Don't let him falllll!!!!"

Women must be born with some protective instinct toward small children that men simply don't have. Although at the restaurant we had just come from, my brother was concerned about the high top table we were seated at because they had no highchairs for John, and he was afraid John would fall out of his chair.

He was worried his son would fall out of a CHAIR that was about three and a half feet off the ground, but we were being ridiculous for worrying he'd fall through a hole on a boat that was easily 25 feet above the water's surface, and the water was a good 50 feet deep and the child is three years old and cannot swim?

And then there's my dad's nonchalant, "If he falls, I'll go in after him." That makes us feel SO much better...

I'm happy to report that John survived both incidents. All I can say is that it's a good thing children have mothers. I don't think they'd survive being raised by men alone.

The Water Fountain

2009-10-08T16:18:00.003-04:00

Sometimes, children's ministry workers feel underappreciated, and maybe in some situations, even like they're really not doing anything valuable for the kingdom. After all, when one is cleaning up cookie crumbs and spills or changing diapers or taking children to use the potty or finding themselves barely able to even tell a story for all the interruptions and disciplinary reminders needed, one may not feel like they're really accomplishing anything at all.

But they are.

Last night at church, I was leading our line of preschool girls to the bathroom -- one of those "is this really ministry??" moments -- when one little girl asked for the fifth time that evening if she could have a drink. I had told her and told her we'd get a drink when we went to the bathroom, so I was finally able to tell her yes, now she could have a drink.

As I lifted her up to the tall water fountain, my mind flashed back thirty years. To that exact same spot, that exact same water fountain, and a tall handsome elderly man who stood by it Sunday after Sunday. Elderly to my little girl eyes, anyway -- it's strange how the older you get, the older "elderly" becomes. He would have been the age my dad is now, and that is certainly NOT elderly at all.

Anyhow, this man posted himself every Sunday morning beside the water fountain for one reason only -- to be there for any little children who happened to pass by and needed a drink. The fountain was too tall for any child younger than 8 or 9 to be able to reach it on their own, and he wanted to be sure no little one went thirsty because they couldn't reach the fountain. He always referred to the passage in Mark 9 where Jesus, with a child in his arms, said whoever shall give someone a cup of water because they belong to me shall not lose their reward.

It's the little things sometimes that can make such an impact, and the gentleman would likely have been shocked if he were told that his little granddaughter would three decades later be blogging about his faithfulness in giving children drinks of water in Jesus' name. (Especially since blogging didn't exist in those days!)

The story reminds me of another fine lady who has earned my utmost respect and admiration: Laura Ingalls Wilder. You see, when Laura was visiting at the local elementary school in Mansfield, Missouri, years after achieving national fame, she saw a little girl who wanted a drink of water and couldn't reach the fountain. And the little old lady who is loved by millions all over the world decades after her death leaned over and lifted the girl up so she could get a drink. I love that. I love that despite the fame and fortune that had come to her, she maintained her humility. And again, it had an impact on the little girl, who is still telling people about it sixty years later.

So if ever there's a season in life where it feels you're doing nothing of value, think again. Even something so small as giving someone a drink of water may be having an impact far beyond what you could imagine. Maybe thirty or sixty years from now, someone will be telling others about you -- he's the man, or she's the woman, that gave me a drink. And that drink meant a lot to me. More than just the water that satiated my thirst for a few minutes, that drink told me that someone cared about me.

And after all, isn't that what ministry really is?

Swine Flu?

2009-10-05T20:29:00.004-04:00

I had a lot of sick kids last week. Most of them were daycare kids, and weren't at daycare. All week. The one daycare child I did get to see is in a class of what is usually about 12 kids. There were two there.

This spring, with all the hype about swine flu, I wasn't alarmed in the least. It's just a flu, I thought. People die from the flu every year. Maybe it's a little strong. It's nothing to get all upset about. Schools are closing?? Seriously??

But now... now the opposite is happening. Now it's the media telling us, everything's fine, it's no big deal, sure it's going around but it's just like any other flu, yes a few people are dying but they have other underlying issues, don't worry, you'll be fine, just treat it like the flu. No, schools don't need to close, this isn't anything to panic about.

Oh, really? Because three people in the community have died in a week, and all of them young, healthy people. The media continues to lie, blaming it on "underlying issues", when in fact, the people who know these individuals say they were the picture of health and the minor underlying issues the news scraped together is things like high blood pressure which had absolutely nothing to do with their death from the flu. The third one, a strong healthy teenager, dead just three days after he started getting sick, had no underlying issues. An interview with the parents the other day has them saying exactly that - their child was in perfect health, he had no health concerns whatsoever. And the news stories today? "The family has asked for privacy and therefore we are unable to learn what underlying conditions this child may have had which contributed to his death." What a lie!

I have to get a routine physical -- what a wonderful time to do that. I didn't think much about it at first, and then it dawned on me that I was going to have to go into a clinic full of people with the swine flu. For although the media states that, "Oh, a few dozen cases of mixed flus which probably aren't even all swine flu are being reported weekly," the absence rate and the facebook statuses of people in the area naming all the people in their families who are sick tells otherwise.

And when I walked into that clinic, the "few dozen cases" for this week? They were all in there. At the same time. In one of many clinics in the area. Multiply the dozens of sick people in that one clinic at that one five-minute period by the hours in the day and the clinics in the area -- and we've got hundreds sick, just today. Count in the people who already went to a clinic yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that and are still sick, and the people who are just starting to feel bad and will be going in tomorrow or the next day, and the people who hate doctors and don't care if they're sick, they're not going to the doctor, and I bet we have thousands ill in this city alone.

That many people sick, with a virus that kills healthy people, is frightening.

It became even more frightening when I did some research and learned that it's actually those with a healthy immune system that are most at risk for dying. Look up cytokine storm, folks. That is exactly what happened to these three healthy people -- their lungs filled with fluid, they went to the hospital as soon as they got sick, and they couldn't be saved.

As someone with a great immune system, who never worries about colds and flus and other illnesses because I almost never get them, and when I do, my immune system boosters keep it pretty mild... cytokine storm is a pretty scary thing.

So while I'm typically not an alarmist -- I'm about to become one.

Because this stuff? This stuff is lethal.

I didn't get my physical. It will have to wait. I'm not going to get sick while proving I'm healthy.

Our Lazy Lifestyle

2009-10-03T10:29:00.002-04:00

My sister has a gym membership. It's expensive. And she goes there before work as it's the only time in the day she has time. This requires getting up earlier than necessary. And showering at the gym before work, something I personally would hate to have to do. (I like showering in my own home. Gym showers feel icky.)

I've asked and asked her why she does it. You see, my sister is lazy. I know, I know, that doesn't sound very lazy! It makes me look lazy, not her. But the only reason she goes to such effort to do this gym thing is because she's so lazy in the rest of her lifestyle.

I've told her she could save a good bit of money and effort if she'd just chase that little girl of hers out in the yard, ride bikes with her through the neighborhood, play with her on her trampoline... she'd get plenty of exercise, it'd be free, and it'd give Wendy exercise and quality time with her mommy, to boot! But she insists she can't do that. Because she won't. Because when she's home, she just wants to watch tv and hang out on the couch.

And so she has a gym membership.

What happened to simply leading an active lifestyle? Can you imagine people of the pioneer days needing a gym membership? :) The saddest part, I think, is for kids. When I was little, we were outside playing all the time.

As soon as we came home from school, we changed into our playclothes and were out the door, and other than briefly for dinner, we weren't inside again until we were called in to get ready for bed. In the summer, we were outside all day. We ran all over our hill, climbed trees, hiked through the woods, rode bikes and pulled each other in wagons up the hill and back down over and over again. We played on our swingset, even "trained for the Olympics" by running laps around the house, performing chinups on our monkey bars, etc. We were naturally active, and healthy as a result.

I rarely see kids playing outside anymore. Oh, kids still do. Some kids might do it as much as we did. But when I was little, you could hear kids all over our hill shouting and playing outdoors. Now, it's quiet. I live in a neighborhood full of kids. Occasionally you see a couple riding bikes down the road, once in awhile, some boys out playing basketball. But I had a friend who lived in this same neighborhood when I was little, and the place was literally crawling with children on summer days, weekends, and weekday evenings.

Why don't kids play outside anymore? Well, we didn't have the draw of video games. Atari was new when I was a kid -- nobody I knew had one until I was 8 or 9 -- and even once we had one, while enjoyable, it wasn't as addictive and time-consuming as the gaming devices of today. At least, it wasn't for us. Maybe because we didn't grow up on it, it came later.

But I heard a new one the other day. I was truly shocked. And once more, my mind turned toward the pioneers. The families who heated with a coal or wood stove, often just one stove for the whole house, and who had no air-conditioning at all.

It has grown chilly here the last few days -- by chilly, I mean time to put on long-sleeved shirts and jeans, instead of t-shirts and shorts. Not cold, by any stretch. I'm outside a lot with my job, and haven't had to even get out a jacket yet, so it's not that cold!

A mother said to her older daughter as I was working with her little girl one evening last week, "Did you play outside at recess today!?" It had been a beautiful fall day, and I'd been enjoying every moment I got to spend outdoors in it. The little girl nodded, and the mother gasped, and looked at me saying, "I was driving by the school on my way to lunch and I saw all these kids out playing! I couldn't believe it!"

I furrowed my brow and said, "What do you mean?"

She said, "It's way too cold for kids to be outside playing!"

I just looked at her for a moment, and finally said, "It was sixty degrees..."

She nodded, "I know it, isn't that awful they had those kids out there in that weather!?"

Okay. If other parents share this opinion, I'm beginning to see why kids are turning into couch potatoes before they're old enough to even know what a couch potato is.

It makes me wonder... if sixty is way too cold, what is way too hot? 80? 85? Are her kids only allowed to play outside during the three to four weeks of the year when it's 70-75 degrees?

How have we come to this?

The Little Angel

2009-09-30T23:01:00.002-04:00

I work in our children's Wednesday night ministry at church, with preschoolers. Tonight, one of the leaders told the kids to bow their heads and close their eyes so they could pray. Most of the children did, but as soon as he saw the leaders with their eyes closed -- not realizing leaders intuitively know when children near them are misbehaving even if their eyes ARE closed at that time -- one little boy made a dash for the toybox.

He's a blue-eyed pixie with long blonde curls that any little girl would covet -- and as he headed for the toybox, I and another leader immediately turned to go after him. As he scrambled up the toybox to sit on top, both she and I reached to pull him off... yet we both suddenly stopped as this little angel realized we were right on his tail, spun his little bottom around while perched on top of the toybox, and instantly folded his little hands and closed his eyes piously.

Neither of us had the heart to admonish him or even pull him down from his roost after that -- this darling little angel-boy praying so earnestly could certainly have never infringed on any rules whatsoever.

We both just turned our backs so we could laugh without him knowing it. What a doll! :)

Car Games

2009-09-23T00:09:00.002-04:00

Wendy and I went on a little weekend excursion.

It was an eleven hour drive. Brave of me to even attempt it, because Wendy has never been on such a long drive before.

"Why don't we just fly?" she asked, when I tried to explain to her how long it was going to take to drive it. Spoiled little thing. We'd always rather put out the extra money to fly than endure taking her on a loooooong car ride -- but now she's seven, and really ought to be able to tolerate a trip like that, right?

Now she's always good in the car. But again, she'd never gone more than maybe 3-4 hrs in the car before either... so we had no idea how she'd deal with this.

I picked her up at lunchtime Friday, from school. I explained to her that it would be late at night when we reached our destination. Long after dark, I said.

I brought lots to keep her occupied. Paper and colored pencils for drawing or writing stories. STACKS of books. Her DS. My laptop and some movies.

And the first three hours went by splendidly, with not a word of complaint from the back seat at all.

And then it started.

"Are we there yet? I'm tired. I can't sleep because I'm uncomfortable. Why can't we stop for awhile? My back hurts. My legs hurt. I can't get comfortable."

I was seriously considering turning the car around and going home. After all, we were still closer to home than we were our destination and if she was this grumbly after three hours, how would we ever survive the next EIGHT?

She quieted for a few minutes after I made that comment, after begging me NOT to turn around and go home, and then she said, "It's not looking very dark outside."

"That's because it's 2:30 in the afternoon!!!!!" I exclaimed. "School isn't even out yet!!" How could she possibly think we were almost there and I had been mistaken about it being dark when we got there!?

I searched my mind, trying to remember just how my brother, sister, and I entertained ourselves on our long car trips during childhood vacations, and suddenly I remembered: car games.

We played finding letters in alphabetical order on signs. We each picked a color and counted cars passing us to see who got the most in her color. We played I Spy. We played "I went to Grandma's house" naming the items we took in abc order and recalling all previously named items until her little brain just about exploded.

And then we sang. We sang and we sang and we sang. Her mother will surely be SO pleased with me whenever she discovers that I taught her daughter 99 Bottles of ~~Beer~~ Pop on the Wall... ;)

And she never made another complaint the whole rest of the way there. Nor did she ever utter a moan or a groan the entire eleven hours home. As a matter of fact, when we reached my house, I said to her, "Look who's here!" (I had arranged with her mother by phone to come get her so they'd know when we were nearing home.)

She looked, saw her mother's car in my driveway, and shrieked happily, "Mommy!" Then she gasped, and burst into tears. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I don't WANT to go home yet!!!!"

Eleven hours in the car and she wasn't ready to be home yet?

My, how car games work wonders!

Brown Hair... or Golden?

2009-09-14T20:43:00.005-04:00

I find it ironic that after a lifetime of envy of Mary's golden hair, Laura has at last turned the tables.

Wendy is a blonde-haired little girl, you see. And this hasn't bothered her a bit. But it bothers me -- not that she's blonde, but that in the land of Laura Ingalls Wilder, she's discriminated against for being blonde.

Case in point. Laura look-alike contests. Several of the homesites have them annually. But... what do little girls do who don't have brown hair? They can't possibly look as much like Laura as those blessed with chestnut locks, now can they? Do you see what I mean about Laura turning the tables on all the little golden-haired girls of the world?

Well.

Owning a prairie dress and all, I thought that Wendy might -- just might -- be interested in participating in one of these contests, but I also knew it was unlikely she would win because of her hair color. I went back and forth between not telling her the contest was even taking place and informing her and letting her make her own decision.

At last, I decided to ask and see how she felt about the matter.

"Wendy... if there were a Laura look-alike contest, would you want to be in it, or not?" I asked.

"I want to be in a Mary look-alike contest," she responded, without hesitation.

You see? Seven years old, and she instantly recognized the discrimination she would face for her blonde hair!

"There's not a Mary look-alike contest," I said. "It's Laura or nothing."

(Not fair, not fair!)

"Then no," she decided. "Because I don't want to dye my hair brown."

Laura sites -- please sit up and take notice!!! Could it not be possible to have a, "Look like a Little House character of your choice" contest!?!?

This is sad. Very sad.

It's All the Rage in Iowa

2009-09-13T16:15:00.002-04:00

So the other day, my sister was putting Wendy's backpack on her. She slipped one strap through her arm and hung it on her shoulder. But as she started to slip the other strap onto her other arm, Wendy said, "No -- it's okay this way. It's the second grade style."

I think this means adolescence is right around the corner.

Funny Things Kids Say

2009-09-11T13:42:00.002-04:00

This morning I was working with a little boy on naming body parts, using a very cool monster puppet whose various body parts attach with Velcro.

As I pulled out a long curly strip of orange hair, showing it to the little boy and asking him to imitate "hair" before giving it to him to put on the monster, his four-year-old sister took notice.

"That monster has curly hair just like me... but it's not the same color!" she declared.

"Oh?" I responded. "Let's see... his hair is orange -- what color is your hair?"

"Well," she began matter-of-factly. "Do you remember what color my hair was the last time you were here?"

"Yes," I nodded, and at her expectant look, I said, "It was brown."

She smiled at me approvingly, and said in the cutest voice ever, "Well, I haven't changed a bit!"

A Very Literal Girl

2009-09-05T21:49:00.002-04:00

My mother teaches at Wendy's school, so the week before school started, she was there working on getting her classroom ready, and since she babysits Wendy several days a week, Wendy of course had to accompany her.

While there, Wendy saw her former kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Glory. "Oh my, Wendy!" she exclaimed. "How much you've grown! Look how tall you're getting -- why, I bet by Christmas you'll be as tall as I am. We'll have to check at Christmas and see!"

Wendy solemnly replied, "I don't go to school at Christmas."

:)

Update on the Kids

2009-09-05T21:37:00.003-04:00

So last spring I talked about John's "quirks" and Wendy's diagnosis of ADHD, and had a plan on how to help both of them for the summer.

The bad news is that not a whole lot got accomplished between vacations and the arrival of Peter Pan and all the busyness that came along with that. But the good news is that the little bit that did get accomplished apparently had good results.

Wendy is back in school now, with a reputedly strict teacher. She is unmedicated, and has been since school let out for the summer, despite the strong disapproval of her doctor. She hasn't gotten in trouble at school even once yet, and her teacher assured my mother (who teaches at the same school) that Wendy's behavior has been stellar. Hooray!

As for little John, now that he's three, he is no longer eligible for early intervention services. His occupational therapist wanted to release him earlier this summer as she felt he had corrected all issues she was working on, but stayed on to finish out the summer at our pleading. He was tested by the school system and his speech and language skills were judged "normal" so he no longer receives any services at all. (I disagree with that status, but I'm glad he did as well as he did on the testing.) He started back to his daycare (his mother is also a teacher, so he doesn't go during the summer) and the daycare staff commented on how much more he's talking there, and how much more social he is with the other children.

So great news for both kids!

Deep Spiritual Ponderings

2009-09-05T21:20:00.005-04:00

Wendy stayed out in "big church" a couple weeks ago for Communion. As the plates were being passed, she looked at her tiny glass of grape juice, then looked up at me and whispered, "Why is it always grape juice? Why don't they give us apple juice sometimes?"

Trying to quickly think of a short explanation that she could understand, I simply said, "Because it's red, so it reminds us of Jesus' blood."

"It's not red," she retorted. "It's purple!"

"Well, doesn't it kind of look like blood?" I asked her.

She looked at her cup again, thought for a moment, then replied, "Yes -- only nobody could have THAT much blood."

"Yes, they could," I began, and she interrupted, "Only if they died."

"Well, Jesus did die," I responded, and she was satisfied with that.

All that from a little cup of grape juice.

Happy Birthday, Baby Boy... I mean, John!

2009-09-02T21:50:00.004-04:00

Baby Boy is three years old... and officially not the baby any longer.

I asked Little Girl a few weeks ago if she thought Baby Boy was going to be a big brother or a big sister. She hesitated, but she's a smart girl -- she didn't fall for it. :)

Baby Boy is indeed going to be a big brother... and we learned today that he's going to HAVE a little brother! We're all actually in shock as each and every member of the family has been convinced all along that the new baby is a girl, and in fact, the child had already been named with a girl's name that it is not likely to appreciate, given the circumstances. ;)

So while my brother and sister-in-law now begin the quest for a boy name, I too am on a quest for names... for Baby Boy isn't a baby anymore and two baby boys are going to get very confusing. And while I'm changing his name, I might as well change Little Girl's as unfortunately she's not going to be little forever, and is looking soooo big to me these days.

So, in honor of Baby Boy's current pirate passion, I now dub them Wendy, John, and Michael Darling. And Little Girl's little sort-of-brother will be Peter Pan.

So if you didn't get that:

My sister's children are: Little Girl, now known as Wendy. And a temporary baby boy known as Peter Pan.

My brother's children are: Baby Boy, now known as John. And the new baby boy, now known as Michael. And I will probably often call him Michael Darling while he is little, because when I was younger, I didn't realize Darling was the kids' last name, I actually thought the littlest one's name was Michael Darling. It was fitting, he was such a wee boy and so darling. :)

(Of course, we'll have to call my brother Captain Hook... what with the sawn-off finger and all!)

God's Knitting

2009-08-29T18:40:00.002-04:00

A week ago today, I received the shocking news that my brother had cut off his finger in a power saw while building a playground for Baby Boy.

Since then, many thoughts and prayers have run through my mind. It's funny how you never realize how important a finger is until you -- or someone you know -- loses one. It immediately becomes critically important.

Psalm 139 is one of my favorite chapters of the Bible, and it's one that has crossed my mind a lot this week while praying for the healing of the finger.

Verse 13 says, "...you knit me together in my mother's womb." I love the use of the word "knit" in this verse, and it especially seems fitting in this situation as I pray for God to knit my brother's finger back together every bit as perfectly as He knit it together the first time -- in our mother's womb.

It's a strange thought really, to go back in time 31 years ago and think about God creating that tiny finger that we are praying so fervently for now. He knew then that one day that finger was going to be severed from its hand. When He made it perfect, He knew His creation would one day be destroyed. And He created it perfectly anyway. (You know there's totally a lesson in that.)

The strange part of it is the realization that MY fingers -- and everything else about me -- were knit together in that same womb just four years previously. Of course that's a fact that we know in our heads, but is that anything you've ever truly thought about? That you were inside your mother's womb? That you and your siblings spent the first nine months of being within that same womb?

Anyhow -- I know that if He so chooses, He can knit the finger back together every bit as beautifully as He did the first time. And in the meantime, He's already done lots of wonderful things through this tragedy.

My brother had planned to change his health insurance last month to one with a much higher deductible, and which had a 40% copay instead of the 20% he currently had. He forgot to do it. Boy, is he glad now.

They always have a cookout for Baby Boy's birthday. Last Saturday morning, before he went to the store with the intent to buy everything they would need for the party, they made the decision to order pizza this year instead. Had they not, they would have had a gazillion burgers and hotdogs, and all the fixings in their refrigerator -- and my brother is now not able to grill. Boy, are they glad they went with pizza.

The surgeon only operates on Tuesdays. This past Tuesday, he was solidly booked all day. Next Tuesday he is booked, as well. And following that, he's going on vacation for two weeks. It could very easily have been over a month before he could do the surgery on my brother's finger and in that amount of time, the bone would have healed and they'd have had to rebreak it, and who knows what might have happened with the tendons, nerves, arteries, etc. Monday afternoon -- just before my brother went in to have the finger looked at -- an extensive surgery that would have lasted several hours was cancelled, therefore freeing up his schedule for most of the day, enabling him to do surgery on the finger three days after the accident instead of a month afterward.

Healing is already good. The surgeon was impressed with how quickly the skin was regenerating and growing back together, and is hopeful that a skin graft may not even be needed after all. He didn't need to put a pin in the bone, as first thought, he simply wired it -- a procedure that will be much less painful and invasive to remove than if a pin had been required. The artery that was severed did not need to be operated on because the remaining artery was supplying good bloodflow to the finger and it was pink -- this is excellent because the surgery to replace the artery was very risky and only had a 50% chance of being successful, and even if it was successful, could result in problems later on down the road. Despite the appearance of the tendons being severed, my brother is able to bend the finger -- that's nothing short of a miracle as the doctor has no idea how he's able to do it. And finally, although he was initially told he would have numbness and tingling permanently due to the nerve damage, the surgeon was able to take a nerve out of his wrist -- one that he said would slow reaction time a little but there are other nerves to do the job and as it's his left hand it will be barely noticeable to him -- and put it in his finger. It's not yet known if that will be successful and restore normal sensation in the finger.

So we continue to pray that God will knit each and every part of the finger back to its original condition, and thank Him for all the answers He's already given.

It's Official: I've Been Adopted

2009-08-29T12:35:00.003-04:00

Shortly after I moved in, I began to notice a frequent visitor on my property. A lanky gray tiger-striped kitty seems to have made herself quite at home here.

It's the most skittish cat I've ever met, and I assume it to be feral and not some neighbor's pet. Where she came from and why she chose my home is beyond me. I've never fed the cat. I've never let it in the house -- not that it would come in if I tried.

The cat has calmed a little, but it has been impossible to woo its friendship. I often spy it curled up in one of my patio chairs when I come home from work. Early on in this relationship, the moment the cat saw me -- even from across the yard -- it would bolt. Sometimes it would bolt before I even knew it was there -- I'd see nothing but a flash of gray across my yard.

At times when I saw the cat before it bolted, I tried to speak very softly and gently to it while slowly approaching it. It has gradually let me get nearer, but still nowhere near enough to be friendly. Now it lets me walk across the deck and into the house as long as I don't make eye contact with it, without bolting. If I pass the door and head toward the cat, however, it's not long before it's gone.

The other day on my way out to the mailbox, I noticed it hiding in a row of monkey-grass that lines the walk. The arc of the grass made a little parasol of sorts to give it shade from the warm sun. I didn't approach it and it stayed in its comfortable spot.

But today. Today I think the cat has made its first gesture of true friendship toward me.

No, it didn't let me approach it. No, it didn't ask to come in the house.

It left me a present.

A dead mouse is lying on my deck just outside my back door.

How nice.

I only hope the cat won't be offended if I leave it there in the hopes that it will return and take the mouse elsewhere!!

Anyone want to come over and dispose of a dead mouse for me? :)

Biblical Discipline for Sensory Kids

2009-08-24T19:43:00.002-04:00

Someone stumbed on my blog recently while searching for the term "Biblical discipline for sensory kids" and it got the wheels in my brain turning.

And here are the thoughts that were produced.

First of all, sensory kids are two things -- they're sensory (i.e., their sensory integration skills are deficient)... and they're kids. Let's look at the first component: they're sensory.

Sensory kids often display what the rest of us consider to be inappropriate behaviors. The tricky thing is, though, for the child, that behavior is very appropriate.

For example, if an ear-piercing and excruciatingly painful sound interrupted your conversation with your boss, would you simply ignore it? Of course not. You'd either cover your ears to try to block the sound, would cringe, would leave the room, would look for the source of the sound so you could eliminate it -- something. And that would be considered appropriate. Unless you had a horribly unfair and unkind boss, you would not expect a boss to punish an employee for not listening to him considering the disruption.

Take that example into a typical situation that might occur with a child with sensory integration dysfunction. Let's say said child is in the classroom listening to the teacher, and then one of the fluorescent lights in the ceiling begins to hum. Most children are ignoring the hum. A handful may be slightly distracted by it. But one child freaks out -- jumps up, covers his ears, screams (probably in pain!), maybe even runs out of the room.

Based on *your* sensory experience, this child's behavior is inappropriate. But based on that child's sensory experience, that hum was perceived by their brain as very loud and very painful. So actually their behavior was completely appropriate.

Should the child be disciplined for this behavior?

"But you can't just have them getting up and running off... you have to teach them to deal with disrupting sounds... they have to learn to ignore it like the other kids."

Really? Like you would just have to learn to spend your day working in an office with an excruciatingly painful sound ringing in your ear all day long and just ignore it? Is that the solution? or is eliminating the painful sound the solution?

This is just one example of millions of possibilities of WHY a sensory child may seemingly "misbehave" but their behavior is actually appropriate to their sensory experience. I do not for a minute believe the Biblical (or appropriate) way to deal with this child's behavior is to discipline the child, or try to teach them to just deal with the scenario.

The way to handle sensory-induced "misbehavior" is to analyze the occurrence to figure out what is going wrong in the child's sensory system that is causing them to behave the way that they are. Then eliminate it. Eliminate what you can environmentally -- can the fluorescent light be repaired so that it no longer hums? Can the locations where the child spends the most time be rewired to have other QUIET lighting instead? Can the child be given an assistive listening device that will dampen all environmental sounds and put the teacher's voice only directly into their ear? While doing everything possible to eliminate the source of the problem in the child's environment, the child should also be getting treatment to improve their sensory integration skills so that they can begin handling more and more of these situations without experiencing these problems.

If you remove and treat the problem, then the "inappropriate" behavior is going to disappear. If the child is no longer hearing the hum of the fluorescent lights, the child will sit quietly in his seat and listen just as he is expected to do.

Let's say, though, that someone viewed the child's behavior as inappropriate, and instead of looking at the reason the child acted that way, simply disciplined him. How much punishment do you think it's going to take to "correct" the behavior if the child is still being forced to hear an excruciatingly painful sound all day long in his classroom? An awful lot...

But unfortunately, parenting a sensory kid isn't quite that cut and dried. Because not only is the sensory kid SENSORY -- he's also a kid. And kids frequently do have inappropriate behavior that does require discipline.

The most difficult part for the parent is determining when your sensory kid is misbehaving because he's sensory, and when your sensory kid is misbehaving because he's a kid.

The best suggestion I can give you on how to tell the difference is to think before acting. You know your child and you know the types of sensory stimulation that tends to send your child through the roof. Analyze your child's misbehavior before jumping in with disciplinary tactics to see if the child's behavior was more likely due to inaccurate sensory processing or if it was just plain bad behavior. (Some clues too that may help you in difficult situations are looking at your child during the misbehavior -- is he flushed or sweating, or are his ears red? does he have a rapid heartbeat? rapid breathing? those are all big red flags to you that your child is not choosing to misbehave, your child's autonomic nervous system is on HIGH alert and this was caused by sensory overload.)

Does that help? Treat sensory (atypical) misbehavior; discipline voluntary (typical) misbehavior.

The Phone Call

2009-08-22T23:48:00.003-04:00

When something happens, do you ever go back and replay scenes in your mind and wish you could re-enter the scene and make some small change to prevent the something that happened?

I do. All the time. And yes, I've seen The Butterfly Effect. But I do it anyway.

Last night, my dad wanted me to come over as he had something to show me. When I got there, my brother was also there, borrowing my dad's saw. He's building a playground for Baby Boy's birthday present. "I was going to just go ahead and buy the pre-cut kit, but I priced them and it was $1000 for what I wanted to build and I can get the materials for it for just $300!" he exclaimed.

Wish he could go back and rethink that decision. Believe me, the kit would have been well worth the extra $700.

It really staggers the mind how life can change in a moment. Mat Kearney has a song out right now which has made me think of that each time I hear it, and think of the people for whom this has come true. "I guess we're just one phone call from our knees..." he sings.

I got one of those phone calls this afternoon. The totally unexpected kind that sends you into shock. It could have been a much worse phone call than it was -- but it was bad enough as it was.

My sister-in-law called. I had just talked to her an hour or so before, discussing potential gift ideas for Baby Boy's birthday, so I thought perhaps she had new information or ideas to share about that.

Instead, she said in the grimmest voice I have ever heard from her as she's one of the most optimistic cheerful people ever, "Can you come get Baby Boy? We're at the emergency room. Your brother cut off his finger."

!!!

I told her I'd be there as quickly as I could get there, and dashed out the door as waves of sickness washed over me. He cut off his FINGER. I know there are many many worse things that could happen to a person, but right now, cutting off a finger seems pretty bad!!

The emergency room experience was less than ideal. I hurried there as fast as I could drive amidst all the weekend traffic, parked the car, and dashed in frantically. I know panic was written all over my face, and after glancing around the waiting room and not seeing them, I ran up to the nurses' station. Four or five nurses were sitting there chatting with each other, and didn't even ask me what I needed!!

Now they didn't know who I was or why I was there. Someone runs into the emergency room with a look of panic and the nurses just ignore them? For all they knew, I was having a heart attack or something, or had someone dying out in my car that I needed help to bring in! And they just ignore me.

The security guard asked me if he could help me, and just then my sister-in-law came out with Baby Boy, handed him to me, said the side door was unlocked and she left chili cooking and could I please turn it off, and dashed off again.

I later learned that she had dropped my brother off at the entrance so he could run in and get help while she parked and got Baby Boy out of the car, and the same thing happened to him. He had to yell, "I CUT MY FINGER OFF!" to even get the nurses to look at him, and then, do you know what they said?

"You'll need to sign in."

Yeah. They really said that.

The security guard gave a disgusted look and said, "Give me the pen, I'LL sign him in!" He must be used to them...

Then they made him stand there, holding his hand wrapped in paper towels from home, mind you... and answer all sorts of ridiculous questions such as, "On a scale of 1 to 10, how much pain are you experiencing right now?"

When they took him back, they told him to lie down on the hospital bed, and they handed him some gauze. That was it. He lay there for two hours -- and had to put on the gauze himself!

When the orthopedic surgeon arrived, after examining and doing X-rays, he said he was going to stitch it up for now -- because apparently they don't do surgery on the weekends... -- and then he'd need to call Monday morning to see when they could fit him in. He then said, "Now I'm going to clean up the wound, just like they did earlier, and then stitch it together..." and my brother said, "They didn't clean it..."

The doctor was appalled. "They didn't clean it!?" he asked.

No. He sat there for hours with a piece of gauze, with all the dirt and germs and who knows what else right there in the wound.

So he cleaned it and sewed it back together and we'll see what happens. They don't know yet whether or not the finger can be saved. He'll have to have at least two surgeries, and maybe more -- a pin put in to hold the bone together until it grows back, the tendons repaired, skin grafting... There was some dead tissue (I can't help but wonder if that was due to lack of immediate treatment!) and he said it would depend on whether the rest of the tissue around it died as well, in which case he would lose the finger, or whether it was okay, in which case he felt they could save it and he could regain use of it except for some numbness and tingling which would be permanent. So we'll see what the next few days holds.

I am still in shock, I think. I surely do hope they can save it. I'd hate for him to have to tell his son, "Well, at least your playground didn't cost me an arm and a leg -- just a finger."

Back to School

2009-08-17T18:39:00.003-04:00

It's that time of year again. The Walmart aisles are lined with crayons, scissors, and glue on sale for mere pennies (despite the fact that children in our state's schools aren't even supposed to be bringing school supplies anymore), teachers are busy readying their rooms to welcome their new little pupils, some parents are counting down the days until they can send their children back to school, and other parents are nervous and tearful over their little ones starting preschool or kindergarten for the first time.

I like back to school time. As a child, I loved the Open House our school always held a few days before school actually started -- a time to go in and see your room, meet your teachers, get your books. I would go home and read my new reading book from cover to cover before school even started. The teachers always had a bulletin board with the names of the students on it -- perhaps a construction paper crayon for each child, or a little school bus with a name on each bus. It was fun at Open House to look at those displays to see if there were any new children in the class this year, or if anyone had left over the summer.

Even as a teacher, I liked back to school time, even though it meant going back to work after a summer of freedom. Honestly, I never cared for summer break as a teacher. It was too long. I savoured the first week of it, enjoyed the second, and after that, it got to be rather dull and tedious. I spent most of it traveling to break the monotony of staying home day after day. I was totally for year-round schooling -- you get a couple weeks off each season and a month in the summer. I'd gladly have traded those extra two long months of summer for longer vacations in fall, winter and spring.

It was always fun as a teacher to look forward to a new year, starting fresh. As a speech therapist, I kept most of my kids from year to year, dismissing a few here and a few there as they corrected their problems, but the bulk of the kids I had in the spring of one year would still be mine come fall. It was still exciting to see all my old kids and see what progress they may (or may not!) have made over the summer, and I was always eager to meet all the new little preschool and kindergarten students, as I screened each one of them to determine which of them were going to need me. :)

Somehow... even in the same school, in the same room with the same materials, with mostly the same teachers and students, every year seemed like a totally fresh start. A clean slate. I loved screening and testing new kids, I loved making new schedules, I loved putting up all my little incentive charts fresh and empty for each student, and filling up the prize box with new and nifty little toys I thought the kids might work for.

I haven't worked in the school system now for five years, and quite frankly, I miss it. Especially this time of year. I love the job that I have now and whenever I contemplate returning to the school system instead, all the huge pros of this job stand out way above any pros the school job might have. The independence... the flexibility... the PAY. ;)

But I miss the older kids. I love the 3-7 year old age range and in the schools, that's the range most of my kids fell into, since by the time they're 8 or 9 I've "fixed" most of them. :) I like babies and toddlers too, but sometimes I'd love to sit down with a child who can actually work at a table, who can play card and board games, who can follow directions and cooperate!! I miss that.

But then I think about all those eaaaaarly morning risings... the bus duties... and the breakfast duties... the lunch duties... and worst of all, the RECESS duties (particularly in the winter when they're stuck indoors!)

And then I'm pretty glad to spend my days feeding babies and playing with farm animals on the floor with toddlers after all. :)

All in a Day's Work

2009-08-13T23:27:00.002-04:00

Received a lesson today in how to operate a Taser, from a coworker who had just had to use one when a father threatened to kill her at a home visit.

Later today I had the pleasure of having a child vomit right next to me, on my toys. At least it was right next to me, and not while on my lap, where he had just spent the previous half hour.

And finally, I come home only to notice brown smudges on my arms and my watch.

I can only hope it was chocolate...

Family Reunion, Names, and just General Ramblings

2009-08-10T14:56:00.003-04:00

Warning: This post has no continuity whatsoever. I had to add "general ramblings" to the title because really that's all this is. One long ramble.

Well, I'm home from the annual family reunion. And I'm officially afflicted with baby fever.

This is actually a good thing. Here I've wanted all my life to have a baby, and lately I've noticed I'm not terribly interested in babies. I think it's because I'm surrounded by babies and toddlers day in and day out for work. They're not MY babies, and I've become desensitized to the "ooh, a baby" thought that used to occur when seeing babies was a rarer thing.

We have a new little family member that I've not mentioned here yet because I wasn't exactly sure what to say about him. Or what to call him. I've been thinking about the kids' names for awhile and have come to the conclusion that they're going to have to change -- or at least, Baby Boy's is going to have to change. I haven't yet figured out what to change it to, but he's turning three years old, and is no longer a baby.

And now we have another baby boy in the family. And Baby #4, gender unknown but I'm very much hoping for a girl, is due in a few months. :)

So... names, names. Little Girl has assured me that she is going to stay little forever, so her name is fine. But the rest of them... any suggestions? :)

Anyhow, when Little Girl and I returned from South Dakota, she was a big sister. Long story and not one that needs to be told anyway, but at least for the time being, I have a new nephew and have absolutely fallen in love with him in no time. He'll tide us over until Baby Boy's new little sibling arrives this winter, and then maybe -- MAYBE -- by then things will finally be moving on the adoption front for me. I've never seen such a slow process...

A couple weeks ago, we all went out to eat after church, but my sister was involved in a meeting there and didn't come, so I took her kids -- Little Girl and the new baby. As we were leaving the restaurant, I was carrying him in his bulky carseat (note to self: when I have a baby of my own, take the Ma Ingalls route: SIMPLIFY. It's not hard to take the BABY somewhere, it's carting around all the junk that comes along with him that about kills you! It's crazy!) -- anyhow, I was lugging him in the carseat and asked Little Girl to open the door for me. She did so, and someone standing there commented that she was Mom's little helper.

Mom. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be called that and it not be a mistake...

Anyhow. Back to the reunion. We had a great time, but it was interesting to see Baby Boy's reaction to the new baby, considering he's got his own little sibling on the way. He's always been a mommy's boy -- and if mommy's not around, daddy will do -- very unlike Little Girl who has always been equally loving and affectionate with all of us. Baby Boy doesn't have a whole lot to do with any of us as long as Mommy or Daddy is around, and it drives me nuts.

So this weekend, I was holding the baby and Baby Boy just kept waaaatching... the minute someone took the baby from me, Baby Boy scrambled up on my lap... and sat there forEVER. He's never done this. He's not a lap-sitter (except for Mommy and Daddy). So I figured it's baby-jealousy. Which is going to make it very interesting when his own mommy and daddy, of whom he is so attached and possessive, have another one.

I commented on what had happened to my brother, and he snapped his finger at Baby Boy -- "Come on, get up."

"WHAT!?" I said, still holding him -- "Why does he have to get up!??"

"He needs to get over it," my brother commented.

"Noooo!" declared I. "I've been waiting almost THREE YEARS for him to be cuddly, and now that he's finally done it, you're telling him to get over it!?"

He's actually been a lot more interested in me ever since I went with him to Disney World. Whatever the reason, I'm quite happy about it. I like this new Baby Boy that actually acts like he likes us. :)

While on the reunion, we did a few fun activities. One was an old steam engine train ride that went to a historic settlement. This was the entire reason I wanted to take the train ride -- to visit the village! Little Girl and I were quite looking forward to this, and finally we arrived. Imagine my shock to hear other people (NOT in our family) on the train muttering, "We have to spend a HALF HOUR here???" and "I'm just going to stay on the train and wait."

!!!!

What on earth!? Why don't these people appreciate history? Meanwhile I was complaining about the half hour as not being NEARLY long enough! We rushed through and didn't even get to half of it.

We stayed on a big farm. Little Girl's Ingalls Homestead experience was apparently evident, as she was right at home in the barn. The owner adored her, said she's his little farmer girl and make sure we bring her back next year so he can put her to work.

On the way home, she told me she wants to live on a farm.

I do too. I know just the farm I want. Unfortunately, it's owned. :)

Maybe someday.

Done rambling now. Sorry about that. :)

Why do Children Suffer?

2009-07-26T16:29:00.004-04:00

Five years ago, I became acquainted with the world of childhood cancer through the journey of a friend's little boy. He was just months younger than Little Girl, and the thought was absolutely staggering... if something like this could happen to them, it could happen to us.

This baby had a brain tumor, and after a long hard year of surgeries and treatments, he went to heaven. His family met many other cancer babies during this year, of course, and I followed their stories and prayed for those children and their families too. And one by one, I watched every single child die.

A few months after my friend's baby's death, I could take no more. No more links, no more blogs, no more following the stories of children with cancer. It was too hard. It was too sad.

Families who get thrust into that situation don't have that option. No matter how hard it is, no matter how sad, they can't just turn their head and say, "Nope, I've had enough, I'm not going to do this anymore."

But I could. And I did.

For four years I did. But now sick children seem to be facing me everywhere I go.

A girl I've gone to church with since we were children had a baby this week... a very sick baby. She's clinging to life right now... just barely. And suddenly I'm plunged back into the life of 4-5 years ago, where you check constantly for updates, and soar high when it looks like a miracle is occurring, only to be plunged to the depths again when things suddenly sour and prospects are grim.

But it's not just this little baby. There's beautiful little Kate McRae, whose situation reminds me so much of my friend's son's. And Small Stellan McKinney is not doing well at all this week. And have you heard of the terrible bus accident at FBC Shreveport? Young Maggie Lee Henson and her family are walking a hard road right now.

It begs the question why. Why must children suffer and die? It seems so wrong.

And it is wrong. It was never part of God's original design. When sin entered the world, so did death and suffering. It's ugly. It's wrong. But it's here nonetheless. Fortunately, it will one day be no more and we can all live forever in perfect health and happiness. But until that time, it's going to happen, and it could happen to any of us at any time.

So I guess the only question now is, what are we going to do when it does?

And no, I don't have an answer to that question.

The Happiest Place on Earth

2009-07-25T10:54:00.004-04:00

And it's not Disney World. (I know, I know, I'm a huge Disney fan, but this place even beats out Disney...)

Where is it?

The Ingalls Homestead in De Smet, South Dakota.

Two years ago, my mother and I took Little Girl there for her first visit. She loved it so much that when her birthday came around the next summer, she thought we should have her birthday party in South Dakota. It's a long way to South Dakota... a very long way.

When the kind folks at the Homestead heard of Little Girl's request, they sent some of South Dakota to her! How excited she was to receive a gift from the Homestead staff, a card, and pictures of her beloved kittens!

So when I told her this year that I was going back to South Dakota and asked if she wanted to come, of course the answer was yes! I was a little worried about taking her away from her mother so long -- we'd be gone a week after all. But she maintained that she wanted to go and so we went.

Was it as good as we remembered it being? Actually, it was better.

We spent large parts of THREE DAYS (and a night) on the Homestead, and didn't want to leave then. And as a result, I've come home with a Little Girl who is very knowledgeable about various aspects of pioneer living.

What can a little girl find to do on the Ingalls Homestead for three days? She can ride a horse... or a miniature horse... or a pony cart. Or all three, several times. Cuddle with kittens. Handle a team of horses or mules pulling a wagon. Cuddle with kittens. Pump water and carry the pail back with Ma. Do the laundry, pioneer-style. Cuddle with kittens. Wear prairie dresses with pinafores and sunbonnets and go to school. Ring the school bell. And cuddle with kittens. Go for a walk across the prairie at night. Pretend to be blind and let your friend play Laura and guide you as you walk. Spend the night in a covered wagon. During a thunderstorm. (Awesome!) Make corncob dolls (and corncob butterflies! lol) Twist hay, grind wheat, and make a jumprope. Oh, and lest we forget, cuddle with kittens.

I think by the time we left, she was a little TOO educated. At one point at the school, she wanted to leave to go back and see the kittens again (granted, we'd been there over an hour at this point, for a special session) and I told her sorry, there was nothing I could do about it. (You take a wagon there as the school is on the opposite end of the Homestead from the rest of the activities.) "I can't drive the wagon!" I protested as she continued to beg.

"I can!" she retorted.

Yes. She certainly could. After all, she'd done it numerous times already. Confident little thing.

And then she and her little friends, on the last morning there after our covered wagon sleepover party, wanted to do the laundry. We headed down, talking amongst ourselves, while the little ones ran on ahead. A staff member was always at the shanty to assist with the laundry so we saw no need to rush.

When we rounded the corner, we saw our four small children doing the laundry. One was scrubbing, one was rinsing, one was putting the cloth through the wringer, and the last was hanging up the clean cloths on the clothesline. The Homestead folks weren't there yet so our children had helped themselves, and astonishingly, were doing the laundry correctly and had formed their own little assembly line! I wonder what they thought when they showed up later that morning and discovered their nicely folded cloths all washed and hanging on the line? :)

Anyhow, it was a wonderful vacation and Little Girl can't stop talking about it. Thank you, Ingalls Homestead, for sharing Laura's land with the rest of us and for spoiling our little ones rotten.

We will be back!

A Collision of Literary-Inspired Media

2009-07-25T10:37:00.003-04:00

Have you ever noticed that the chant, "Snipes, snipes, long-legged snipes" as heard on the Little House on the Prairie television show is remarkably similar to the chant, "Snape, Snape, Severus Snape" as heard by the Harry Potter Puppet Pals?

(If you haven't and are curious, you can hear the Snipes chant here (fast forward to minute 8:12) and the Snape chant here (at minute :30).

That's just one of the many things learned when traveling with two little girls to Plum Creek. Little Girl began chanting snipes, and her little friend Anna joined in with Snape. Too funny!

A Miracle for Rebecca

2009-07-20T20:43:00.003-04:00

I've mentioned Rebecca here before. She's a little six-year-old girl in Uganda that I sponsor through Compassion International.

Most Compassion kids at such a young age are still having family members or teachers write their letters for them, or their letters are very obviously form letters. Not Rebecca. Oh, her teacher actually writes the letter, but it is clearly straight from Rebecca's mouth, unlike my other kids where the teacher is just updating me on the child's progress or activities.

And my little Rebecca? She's sweet. She's endearing. She's precocious. She abounds with personality that shines through in every letter she writes -- and she writes a lot!

Well, a few months ago, little Rebecca began asking me when I was coming to Africa to see her.

I can't go to Africa. The reasons are many. I very much want to see Rebecca, and my other boy in Uganda, Milton, also. But it just isn't possible.

But when I explained this to Rebecca, she informed me that with God, all things are possible.

This kid is really something. She really is.

So we agreed we would both pray about it and if God wanted it to happen, He would make it happen, but I also stipulated to her that God might NOT want it to happen in which case it wouldn't and we have to be okay with that, much as we may want things to be different.

She's not given up. Every letter -- every single one -- contains a comment or question regarding the issue of me coming to see her. She is convinced that God will make it happen, and she prays for it constantly.

I researched options. I wanted so badly to make it happen for her, when it seems so important to her. But I kept coming up against one brick wall after another. It simply wasn't going to happen. I understood that, but I implored God to make Rebecca understand. To do something to help her understand and be okay with it.

So do you know what He did?

About a month ago, I heard about a new site Compassion started up, called OurCompassion. It's sort of like Facebook for Compassion sponsors, and you can search by project and find other people who sponsor children in the same project as your sponsored child.

So I joined and almost immediately, I connected with a lady from Australia who sponsors a little girl in the same project as Rebecca. And lo and behold, she was going to visit her child THE NEXT WEEK.

I was all over that one. I asked her if she would look for Rebecca... and if she could find her, if she could tell her face to face for me how much I want to come but how I just can't make it happen. Could she somehow explain it to her?

She said she would ask the staff and meet Rebecca if it was at all possible, and that she was taking some gift bags to pass out to some of the children and would make sure Rebecca got one. Nice.

Even nicer? When she arrived at the project and asked about Rebecca and explained why she was asking, do you know what the staff did? They let my little Rebecca join this lady and her sponsored child for the entire day. This lady went to Rebecca's house and met her family. And her cows. ;) She gave Rebecca a Cabbage Patch Kid on my behalf. She took her out and about and spoiled her rotten for a day. She took tons of pictures, and even a video message from Rebecca and her mother to me, which I am quite anxious to see. I'm also eager to hear from Rebecca about what she thought about this visit!! I know that could take a couple of months though.

But I got some of the pictures last night.

Do you think she was happy about the little miracle God arranged just for her?

Seriously. A lady from Australia visits a child in Africa on behalf of the child's sponsor who lives in America, and God pulls this all together in the span of less than a month after being asked to make Rebecca understand somehow?

Only God.

Eight Cousins

2009-07-16T13:30:00.004-04:00

I told Little Girl a few days ago that her new little playmate (my friend's daughter) Anna was her eighth cousin. I only know this because of my interest in genealogy, of course; they don't know each other because they're related, they just happen to be very distantly related and we know each other... Well, she was very excited about it, she squealed, "We're cousins!" and they hugged. And that was the end of it, it never came up again.

Last night, when with this same friend, Little Girl said she wanted to go to M and T's home. M and T are Little Girl's cousins on her daddy's side of the family, and Baby Boy is her only cousin on her mommy's side.

My friend, not knowing Little Girl's daddy's family, asked who M and T were, and Little Girl said, "My cousins." My friend said, "Ohhh -- how many cousins do you have, Little Girl?" and Little Girl promptly replied, "Eight."

"Eight!" I exclaimed. "You don't have eight cousins, what are you talking about!?"

Little Girl instantly became very upset. "But... but... but you said..."

My friend burst into laughter and finished for her -- "You said Anna was her eighth cousin!!!"

I did indeed.

:o)

Overheard at Dinner...

2009-07-05T19:30:00.004-04:00

Baby Boy: "Want ice cream."

My brother (his father): "No, you can't have ice cream yet, you need to eat your dinner."

Baby Boy: "I ate it!"

My brother: "Nooo... you haven't even touched your corn!"

Baby Boy, with a smirk on his face, took one finger and -- you guessed it -- TOUCHED his corn.

That kid cracks me up.

Little Shopaholic

2009-07-05T19:22:00.003-04:00

On her 7th birthday, my sister said something to Little Girl about being seven.

"I don't want to be seven," she replied.

"You don't!?" my sister asked in surprise.

"I don't want to be seven," Little Girl repeated. "I want to be 18."

"Why?" my sister questioned.

"So I can order stuff," was the response.

Like mother, like daughter...

(She'd order stuff now if she had access to a credit card. Would you believe that last year, Little Girl went and asked my sister for her credit card? My sister was very surprised at such a request and went to see just WHAT she was up to. Little Girl was on the computer, on the Disney website, and had BOOKED THEM A DISNEY VACATION online -- all it needed was the credit card number to go through!!!)

Our Little Recycler

2009-07-03T17:39:00.003-04:00

Last month, I was holding the longest skinniest 5 and a half pound baby I've ever seen in my arms and marveling at how very perfect she was, from her darling little nose down to her ten wiggly toes.

A couple weeks ago I rejoiced at every minute I could spend with a chunky little toddler with gorgeous golden ringlets, who entertained us all with her adorable antics.

And last week, I gasped as our little girl started kindergarten, and learned to read and write and add and subtract. (Well, okay, she could do that before kindergarten. But go with me here.)

Yesterday, Little Girl turned seven. How can it be possible? Why does time go so slowly when you're young, and so quickly the older you get?

Well, with birthdays come presents, of course, and since our little Earth Girl is constantly talking about recycling and coming up with such creative ways to recycle and re-use things that you'd think she was Ma Ingalls' little clone, you can only imagine my pleasure at spying a Paper Recycling Factory by Bill Nye the Science Guy at a local store. The perfect birthday present for Little Girl!

Let me just say that I'm glad I also bought her some things at Disney World while I was there with Baby Boy, or it would have been one bummer of a birthday.

We opened the Paper Recycling Factory up and got right to work.

Before we recycled paper, Little Girl was scolding me for some tree bark pencils she found on my old school desk, purchased from one of the Little House sites. "That wastes trees!" she gasped. I pointed out that regular pencils are also made of wood, and she gasped again. "But it wastes trees!" I said, "But we NEED pencils so we can write." She argued, "But we NEED trees so we can breathe." Yeah. She wins.

After we recyled paper, this same child moaned and said, "Let's just waste trees. It's easier."

That is how ridiculous the paper recycling factory was. Hours and hours and hours to make one little piece of paper that doesn't even look or feel like paper, with great amounts of manual labor involved.

We won't be making paper again.

Good job, Bill Nye. Your paper recycling factory teaches kids NOT to recycle!

Sheesh!

Family Reunions: Distinctly Southern?

2009-06-27T18:33:00.004-04:00

From farmhouses to old churches, courthouses to cemeteries, libraries to literary sites, and museums to The Mouse, I've spent the better part of June on the road... and have more of the above planned for July, as well. (But not The Mouse. One Mickey visit per season will have to suffice.)

Such traveling is always a reminder of how things are different in various parts of the country. People talk differently. The stores and restaurants are different. Lifestyles vary.

Which brings me to my question... during my travels, I attended a family reunion in the sticks of Kentucky. Not my family, mind you. I crashed another family's reunion. :) (I wanted to interview the elderly members of the family, and they invited me, so leave me alone. :) )

Anyhow, it was a typical family reunion... kids running around playing, more food than anyone could ever hope to eat -- sloppy joes, ham, green beans, mashed potatoes, corn, rolls, potato salad -- good stuff, topped by a table of desserts that would have fed the entire state of Kentucky, women chattering away, the menfolk heading for the lake with fishing rods in hand, and a few men and boys gathered near the picnic shelter strumming on their guitars and singing bluegrass and southern gospel.

The whole thing had a very Southern feel to it... maybe it was the music, but the whole thing just suddenly felt distinctly Southern. I had a hard time picturing a family in, say, New York or Massachusetts or Maine DOING this. I'm sure they must have family reunions of some kind... I imagine they gather together and eat... but there's just something about a down home reunion that just has that Southern flavor to it.

So I wondered... do those of you living up north do this kind of thing? Do you have family reunions every summer, and if so, what are they like?

Lessons from Disney

2009-06-22T23:08:00.003-04:00

Yes, I said lessons from Disney. Disney isn't just pure entertainment, you know. There's tons to learn from Disney, and especially on a trip to Walt Disney World.

(At least, that's what we told Little Girl's teacher when we pulled her out of school for a week last January because we don't do Disney in the summer.)

Well, I don't do Disney in the summer. But my brother and sister-in-law? They did.

They've been down there for a week now with Baby Boy. Nobody wanted to miss his first Disney trip, and yet nobody wanted to go to Disney in June either. So they went alone, but at the last minute, I just couldn't resist, and decided to fly on down and spend a couple days with him after all.

I called my brother one day last week to see how the trip was going so far. "Well, he loves everything, but it's so hard to get him to do things," he responded. "We can't even get him out of the hotel room without a fight because he just wants to watch tv. Then, when we get to the park, everything we ride, he doesn't want to leave. He just wants to ride it again. It's like he doesn't get it that there's other fun stuff to do."

However, by the time I got there, he was no longer having that problem. Not realizing this, I said, "Uh-oh," when he turned on the tv first thing in the morning after waking up.

"Oh, it's not a problem, he'll turn it off when it's time to go," said my brother.

"I thought you said..." I began.

"He's figured it out now," my brother answered. "He's finally realized that if he just goes where we want him to go without a fight, we always take him to something fun, so now he just does whatever we tell him."

What an analogy can be drawn from that! It seems so silly for him to scream and cry because he wants to watch Dumbo on tv when what awaits him if he'll leave the tv set is so much more wonderful than television. Yet, he clung and cried to keep what he had rather than trust his parents that the unknown ahead held better things.

How like us is that? Me anyway. I've always had issues with clinging to whatever is known... from a very early age. I remember Graduation Sunday in Sunday School as a child, how I dreaded it for weeks and would cry and cry when the day came. When I was 5, I actually didn't go when they came to take all the kids going into first grade out of our class. One of the other girls told on me and the teacher came back after me, and I just sobbed. I didn't want to go to a new class with a new teacher that I didn't know, I wanted to stay in the class with the teacher that I already knew and enjoyed. This happened year after year, in school too.

The funny thing was, each class and each teacher I loved more than the one before it. Each year was filled with new and exciting adventures that I'd have missed out on if I hadn't been dragged kicking and screaming into the new class. And yet year after year, I continued to cry to leave and go on to the next class, thinking it couldn't possibly be better than the class I was in.

That's just one example. I handle transitions much much better now, but watching Baby Boy is a reminder as I move into each new phase in life and have to give up things from the former phase in order to embrace the new things that it really is a smart thing to just listen to my Father, to go where He tells me to go and do what He tells me to do without putting up a fight, because what He has planned for me is better than what I'm clinging to right now.

Baby Boy caught on pretty quickly. Hopefully I can do the same. :)

(And hopefully his parents have caught on that Disney in June? It's HOT, y'all. HOT.)

The Secret Garden

2009-06-18T23:07:00.007-04:00

My neighbor has a garden.

But not just any garden. A delightful enchanted wonderment that provides such scope for the imagination...

Don't believe me? Just follow Little Girl in and see for yourself.

Notes from the Field

2009-06-09T23:07:00.005-04:00

I really do have a fun job. I say I get paid for playing with other people's kids, and in a way, it's true.

Today's story comes from a day at the pool. Yes, I said the pool -- I told you I have a fun job.

I had a child whose daddy had custody of him -- but daddy had an amputated leg and wore a prosthesis. He was unable to take his son to the pool for the playdates that were held weekly for children enrolled in our program because he couldn't go in the water lest the prosthesis get wet (and obviously he didn't want to hop around in a pool on one leg) and of course he couldn't allow his two year old son to wade in the pool without him -- so I agreed to meet him there from time to time for therapy sessions.

The great thing about early intervention is its emphasis on "natural environments" versus clinic settings, which means not only a child's home or daycare, but also parks, restaurant playplaces, and yes, even pools, are all fair game as they are all places that are naturally a part of a young child's life. :)

So to the pool we went. As the little boy and I were wading through the water side by side, he stumbled and started to fall forward. Instantly he reached his hand up to me, and I grasped it and steadied him before he fell. The entire incident happened in less than a second and we continued wading.

Later, when we came out, the little boy's father mentioned it, as he'd been watching from the edge. "That's my favorite part about being a father," he told me.

I was confused. What could he possibly mean by that?

He explained further. "The trust they have in you," he said. "The way he instantly reached up for your help, KNOWING you'd be there and would save him from falling -- as a dad, that's just the best feeling in the world to know your child has that much confidence in you and knows you're there for him."

I pondered that one awhile.

Isn't it a perfect example of the way we ought to be, with God? That if we even start to stumble, we instantly reach up for His hand, in full confidence that He will be there ready to save us from falling? Perhaps this is what Jesus meant when He instructed us to have faith like a child. If we had the same faith in Him that that little boy had in me that day, how many falls might we avoid in life?

I hope the next time I begin to stumble, and every time after that, I'll remember that day at the pool, and the lesson I learned from that little boy... and his father.

Our Smiley Girl

2009-06-08T23:46:00.003-04:00

School is out, and no more meds for Little Girl as we begin our summer brain balance experiment! Hooray!

Two days off the meds and we already have our happy little girl back!

She followed me out to the car after church. I kept turning around to check and make sure she was still behind me. And every time I did, she just smiled. She smiled and she smiled and she smiled. Oh, how I have missed that smile.

As we were pulling out of the parking lot, she was blowing a whistle. Suddenly she stopped and said, "Uh-oh. I forgot my Littlest Pet Shop at Sunday School." Holding my breath I said, "Well, maybe you can get it next week."

I was holding my breath because I've become accustomed to the medicated Little Girl of the past few months, you see, and the medicated Little Girl would have proceeded to have a total meltdown at this point.

The nonmedicated Little Girl? She kept whistling, and nary a word was said about it again.

The medicated Little Girl spent her Sunday afternoons engaged in solitary play that typically involved becoming engrossed in some repetitive strange activity, like cutting out pieces of paper and lining them up or something, and when urged to do something a little more productive, or to come visit family members, or to play with Baby Boy, she would go into hysterics because she HAS TO FINISH THIS.

The nonmedicated Little Girl? She picked flowers to decorate the cat's grave. She played with Baby Boy on the swingset. She made shadow puppets on the wall. She rode bikes. She visited family without complaint and was friendly and cheery and affectionate the entire time.

Oh, and she ate dinner. She ate and she ate and she ate. (She's lost about 8 lbs since starting the meds and she was scrawny before she started!) She ate more for dinner yesterday than she's eaten for all of our Sunday dinners combined since she started these meds, and that is not an exaggeration. At this rate, she'll hopefully gain her weight back and look healthy again!

It is so good to have our Little Girl back. She will never go on that wretched medication again if I can help it.

K-Mart Excursions

2009-06-07T01:15:00.004-04:00

I spent the day painting. Painting a room and painting a bed. You could say I'm nesting. :)

But after running out of spray paint for the bed (who knew it would take FIVE cans of primer to paint a metal bunkbed and actually more because it's not covered yet but I -- and K-Mart -- ran out so will have to pick up that project again another day...), I headed to K-Mart for some more.

Now I'm not terribly fond of K-Mart. I rarely go there, and it's certainly not my store of choice, but it does have the advantage over other preferred stores due to its convenient location of a mere 1/2 mile away from my house. So with paint all over my hands, my mowing jeans with a hole in the knee and grass stains all over the bottoms, and an old shirt, I decided K-Mart was going to have to do.

The last time I was at K-Mart, there was a guy at the register as I approached it to get in line, who was simply standing, bent over from the waist, with his head laying on the counter. The cashier poked him and tried to give him his change, and he stood up, swaying and took the change, took a step or two, and put his head back down on the counter again. I handed the girl my stuff and she checked me out, all the while both of us looking at this strange guy laying down on the counter.

I couldn't figure out if he was having a medical emergency, or was just seriously drunk or stoned. I think it was the latter.

He finally stood up and walked off, swaying and staggering as he did so. The cashier said he'd been at her register for fifteen minutes doing that and she hadn't known what to do! I said I'd better watch as I went out to see what car he got into, as I sure didn't want to be driving anywhere in his vicinity!

But there was no need to worry about that. He didn't even make it to the parking lot. He was standing by the gumball machines at the store entrance, once more bowed over with his head on the machines.

Do you see why I don't go to K-Mart?

Okay, so today I picked up the spray paint and stood in a loooooong line, because only one register was open. K-Mart is notorious for its long lines, another reason I don't go there much.

Slowly, slowly, I crept nearer the register, and was nearly there... there was one lady in front of me, and an elderly lady using a walker almost done checking out. The lady didn't have enough money to buy her stuff, and she took her money back and started digging in her wallet.

The woman in front of me made a disgusted sound, and left all her stuff on the counter and marched off, muttering something about how there are other stores. Just as she did, the elderly lady pulled a 50 out of a secret zipper in her wallet and paid for her stuff.

Why would you wait in line for twenty minutes and leave ten seconds before it's your turn? The time to get mad and leave was 18 minutes ago.

So I prepare to check out, when I'm taken off-guard by the girl asking when my birthday is.

Huh? My birthday? Why on earth did she need to know that?

Why, you have to be 18 to buy spray paint, didn't you know!? (I sure didn't.) I googled to find out why, wondering just WHAT kids are doing with spray paint these days.

Graffiti, of course. Duh. And here I was trying to figure out how they were turning it into a drug of some kind. Not that being over 18 would make one less likely to turn spray paint into a drug... but anyway.

So, armed with my dangerous spray paint, I went out to the parking lot, and there was the lady who had stormed out of the store, chatting with an older couple on their way in. I overheard them telling her how to get to Target.

Okay. So rather than wait another ten seconds -- or even another minute or two if it had taken the elderly lady that long -- she leaves all her stuff, goes into the parking lot and asks for directions to another store so she probably isn't even from around here which would make me personally even less likely to want to try to find another store, then she's going to drive ten minutes to Target, spend ten or fifteen minutes at least finding all the stuff in the store that she had left on the counter at K-Mart, and then have to wait in line there?? And this all makes sense because...?

I hope she was satisfied taking an extra half hour or more to save herself having to wait in that line another ten seconds.

And now, after 16 straight hours of painting, interrupted only by a couple of brief phone calls, a few minutes each for lunch and dinner, and an hour to mow the yard, I'm going to bed!

G'night!

Digging Up My Roots: Genealogical Gardening

2009-06-02T09:35:00.004-04:00

My thumb is anything but green.

I like flowers. They're pretty to look at. I gaze admiringly upon the lawns of other people who clearly have a gift for gardening. But then I return to my own yard of nothing but grass, without a single splash of color to pretty it up. You see, I have no interest in gardening. No interest in digging around in dirt. No interest in investing effort into planting and watering and pruning and all the other things you have to do to plants. Not that I know much about that. With no interest... I've never bothered to learn.

It wasn't always this way. When I was a little girl, I loved to help my grandmother with her flowers. My grandparents had a vegetable garden too, and each of us grandkids had a stalk or a vine or something of each kind of vegetable they grew for our very own.

But somewhere between childhood and adulthood, gardening went out the window.

Now I'm thinking perhaps it was situational. First I had a little house where I could have gardened, and actually did put in some flowers one summer. But I left that little house each summer to vacation for 4-6 weeks at a time, and that made gardening impossible. So I stopped.

Then my next home, now that I think about it, really didn't have much of anywhere to put flowers. I had to weed the groundcover and that was a hot and miserable task that required so many precautions to keep from getting poison ivy, which I somehow kept managing to get even though we killed every poison ivy plant we found, that no wonder gardening was the last thing in the world I wanted to do.

But now I have a nice yard with all these empty, yet prepared, flower beds here, there, and everywhere. I groaned just thinking about all the work it would be to put flowers in so many beds, and I did nothing. No flowers for me. We'll just have mulch beds surrounding the deck. Maybe someday, when I have kids, I'll plant flowers and let the kids help but right now -- I just don't want to.

That all changed Saturday. If you clicked the link in my last post, then you saw the picture of the cemetery with all the daylilies covering it. My great-great-grandmother planted those lilies, and my cousin announced that she was going to get some and plant them in her yard.

Now that appealed to me. Flowers in and of themselves are pretty to look at, but just not significant enough or important enough to me to bother with. But flowers planted by my great-great-grandmother? Those are significant. I wanted some too.

So while we were at the cemetery, we dug up some of those tiger lilies and I brought them home and planted them. I especially liked the fact that my cousin kept telling me as I asked questions, "You can't kill them! They are virtually unkillable!" I like a virtually unkillable plant. :)

So as we drove the long way home, I asked my cousin about her interest in gardening, and how and when that all came about. And as she chattered eagerly about plants she had gotten from older relatives -- plants I knew nothing about until this day -- I sensed a new addiction growing.

I want those plants too. I want Great Aunt Mandy's snapdragons from North Carolina. And if Mammaw's favorite flowers have always been zinnias, ever since she was a little girl, I want to plant some of those too, even if they aren't what I would pick out myself. I want Aunt Mary's mother's peonies. Maybe I'll even get adventurous enough to get a cutting of my mother's Christmas cactus, which was cut from Mama Walton's Christmas cactus... the real Mama Walton, you know, Mama Hamner. I've always wanted to, but I was afraid I'd kill it.

You see, in transplanting my lilies, I discovered that planting and watering really isn't so bad after all. In fact, I kind of like it. And when the flowers are more than just pretty blooms, but have family significance -- well, I'm all over that.

So something tells me I have a new hobby in the works. We'll see how it goes. :)

A Graveyard Surprise

2009-05-31T22:35:00.006-04:00

Remember this? The trip last summer to the family cemetery which has been utterly neglected for who knows how long?

That cemetery and its condition has weighed heavily on my mind since then. So in recent weeks, I took it upon myself to do something about it. I recruited some volunteers, and yesterday we headed back out to the cemetery for a full day's work.

This is what we had to work with.

Yes, inside that fence, there really is a cemetery... somewhere.

Several hours later, with a lot of equipment and hard work, my dad, brother, cousin and I turned THAT into THIS:

(The first picture was taken from the top of the cemetery looking down, and this picture was taken from the bottom of the cemetery looking up, if you're wondering about the vast change in background.)

It was discouraging to find that several of the stones have been broken and knocked down. By cows, we're guessing, as cow patties were found scattered throughout the cemetery. Their pasture is all around the cemetery and we can only assume that someone has left the cemetery gate open for them...

Fortunately, one cousin married an undertaker, who formerly worked in a cemetery, and she's hopeful that he will know how to repair the stones, and also get us some new markers at cost for the graves that lie unmarked in this cemetery.

My great grandmother drew us a cemetery map before she died, and it's a good thing she did, for there are several unmarked graves and after she died, there would have been nobody left who remembered who they were or where they were buried. Now we have the record and I feel burdened to provide those individuals with some sort of marker as a remembrance.

So, we've got some work ahead of us yet, but it is such a relief to have the cemetery cleaned off, to be able to actually see the graves and walk through the cemetery, and we're working on a plan to make sure it stays cleaned off this time. I am really looking forward to taking my grandmother back to the cemetery later this summer to see it, and hopefully erase from her memory the desecration she saw last summer... She has no idea we went out and did this, so it will be a really fun surprise. :)

A Memorable Memorial Day

2009-05-26T23:16:00.005-04:00

Way out in the middle of nowhere, on the top of a steep mountain up which no vehicle can drive, lies a cemetery.

And in that cemetery is the grave of my grandmother.

I was 15 years old the first time I ever visited this cemetery. My great-grandfather died and he too was buried here. They used a crane to hoist the coffin up the mountain-side, and we all hiked up. The place had the charm of a bygone era... with its smattering of old graves, many of which were marked with nothing but a rock with no way to know now who was laid to rest in that place.

We've been out there two or three times since then, and each time we had an incredibly difficult time finding the spot. I got smart the last time we went, and drew a map, marking clearly each turn with its landmarks.

So out we went, my brother and sister and I, along with Little Girl and Baby Boy. I drove the lead car and my brother followed, and confidently we took turn after turn using the map I drew several years ago on our last visit. Everything was going well when we reached a fork in the road. We were waiting for a particular "street sign" which was put up when 911 was put into the county and everyone had to be assigned a "street address." The sign itself cracked us up as the road name was "Left Fork Johnson's Fork Little Ann Creek Road." Yes, this was all on one of those green street signs.

But here was a fork, and we hadn't yet reached that sign. We hesitated. "Left," my sister said. "I'm sure we go left." I turned left skeptically but we both breathed a sigh of relief as the first house came into sight around the bend. "That house looks familiar!" we both exclaimed in relief.

But I still wanted to see the map and make sure we were on the right track and try to figure out how this turn had come about that we weren't expecting. So I pulled into the driveway and my brother pulled in next to me. We rolled down our windows.

"We're almost there," I told him. "I know we're close, we just aren't positive which way to go because that fork isn't marked on my map."

"I know we're going the right way," my sister kept saying. "I KNOW we are. She won't trust me."

Meanwhile my brother is exclaiming, "We're in somebody's DRIVEWAY! We're at somebody's HOUSE!" I wasn't terribly concerned about that...

So we kept driving. Long story short, we drove way out that road, then came back and tried the other fork, and then came back to try the first fork again, figuring we must not have gone far enough.

Just as we approached that same driveway that had initially upset my brother so much, my sister says, "WAIT! Isn't that the barn that says HOWDY on it!?"

Sure enough, the final landmark, the HOWDY barn, was right there, with the letters nearly worn away which is why we'd not noticed it before. No wonder that house looked so familiar to us both, and nothing farther on did. THAT was the place!! The street sign we were looking for must have been pulled down.

I quickly pulled right back into that same driveway and we were laughing so hard, wondering what on earth my brother must be thinking to see us turn right back into that same spot.

We got out, laughing -- in the pouring rain, mind you, not the best weather for a cemetery visit on top of a mountain, but we couldn't help that -- and explained to him that this was indeed the place. And then we began the climb.

After crawling under the tree that blocked the path, I turned around and took this shot. I think you can make out our cars parked at the bottom of the hill, which gives you some idea of how ridiculously steep this climb was. And we weren't quite halfway there yet. :)

At last we reached the cemetery. The kids had a wonderful time exploring. They planted flowers at our grandmother's grave and picked daisies from the surrounding woods to lay on other graves.

Their friends were having picnics and pool parties and parades. But in our family, Memorial Day has always been a day to visit the cemeteries and decorate all of the family graves.

Family traditions handed down from previous generations are what memories are made of. I think our kids had a better day than their friends. What do you think?

Thoughts on Friendships

2009-05-22T13:46:00.002-04:00

Back in December, I read an interesting post on the issue of "best friends." I intended to write a post on my thoughts at that time, but then I sold a house, bought a house, moved, and with all the chaos, this particular post went unwritten.

Last night, I read another interesting post on the subject of friendship, and my thoughts on the matter were aroused again.

When my sister and I were young, everybody was her best friend. I mean, everybody. "But Mom, I HAVE to go to Mary's party, she's my best friend!" Never mind that the day before, she HAD to call Kelli, because she was her best friend, and the day before that, of course she needed to buy Sonya a birthday present, she WAS her best friend, after all!

Throughout life, I always had ONE best friend. And a twin cousin who was truly my best friend throughout all of childhood, but in addition to her, ONE best friend at school. It changed in time... there was Kim for a few years until she changed schools, and then it was Amber. When she left the school, it became Rachel, and when we parted ways it became Robyn. But at each stage in life, there was just ONE best friend. So I never understood this issue my sister had with calling every friend her best friend.

But now, things have changed. You know all the surveys that come around -- it used to be by email, now they are proliferating on social networking sites such as Myspace and Facebook. I always hesitate when I come to questions such as, "Who is your best friend?"

It's not that I don't have a best friend; it's that I have many, and they all serve different functions in my life. If a problem arises, I know who to call if I just want a listening ear, and who to call if I want practical advice. I know who to call if I make an exciting Laura-find, and who to call if I want to go out and do something fun. I know who to call if I want to share a funny kid story, and who to call if I simply want to chatter endlessly about nothing. There is overlap, of course, but you get different reactions from different people and I can't imagine not having any of them as my "best friend" or the void their absence would leave in my life.

Maria concludes her post with the opinion that after a certain age, you don't NEED a "best friend" and thus the line between best friend and good friends becomes more blurred... but what is that age, and why? (And why has my sister been that way from birth?)

And Jennifer's post on how friendships ebb and flow is particularly interesting because I was thinking just a few days ago on this very issue, mainly because of facebook and the renewed relationships it brings about. On facebook, I have the opportunity to become reacquainted with some of those best friends from years past, where the relationship ebbed simply because of a change in circumstances. Why is it that some of those old friends I picked up with like no time had passed whatsoever, and others I feel such a distance with, and non-interest in?

Is it that with all the years apart, we've all changed (obviously) and some of them have changed in similar ways to me and we're therefore still very much alike, or not so much alike but whatever attracted us to each other in those days still exists, and others have changed very differently, and thus the disconnect and lack of interest in renewing relationships with those people?

Jennifer writes that "it is a mystery," and I must agree. It really is no different from new relationships... why is it that I can join a group of people and instantly feel a connection with one or two of them and not the others? I guess the bigger mystery here though is that the connection was once present and now it isn't.

I suppose in the end, it doesn't really matter. But it's something to wonder about...

Thoughts on "Taking a Bloggy Break"

2009-05-17T18:06:00.004-04:00

I spend a lot of time on the computer. I won't deny that. Sometimes it's for work, but much of the time it's for enjoyment. The majority of my computer time is spent doing one of two things: learning new things, or connecting with people.

Unless someone is a bigtime gamer, I think one or both of those two things is what most people do on the computer, isn't it? Chatting, email, blogs, facebook, myspace, twitter -- it's all about connecting with other people. Google -- hello, wonderful tool to find out just about anything you could ever want to know, as well as many things you don't!

Now personally I think that learning new things and connecting with other people are both very good things, so I don't have even an ounce of guilt over the amount of time that I spend on the computer.

But many others do. I've tried for quite some time now to understand just what the issue is, but I don't get it.

So often, on blogs that I follow, I'll read about someone "taking a blog break" for a week or a month or an indefinite period of time, to rethink their priorities or to live life instead of writing about it, etc. They never come right out and say it but the implication always seems there to be that if you spend a lot of time on the computer, you aren't living life. That to fully experience life as it should be, one must not spend very much time on the computer at all, or even must fully break from it for long stretches of time.

What I question primarily is why these people feel the need to share with everyone else that they're taking this bloggy break... (or twitter break... or technology break... or what have you). I know a couple of bloggers that I used to follow -- and just recently stopped following for this very reason -- who do this on a regular basis. They're always having to regroup, to break away from all technology for a week, or from the blog for a week, etc. And it's always this long introspective post explaining to the world why they feel the need to do this.

And those posts always leave me feeling annoyed, quite frankly. To do it once, no big deal. But over and over? What is the purpose? Why the need to share with everyone that you're doing this, and why? If you really want to live life, why not just live it and not worry about your blog or your twitter or your facebook or whatever it is? Why a specified amount of time that you're taking a break and then back to the same old thing? What is the point?

I could understand if someone felt they were really spending too much computer time and needed to back off a bit, saying to themselves, "Okay, I'm limiting myself to X amount of time per day on the computer." But is there really a need to share this decision with the world? (Unless one is looking for accountability, but we don't know if they only spent that amount of time or not so it really seems as if a real life person would make a better accountability partner here...) But that isn't even what I keep seeing. What I keep seeing is, I'm doing nothing for X amount of time and then I'm returning to business as usual. It's usually followed by a question posted to the readers that asks them to consider doing this as well, or asks them if they're having the same problem, etc. And I read those and just shake my head thinking, NO! No, I do NOT have that problem. I DO spend a lot of time on the computer, but I do NOT see a problem with it. Nor do I see how refraining from using the computer for a week only to return to it full force at the end of that period is going to help me "live life" any more completely.

If they want to live life, why don't they just do it, instead of telling us all about it? I usually spend my late evening hours on the computer, but if I have a real life thing to do -- if Little Girl is over for the evening, or if a friend wants to go out and do something, or whatever, even if I have a series of those events that is going to keep me occupied for a couple weeks, I don't even think about the computer -- it doesn't occur to me to come announce on my blog that I won't be posting for X amount of time. Who cares? When I have the time, and have something to say, I post. And when I don't, I don't. Is it really that complicated?

I just don't get why people feel the need to "check in" with the world, I guess. I'm not saying they're wrong -- don't read that into this. I'm just trying to understand.

If you're one of those people, maybe you could enlighten me. Just why DO you take technology breaks, what do you expect to gain from it? Why do you post on your blog that you're not going to post for X amount of time? Maybe you're concerned that your readers will think something happened to you? And apparently that does happen... though to be perfectly honest, I never even NOTICE that a particular blogger hasn't posted in awhile, because there are enough other bloggers who are that I simply don't keep track...

Anyone have any thoughts to offer on this point? Do you feel like you spend "too much" time on the computer, and if so, why do you feel that way? I don't see the computer as a waste of time for me, I see it as a tool for learning and for communication with people, and those are two things I value... but maybe others don't see it that way? Is computer time not "living life"? Because quite frankly, my life is made much more fuller through the relationships that I form and maintain using the computer as a tool -- and that doesn't just mean people I meet online, that includes connecting with family, coworkers, and "real life" friends (as if internet friends aren't real life... which is another soapbox of mine :) ).

So... just wondering... :)

P.S. And no, I am not referring to you. :) The people I am thinking of have no idea I even exist and are certainly not reading this blog. And I'm not referring to, "I'll be out of town for the next week so won't be posting" type of things on blogs. I'm talking about deep introspective posts, again and again and again, about why they need these breaks... So don't get a complex. This isn't about you. :)

Things That Bug Me, and Other Tales...

2009-05-10T17:34:00.003-04:00

Today is Mother's Day. I'll be honest. I hate Mother's Day. I've hated it for years.

Why?

Because Mother's Day is one huge blatant reminder of what I'm not, of course.

I hate watching adorable little girls and boys in church singing songs about their mothers or telling their favorite things about their moms. Because I don't have a little boy or a little girl up there with them. I hate when the pastor asks all the mothers to stand and every woman in the church is standing... except me. (I'm sure I'm not the only one, but it sure feels that way.) When the usher handing out the gifts nudges you, thinking you've simply forgotten to stand up, and you have to flat out say, "No, I'm not a mother..."

The worst though is when people send you Mother's Day greetings, online cards, virtual flowers, etc. Why are they sending me Mother's Day cards!? I'm not a mother. I'm sure they mean well, but the last thing in the world that I want on Mother's Day is someone wishing ME a Happy Mother's Day. Though I know it's not intended this way, it feels like a slap in the face.

I've asked people why they sent me Mother's Day cards knowing I'm not a mother. Their answers aren't at all logical to me. "Mother's Day is for all women!" they'll exclaim. No it isn't. It isn't Women's Day. It's Mother's Day. It's for mothers. You know, that thing I'm not.

Another justification is, "Well you HAVE a mother! So you get to celebrate Mother's Day!" Yes... but that doesn't justify sending ME a Mother's Day card. I have a father too, but nobody sends me Father's Day cards!

But enough complaining... next year, hopefully I will be a mother, or at least a foster mother, and these miserable Mother's Days will be over.

Next item on the agenda, for things that bug me... literally:

We had our first sunny day in WEEKS. Literally, we have had weeks where it has done nothing but rain, rain, and rain some more. So we took the kids out to play. Caterpillars were everywhere. Baby Boy wanted nothing to do with them, but Little Girl caught them, built them a house, the whole nine yards.

A little while later, while working on her house, she handed me a caterpillar and asked me to hold it for her. After a few minutes, I got tired of it crawling back and forth from hand to hand, so I set it down on my leg. It sat there just fine for awhile. Suddenly I glance down, and see this thing defecating on my pants! I instinctively flicked it off, and went after one of Baby's Boy's baby wipes, figuring they ought to be good for cleaning up poop. :) Well, the caterpillar didn't survive the flick, and Little Girl was furious with me for killing her caterpillar.

Sorry. It pooped on me. What would you have done!?

:)

A little while later as we sat there talking, a bug flew in my mouth. Yuck! So all in all, it was a very buggy day for me. :)

On the bright side of things, my little Laura-Ingalls-Wilder-wanna-be-in-training is coming right along. We've been reading Little House on the Prairie together, but she usually wants just one chapter and then she's done and moving on to other things, so it's been pretty slow going. Last week, I had a feeling she was hooked. We read a chapter, and then I turned the page and said, "Oh, the next chapter is the best one!" My mother asked what it is, and I said, "Mr. Edwards Meets Santa Claus." My mother and I are both clearly very excited about this chapter, and it must have been contagious. Little Girl seized the book from my hands. "Give it to me!" she said. "I want to read it myself!" I made her read it aloud to me. :)

So this week, she was clearly ready to read, and we read four chapters before she finally decided it was time to quit. And she said next week we will finish the rest of the book. Yep. I've got her now. YAY. :)

The other day, she was downstairs watching Alf and my sister was upstairs. Suddenly, she heard Little Girl's feet pounding up the steps. "MOMMY, MOMMY!" she shrieked. "YOU HAVE TO COME SEE THIS!!!" "What!?" my sister asked, and so excited she could barely speak, Little Girl gasped out, "ON THE TV! COME AND SEE!"

My sister went downstairs to where Little Girl had it on pause. She rewound it a little, and it was the episode where Alf broke the TV and Willie said he wasn't going to get it fixed, they just would have no tv. Alf was aghast and made reference to how they were going to be living like Little House on the Prairie. Little Girl's eyes shone as she said, "Isn't that SO FUNNY, Mommy!" I love that Little House references excite her. :)

Then another day they were at a store, and Little Girl picked up a stuffed Scottie dog and was playing with it. My sister was paying no attention, until Little Girl told her to look. She had tied a piece of cloth around its head to look like a bonnet, and she announced proudly, "Look, Mommy! I made a prairie dog! Not the little kind that live in holes in the ground -- it's a little dog on the prairie!"

Yep. That's my girl. :)

Processing...

2009-05-03T19:09:00.003-04:00

The Compassion Bloggers have been in India this week. Just as with their trips to Uganda and the Dominican Republic, I've followed their blogs closely, learned much, and been overwhelmed by what I've seen through their eyes.

The other day, I was working at a family's house and happened to glance out at the backyard, where the children themselves had built a playhouse. It's a sight... uneven boards nailed up wherever a child happened to place them, and nothing but holes for a door and windows. But it's serviceable. It's just a playhouse, after all.

But the thought crossed my mind as I saw it: This little kid-built shack looks very similar to the homes in these impoverished communities where Compassion kids live. What, in my eyes, is a shoddy playhouse, would be in their eyes, a home.

And then I read about a little girl in India named Kiran, and saw pictures of and read descriptions of the home she shares with her family of five. It's 4' x 6'.

Stop for a moment and really think about those dimensions. Picture it. Their entire house is smaller than my BED.

I'm still trying to wrap my mind around that one. Try to imagine five people even sitting in the house at one time, let alone sleeping there. (The girl explained that some of them sleep out on the street since there's not room for them all to lie down.) The girl's mother makes $15 a month cleaning homes. $15 a MONTH.

And I thought it was bad that the family of my little Rebecca in Uganda makes about $1 a day. That's twice the amount that this other little girl's family makes.

Just last week, I complained that my two "kid bedrooms" are so small. They may be small by my standards, but to these girls, just one of these bedrooms that looks SO tiny to me is bigger than their entire home.

And while I sit in my enormous-to-them home and complain about my "tiny" rooms while sleeping in a bed that is bigger than some people's entire house, do you know what my little 6-year-old Rebecca is doing? Based on what she wrote me in her last letter, she sits in her Ugandan hut and prays for God to triple my income so that I can come to see her.

A child whose family makes $1 a day is praying for God to triple MY income.

There are no words to describe the thoughts and feelings this knowledge brings.

I read the following quotation on a couple of different blogs this weekend:

“Sometimes I would like to ask God why He allows poverty, suffering, and injustice when He could do something about it.”

“Well, why don’t you ask Him?”

“Because I’m afraid He would ask me the same question.”

I'm doing something about it for Staurin, Angie, Milton, Marsabi, and Rebecca, my five wonderful Compassion children. But it still just doesn't seem enough. I can't sponsor any more right now myself, but maybe I can find others who can.

So... want to sponsor a child?

Our Little Miracle

2009-04-28T22:39:00.002-04:00

Life has been beyond busy and I've not had two minutes to myself in so long I forget what such a thing would be like. But I had to snatch a few minutes tonight to share my excitement.

Baby Boy came over Saturday evening to play and the most phenomenal thing happened. We had a conversation.

Now that may not seem like any big deal to most people. After all, he's two and a half years old. What's the big deal about having a conversation?

The big deal is that I've never actually had a conversation with Baby Boy before. He'll say things, sure, but mostly it's just pointing at things and exclaiming their names over and over. He usually ignores any questions directed his way, or if he answers, we have no idea what he said.

But Saturday, we had a conversation. About bubbles. He requested a bottle of bubbles, took them outside, and was playing with them, but then made the mistake of setting them on the step while running off to play with something else. In the meantime, Little Girl took over the bubbles.

I didn't even realize what had happened until it was over. Baby Boy informed me that Little Girl had his bubbles, I told him I would get him another bottle and asked him what color he wanted, and he said green. I went in to get the bubbles, and he changed his mind and said he wanted pink. I returned with the pink bubbles, and that's when it hit me -- he just conversed with me.

He talked a lot, all afternoon, in full sentences even. Not lengthy sentences, but consistently 3-4 word sentences. And I could understand him. That was the most amazing part. He's been saying longer things lately but we all, his parents included, just look at each other blankly because without context, we have no clue what he's telling us.

But Saturday was different. After a couple of hours of listening to this, I could resist no longer. I yanked out the language test I use for toddlers and tested him. Chronologically, he is 32 months of age. His receptive language tested out at 34 months, which was no surprise as he's never had a problem receptively. But his expressive language? 31 months! How we rejoiced!! I drew big circles around it and gave it to Baby Boy and told him to take it home and show his mommy -- his first A paper! :)

I have no idea how this happened. It really came out of the blue. I was thinking about the Easter video I took of him, where he says what we thought was a lot then, but came to about three utterances that were apparently unintelligible to everyone who watched the video until they heard me repeating back to him what he said. "Open present." "Ope this up." "Skittles." That was the full extent of several minutes of video while we prompted him to say numerous things, just a couple of weeks ago.

And now the child is CAUGHT UP.

Miracles do still happen.

Just a rant, mostly...

2009-04-21T14:31:00.003-04:00

I don't go to doctors. I hate doctor visits. First, there's the lengthy wait because they never take you at your appointment time, of course. Then there's all that exposure to germs in the waiting room. Then you finally get called back and a nurse or assistant or someone does some things, and then you have to wait all over again before you actually get to see a doctor. You have to self-diagnose, he's in and out of there in a minute or less, and finally you're good to go.

What was the point of that? I can self-diagnose at home, and self-treat too. I don't want to take antibiotics unless it's critical that I do so because I think in most instances they do more harm than good anyway. And with no health insurance, it costs an absolute fortune to go to the doctor. So I don't.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking -- but what about preventative health care? What about it? I personally believe that the food I eat, exercise I get, and supplements I take go much farther toward preventing future health problems than doctor visits. So that's where my time and money goes -- toward actually preventing disease, not just testing periodically to see if I have any.

I know you can live a healthful life and still get sick. It can happen to anyone. But if it happens, it happens. I can't waste all my time and money on doctor visits checking to see if it's going to happen all the time. It's just not how I want to live my life.

However, there is one doctor that I can't avoid. The eye doctor. I'm blind as a bat (without correction), and unfortunately there's that little "prescription only lasts a year" issue when it comes to vision correction. Oh, I find ways to get around that too. You simply buy enough contact lenses during the year your prescription is valid to last you several years. :) But alas, I'm on my last pair of contacts and I can't put it off any longer. I must have an eye exam.

So being in a new location, I needed a new optometrist. I scouted around and found one a mile from my house. Can't beat the location, so I scheduled an appointment. It was difficult to do as my work schedule, thanks to all the driving, has become insane lately, but I scheduled for 8 am, figuring I could still work most of the day that way. After all, to avoid the lengthy wait due to backed up appointments, you make sure you're the first patient of the day, right? You get right in and then back out again.

My first work appointment today was at 10. I really thought two hours was enough time. Especially when I got the eye history and HIPAA forms in the mail to fill out ahead of time, "to expedite your visit." Well, great -- these people are all about efficiency. Perfect.

So I show up at 8, hand them my papers, and am told to have a seat and someone will be with me shortly. I was a bit surprised to see five other people already there, since the office had just opened its doors, and there's only one doctor. But maybe they have a lot of staff members doing the bulk of the exams, I thought.

About ten minutes later, a couple more people came in. And about ten minutes after that, some more. Some of the people who were there when I arrived were called back, but it was about one person per fifteen minutes.

At 9:00, having waited now for a full hour, one man went up to the desk and said, "My appointment was supposed to be at 8:30, can you tell me how much longer it's going to be?"

"Oh," says the receptionist. "About another thirty minutes."

(At this point, I'm thinking to myself, okay, my appointment was at 8 so that must mean they're going to call me any minute now, right?)

The man was displeased, and informed her that he is not able to sit for long periods of time and he can't wait that much longer. She said, "Oh, well if you're not able to sit and wait long, what you need to do is get an 8 am appointment, and be the first patient of the day, then you won't have to wait very long at all." She rescheduled him for another day at 8 am.

I kept my mouth shut. I shouldn't have, the man needed to be warned, but I did.

I waited another ten minutes. Might I add that at this point, NONE of the people who have been called back have emerged yet. I really didn't think a vision exam took that long! It worried me even more, seeing as how I was supposed to be at work at 10, and it was already ten minutes after 9 and they'd not even called me back yet.

I went up to the receptionist and asked how much longer it would be. "About thirty minutes," she smiles.

I wasn't smiling.

I don't even think it was a valid answer. Funny how the man with the 8:30 appointment had a thirty minute wait ahead of him and ten of it had already passed... I think she must just say thirty minutes to everyone.

I said, "Well, I'm going to have to cancel then." "Oh, okay," she smiles ever-so-sweetly. "Would you like to go ahead and reschedule now?"

What, so I can waste another day sitting in their office? You have to be kidding me.

I said, mostly because I wanted all the other people sitting there to know just how ridiculously long their wait was going to be, "No... if an 8:00 appointment doesn't get you in until 9:40, I don't want to reschedule. I can't take that much time off work, I'll have to find somewhere else," and I left. That's very unlike me, I'm usually pretty patient, but this was truly ridiculous.

I called another eye doctor. I made an appointment and I asked about how much time I needed to allot for the appointment, as I needed to schedule work around it. "Oh, from the time you walk in the door until the time you leave, you'll need to allow for about an hour," she said cautiously, as if she expected that to be too lengthy of a time for me to be able to manage it.

An hour? For the wait time plus the exam?? Good grief, after waiting an hour and ten minutes and being told there'd be another thirty minute wait before they even got started, and not a soul had finished their exam yet, an hour is NOTHING. (An hour is actually what I had thought it would take this morning, all total.)

It really makes me wonder just how many patients this eye doctor loses due to massive overbooking, and why they continue to do it. After all, two of us walked out in the first hour they were open today. How many must they be losing by the time they're into the afternoon hours and how far behind are they by that time?

If anyone is a receptionist for a doctor who handles the scheduling, could you please tell me just what is the thought process behind this!?

And how do those of you who visit doctors frequently stand it? I have families all the time that tell me, "Well, little Joey woke up with a runny nose, I'm going to take him to the doctor." WHY? Little Joey's runny nose will get better without a doctor; why put you and little Joey through the torture of the doctor's visit?

Help me understand...

It's Not Fair

2009-04-19T17:36:00.003-04:00

We hear that line all the time from Little Girl. Usually about the most ridiculous things. "It's not fair -- THAT little boy got a Tinkerbell wand and Tinkerbell is MY favorite." (Heard at Disney on Ice show...) "It's not fair, I want another Webkinz!" (How many Webkinz do you have?? "Only 8 or 9!") The best one was when Baby Boy was allowed to eat bread for the first time at a restaurant (milk allergy he's finally outgrown) -- Little Girl scarfed down seven slices of bread and then was stopped because, 1) other people wanted bread too, and 2) she still had a meal coming to her! "It's not fair -- HE gets bread." As he sat there with his ONE piece of bread, first ever in his two years of life. Yes, it's not fair indeed.

She knows about children who have nothing. She even writes occasionally to my Compassion kids. She fills shoeboxes at Christmas. She does get it. But that all goes out the window when she doesn't get what she wants, and suddenly everything is unfair.

This morning, I felt like saying it. The nursery worker in Baby Boy's class has been bringing the toddlers out into church and seating them on the front row during the singing. From where we sit, we have the perfect view of Baby Boy, and we love watching him. This morning, however, we saw the little boy next to him start poking him. Baby Boy shrugged away at first, then as the child continued to poke and then hit at him, Baby Boy tried to block him and push his hands away. He then scooted as far down the pew as he could and the other boy followed him, still hitting. Meanwhile, the nursery worker was singing and completely oblivious to the entire situation. The moment Baby Boy had finally had enough and reached out to hit the other child back is of course the moment that the nursery worker finally looked down. "Now HE'S going to get in trouble!" gasped my mother in a whisper, next to me, and sure enough, the worker started shaking her finger at Baby Boy and scolding him.

Not fair. Not fair at all.

I'm getting ready to bring children in my home to whom "it's not fair" has such a different meaning. The people they were supposed to be able to trust have hurt them. It's not fair. Through no fault of their own, they've been taken away from everyone and everything they loved: their parents, their grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, neighbors, teachers, classmates, pets, favorite toys, their house. Everything.

I hadn't really thought before of how significant their losses are. It's hard to lose someone close to you. It's even harder to have two or three losses back to back. But to lose everything, all at once? Devastating.

It's not fair. I hope that once these children enter my life, and our lives, that Little Girl begins to realize what we try to tell her now, but it goes in one ear and out the other. Life isn't fair. You can bemoan the unfairness of it and wallow in your misery for the rest of your life, or you can accept that life isn't fair, accept your challenges, and move on.

That's what I hope to impress upon my own children. And that's what I hope Little Girl can learn from them.

Kindergarten vs. Preschool Revisited...

2009-04-19T08:47:00.004-04:00

Okay, since I've already bored my readership (all ten of you...) with all the sensory stuff, I'll go ahead and hit on this topic before returning to our regular programming.

I've been meaning to write about it for almost a couple years now, because when I wrote about Little Girl's terrible kindergarten experience, and how it compared to how things were done in her preschool, I titled it "Kindergarten vs. Preschool". Well that (and hillbilly weddings, oddly enough...) is by far the search string that brings the most people in... so I recognized that there must be a lot of parents out there trying to decide whether their little one should go ahead and start kindergarten or go to preschool first.

So, as an early interventionist who works with children to prepare them to enter preschool now, with six years of experience working in the elementary school system (which included both a preschool and a Head Start classroom) with most of my students being in preschool and kindergarten prior to this, I offer you my educated opinion:

If you have a "young kindergartener" -- which in most states these days is a child who will turn five over the summer -- you have a decision to make. Many (I would even venture to say most) parents are now holding their young kindergarteners out of kindergarten until the following year. And with good reason. Kindergarten isn't what it used to be. A lot is expected of kindergarteners these days. They're expected to be reading before the school year is out.

What I know about reading from my special ed background: Children are developmentally ready to learn to read at the age of 6. (That means when they are at an intellectual age of 6. Some children are certainly able to learn to read younger than 6, but those children are intellectually ahead of their chronological age. In other words, their brain is functioning like a six year old's brain at the age of four or five.)

So what does this mean for our young kindergarteners? Our children who won't turn six until the very end of kindergarten or the summer after their kindergarten year? It's bad news. If the child is developmentally on track, meaning they learn typically and appropriately for their age, they actually aren't really ready to learn to read until AFTER they finish kindergarten -- and yet, they are expected to be reading nonetheless before they finish. That isn't fair to the child, and fortunately, many parents are recognizing this and this is why so many summer five-year-olds are being put in preschool for their five year old year. This works out great for these children, because they can still experience the structured routine of school and gain the social skills appropriate for five-year-olds from classmates, but they won't start kindergarten and be expected to learn to read until they are six -- and developmentally ready to do so.

That said, I don't necessarily advocate holding all children back a year just because their birthday falls during the summer. Some children are developmentally ahead of schedule and it would be in their best interest to start kindergarten. This was our decision for Little Girl, who was a summer five. She's one of the youngest in her class (maybe the youngest), but that's okay. She's emotionally mature enough that she's keeping up socially without difficulty, and we knew it would be doing her a disservice to hold her back because she was already reading some on her own before she even started kindergarten, without having been formally taught. To keep her back would have made her intellectually so far above the other kids by the time she was six that she would have been bored to death, and wouldn't have learned anything at all from school. So despite her young age, Little Girl went to kindergarten at just-turned-five.

Baby Boy on the other hand just missed the cutoff by a couple of days, and I'm thrilled about that because it takes the decision out of our hands. I think Baby Boy will benefit greatly from the extra year of preschool, and not turning six until kindergarten starts, because he simply does not have the social and emotional maturity that Little Girl had at his age, even if he does have the intellectual capacity, which I think he will based on the cognitive skills he can do even now.

So that brings me to my next point. Even if you feel your child is intellectually ahead of schedule and will not struggle academically if put in kindergarten as a young five-year-old, the other aspect you need to look at is emotional and social skills. Watch your child with other children slightly older than him or her. See how they interact with other children, how they play, how they respond to difficult situations. Is your child mature enough to relate on equal terms with children several months to a year older, or is he or she going to stick out like a sore thumb on the playground because they just haven't developed the social skills of a slightly older child yet. And remember, this doesn't mean there's anything wrong with your child's maturity or social skills -- the other children are older. I'm just pointing out that just because a child is ahead of his/her age level intellectually does not mean they will also be ahead of their age level socially and emotionally. And all three areas are required if you want a successful school career for your child. Issues with delayed social skills may not become apparent in kindergarten, but let your child get to 3rd grade and see them as the kid everybody picks on because they're immature, and you'll regret that decision to push them ahead of what they were capable of.

So, my advice to you as a parent of a young five-year-old of kindergarten entry age, is to look carefully at your child's skills academically, socially, and emotionally. If your child has consistently demonstrated skills AHEAD of their chronological age level, going ahead with kindergarten may be your best option. But if you see that your child is only AT age level (and if your child is below level, keep reading as I address this separately) in ANY of these three areas, you should strongly consider a good solid preschool for their five-year-old year.

Now if you have a "special needs" child, my advice is different. If you have a child that you know learns slowly, has already had a lot of intervention, maybe has attended a special needs preschool for two years, and you know that learning to read is going to be a big task for your little one, you might want to consider putting your child in kindergarten with the plan to do either kindergarten or first grade twice.

Why? Because your child has already had a full preschool experience. And you already know your child is going to need a lot of repetition to learn the foundations of reading. Kindergarten and first grade are very foundational years, and I personally would rather have a child repeat kindergarten or first grade than any other year. And if you have a young kindergartener, that age is on your side -- your child then has the opportunity to do kindergarten for two years and get all those basics drilled into them (or if your child does pretty well with kindergarten but falls apart in first grade, that would be the year to repeat) and still come out being about the same age as the other children in their classroom, even AFTER the retention.

If the child's learning problems are mild enough, that double kindergarten or first grade just might be enough to prevent them from having to be put in special education classes; and even if the child's problems are more significant than that, the extra year in regular education will do them good even if they still end up having to be put in special education afterward. Give them a good beginning school experience to start off with, and build their foundation as solidly as possible. So children with known learning problems, that's my advice... put them in as young kindergarteners and then let them repeat a year. (I almost never would advise repeating any year later than first grade. If your child struggles in a later grade because they missed important blocks in their foundation, repeating a later grade will not fill in those blocks because those skills simply aren't taught in later grades. Getting that solid K-1st foundation is CRITICAL. THOSE are the years to repeat, if retention is going to be necessary.)

My two cents, for what it's worth. :)

Sensory Stuff and Brain Balance...

2009-04-15T15:53:00.006-04:00

Okay, I've finally got a few minutes to piece together the information I started to explain a few weeks ago, about Baby Boy and his quirkiness and Little Girl and her medication problems.

Let me start with sensory integration. It's quite an interesting animal, and there is so much information -- and misinformation -- out there that it can be quite overwhelming to a parent who is told their child has sensory integration dysfunction. It's being used by a lot of people as a catch-all phrase, and there are a few familiar symptoms that will make these people say, "Oh, he's a sensory kid... so let's do some sensory stuff and hope it works." And sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn't... depending on if they got lucky enough to have actually applied the correct treatment for that particular child.

What is lacking in so many cases is an understanding of what is really going on in the child's neurological system that causes the symptoms we're seeing. What is also lacking is an understanding that sensory integration dysfunction can result in very different symptoms in different children, and that treatment options vary widely. It's not a one-size-fits-all therapy approach by any means. It's one of the most complicated disorders there is, in my opinion.

Let me try to put the very basics in laymen's terms. Sensory input is the information that comes into the brain from our senses -- we see with our eyes, we hear with our eyes, we taste with our tongues, we smell with our noses, we touch with our skin. Right? But the brain has to do something with that information... the input first has to get to the brain and then the brain has to react to the input that it gets in some way. And if the input doesn't make it to the brain in-tact, the brain isn't going to respond correctly, and that doesn't mean you have a bad brain, though it may look that way, as it usually results in developmental delays. A child isn't learning properly, the brain must not be working right, is the thinking -- but that's not always true. With sensory kids, the brain is fine! The only reason it isn't reacting properly is because the input it was sent didn't make it there in one piece! It maybe didn't make it there at all, and if it did, it made it there in scrambled fashion.

There are many different places along the neurological pathway for the information to become garbled, and this is why sensory kids can look so different. A child who has a breakdown at the level of the brainstem is going to look very different from a child who has a breakdown at the midbrain or the cerebellum.

Picture an interstate highway with several exits. If there is a traffic jam at ANY of those exits, your car isn't going to make it to its destination on time. Same with sensory input. If there is a glitch at any point along the neurological pathway (and some children have glitches at every "exit"!), your information is getting held up and is not going to make it to the cortex "on time", if at all.

There's not a visible cause for these problems. It's largely due to imbalances in the neurochemicals. And a good occupational therapist can look at a child's symptoms and tell where the glitch is occurring, and then know how to address it to start clearing up the traffic jam.

Many medications for ADHD, anxiety and depression, and other mental illnesses are trying to accomplish the same result that occupational therapy for sensory integration is trying to accomplish -- to balance the neurochemicals. You've heard the words tossed about. Serotonin. Dopamine. Histamine. These are the neurochemicals that regulate brain function. Your serotonin levels are too low, you're depressed. You're given meds to increase the serotonin. But did you know that proprioceptive input, when given in large amounts, will also increase the serotonin levels in your brain? Proprioceptive tasks activate the muscles and joints of your body and stimulate your brain to produce more serotonin -- so heavy work activities, pushing and pulling, jumping, etc. are all activities you can engage in to stimulate serotonin production.

Kids' brains know what they need and will seek it. You have a "wild child" who crashes into things, throws themselves on the ground, jumps constantly, gives huge bear hugs? You may have a sensory child whose brain recognizes the need for more serotonin and it's trying its best to get it.

This is just one example. Touch will stimulate dopamine production. You're looking here at a child that seems to crave touch, especially from people. They're affectionate and are always cuddling up against you. Vestibular activities will stimulate histamine production. Movement. These are your kids that are always moving, they're running, they're rolling, they're spinning, they're hanging upside down to watch tv, they're doing somersaults round and round the room and never seem to get dizzy.

I could go on and on with examples of symptoms and treatment, but I won't. I advise you, if your child is "hyper", "wild", "out of control" and not due to lack of discipline or to some kind of trauma they've experienced, "ADD or ADHD", autistic, or just "weird" (these are the kids you say, "There's just something DIFFERENT about that kid but I can't put my finger on what it is...) -- find a good occupational therapist as soon as possible. The younger treatment begins, the better the prognosis.

Now, for Little Girl and Baby Boy, the book I mentioned that I was referred to by an occupational therapist is called Disconnected Kids, by Dr. Robert Melillo. It's a fabulous book and I was quite ready to recommend it to any parent of a kid diagnosed with ADHD, autism, OCD, or any other neurological disorder, but now I have to take it back. It looks at the balance between the left brain and the right brain, and how they must communicate with each other to function the way the brain is intended to function, and if one side is much stronger than the other, there is a breakdown in the communication between the two halves of the brain. It ties in neatly with sensory integration dysfunction -- remember I mentioned all the different places there could be a "traffic jam" along the interstate? Here's another...

I've conducted the assessment on Little Girl and discovered she has a mild right brain weakness. But while the program looks to be quite excellent and I'm very hopeful that it will be the answer for Little Girl's issues, I'm afraid I can't recommend it for most parents. What I do recommend is that parents read the first half of the book at least, see if it sounds like their child, and if so, tell the child's therapists to read the book, if they aren't already familiar with it.

I say this because the evaluation and the treatment are very complicated and I honestly don't know that the average parent could take this book and evaluate and treat their child by following it. A very well educated parent with a background in education or therapies, yes; otherwise, probably not.

Then again, maybe I underestimate people and their capabilities. After all, while checking for Little Girl's PRN (post-rotational nystagmus), I gave her the instructions that I was going to spin her around in the chair and when I stopped, she was to look at the wall, not at me. I spun her, I stopped her, and I watched her eyes and counted the seconds until the nystagmus stopped while she stared at the wall.

And then she said, "Did you know that when you spin around and around like that, your eyes keep moving even after you stop because your brain thinks you're still moving?"

Floored me. I said, "Uhhhhh... that's exactly what I was looking at -- how did you KNOW that?"

"I learned it on PBS Kids," she replied matter-of-factly.

Yep. She's a left-brained kid all right. ;) But we're going to fix that and make her well-rounded. :)

I Hate Zenobia

2009-04-14T21:45:00.005-04:00

Yes, Zenobia. My GPS. I will admit she's gotten me out of a few scrapes, but I have consistently had trouble with her since the day I got her.

Today was one of the worst.

I traveled an hour north to see a child. My next appointment would have been about a half hour northeast of my home, which means it would have taken me an hour and a half had I come all the way back and then gone out to the next child's home. But I was certain there were connector roads that would get me there faster, and after consulting with google maps, I discovered I could get there in a mere 50 minutes instead of an hour and a half. Great.

Unfortunately, I did not print off or write down the google directions, but rather trusted that Zenobia would get me there. After all, she is advertised to be programmed with google maps. So shouldn't she follow the same route?

Ha.

I remembered the first two turns from google, and Zenobia did indeed tell me to take those same turns, so I was comforted that all was well. I took her next turn and was driving down a very narrow road that twisted and turned and went uphill and down, with a creek running alongside it the whole way. But it was paved. I wasn't real keen on the choice of roads. But at least it was paved, I kept telling myself. Things could be worse.

They could indeed. Zenobia told me to take a right, and the road was gravel. I hesitated, but by this time I had no idea anymore where I was or where to go, so I figured I had no choice but to obey. So I took the turn. Go 2.1 miles and then turn right, she ordered. Okay, it's only two miles, then surely I'll be out on a paved road again, I thought. And Zenobia was showing my arrival time as being only ten minutes further, and the child I was going to see lived on a paved road, so I knew it couldn't be gravel for too long.

I drove and I drove and I drove. It said 2.1 miles and I know it wasn't any longer than that, but wow, 2.1 miles on a highway and 2.1 miles on a hilly twisty turny gravel road with washed out places all along it and barely room for only the one car (thank goodness I didn't meet anyone!) are two very different things.

I watched my arrival time creep up minute by minute as I drove. Apparently Zenobia expected me to drive faster on this road than I was able...

And then I came around a corner where there was a driveway up to a beautiful house, and I thought to myself as I often do when seeing nice houses in places like this, "Why would anyone who has enough money to buy or build a beautiful house like that live way out in the middle of nowhere and have to drive roads like this forEVER to get ANYWHERE?"

Just past this house, I suddenly came to a halt. Because in front of me, running across the road, was a swiftly flowing creek.

I had just read the chapter "Spring Freshet" from On the Banks of Plum Creek earlier this morning. You know, the story of the raging whirling creek that in the next chapter pulls Laura into it and nearly drowns her with its strength? No way was I driving across that creek! Owning an SUV is not a license for stupidity, and while maybe I could have made it, it wasn't worth the risk! Especially since I had no way of knowing how deep this creek was. And did I mention the swiftly flowing part? I was nearly at the end of my 2.1 miles of this road and there was no possible way to finish it. I had no choice but to go back.

And there was no possible way to turn around. I was trapped. The road was so narrow that only my vehicle could fit on it, and the road was a complete dropoff on one side, and a steep cliff right up against the roadside on the other. And in front of me, in case you've forgotten, is a swiftly flowing creek.

Thank goodness for that house. And for all the backing practice I got at this little girl's house that I saw last summer, who lived out a two mile long driveway, again with cliff on one side and dropoff on the other, with no place to turn around at the end of it. I hate backing up, but I sure got my practice every week at that place where imminent death awaited any imprecise steering, and it came in handy now. I carefully backed up and around the curve and into the driveway of the house and turned around and drove all the way back.

One of my chief complaints about Zenobia is her stubborness. If I decide I don't like her route, or if something like a closed road or a swiftly flowing creek prevents me from taking her route, she won't give up. She will continue to try to route me back to it even if I drive miles upon miles away from it.

This was the problem I ran into today. I had no idea where to go to get to my child's house, and I couldn't just pick a road and drive it and trust Zenobia to reroute me there, because all Zenobia kept wanting to do was take me back to that daggone gravel road!!

I tried zooming out on her to look at the map and find my own route but she wouldn't show me anything but hers. Finally I gave up on her and just drove. Randomly picked roads that looked more paved than others... and at last came out on a road that was actually wide enough for two cars and paved, and by looking at Zenobia (at least she was good for something at last!) I could tell what road it was -- and I knew where that road would take me!! It'd take me twenty minutes longer to get there than by taking a direct route, and I was already ten minutes late for the appointment that I originally thought I was going to get to 15 minutes early... but at least I knew where I was going, and Zenobia would not chart me a direct route any way except by that impassable gravel road, so I went for it. It took Zenobia ten minutes of arguing and telling me, "A better route is available" before she finally caved and took me the rest of the way there.

Actually she did try to send me down another gravel road but I refused. Who knows what dangers that one would have led me into.

So I was very late to that appointment and every other appointment after that one, but at least I'm not drowned in a swiftly flowing creek. No thanks to Zenobia.

Pierced...

2009-04-12T23:03:00.003-04:00

If a fellow Hebrew, a man or a woman, sells himself to you and serves you six years, in the seventh year you must let him go free.... But if your servant says to you, “I do not want to leave you,” because he loves you and your family and is well off with you, then take an awl and push it through his ear lobe into the door, and he will become your servant for life. Do the same for your maidservant. (Deuteronomy 15:12, 16, 17)

Several weeks ago, out of nowhere, Little Girl announced that she wanted to be baptized on Easter Sunday. She asked Jesus into her heart about a year ago, but has never been interested in baptism before, and we're not sure where this came from all of a sudden. But she remained consistent regarding this decision over a period of two or three weeks, so arrangements were made for an Easter baptism.

Thursday night, my sister called and said that Little Girl wanted to get her ears pierced, and did I think she should let her? (Yes, I find it ironic that she calls to get my opinion on something like this, but won't listen to me regarding important things like diet and medication...) I simply responded that if she (my sister) didn't care, and that if she (Little Girl) really wanted it, I didn't see any reason why not to let her. And so Friday Little Girl went and had her ears pierced.

I've been thinking this over since then and couldn't help but see the symbolism.

In Old Testament times (as indicated by the passage above), fellow Hebrew slaves were to be released during the Year of Jubilee, which occurred every seventh year. However, if the slave willingly chose to stay with his master, he could do so -- and his (or her) ear was pierced to show his willing servanthood.

I no longer wear earrings as anytime I try, my ears get infected, but when I did, I most often wore cross earrings. It was symbolic to me of my willingness to "enslave" myself to my Master, Jesus. And this is why I find Little Girl's ear piercing decision coming on the heels of her baptism decision so meaningful.

And that it just happened that she had her ears pierced on Good Friday, the day that represents Jesus' own piercing on our behalf, and she was baptized, which is a picture of the burial and resurrection of Christ, on Easter Sunday -- well, that has to be more than coincidence.

God is so clever at drawing pictures for us in His Word -- the Old Testament is just full of pictures that were intended to show His people the plan of salvation that He was creating for them. But the concept that God would still be drawing pictures today, drawing them in the life of a little six-year-old girl, well, that's a novel idea to me. But I love it.

I know that Little Girl had nothing of the kind in her head when she decided she wanted to get her ears pierced... I know she was probably only thinking it would be pretty. She intended no symbolism. But the people in Old Testament days didn't realize the things they were doing were pictures either; surely Moses didn't understand that when he was told to speak to the rock and water would come out that this was a picture, and Abraham surely could not have understood when God asked him to sacrifice his promised son that God was painting a picture of His own sacrifice of His own Son. Nonetheless, God was busy drawing pictures through the lives of men and women throughout history. And apparently He's still drawing pictures through the lives of men and women today. And little girls too.

Many, O Lord my God, are the wonders you have done. The things you planned for us no one can recount to you; were I to speak and tell of them, they would be too many to declare. Sacrifice and offering you did not desire, but my ears you have pierced. Psalm 40:5-6a.

Every Sunday afternoon, Little Girl draws a picture, and it nearly always is a "spiritual" picture of some sort -- such as the picture she drew of heaven a couple weeks ago.

I just love that this week God drew a picture for her.

But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. Isaiah 53:5

Decisions, Decisions

2009-04-06T09:35:00.003-04:00

It probably started with Punky Brewster. Adorable little girl, spunky personality, abandoned by her mother. Who would do such a thing? I was just a child myself at the time, but even then the wheels started turning. Then there was the episode where Henry was in the hospital and Punky was staying at the Johnsons, and was removed by the system because she and her friend weren't allowed to share a room or some such ridiculous thing. I still remember nodding my head vigorously in agreement with Mrs. Johnson when she said to the social worker, "You're telling me that she can't share a room with her best friend, so you're going to take her and put her in an orphanage where she's sharing a room with 7 strangers?"

It just doesn't make sense, does it?

Then there were all the Little House orphans... (on tv, not the books!) and then there was Anne of Green Gables. I guess books and tv combined really pushed the needs of orphaned and abandoned children high in my mind even from an early age. But it was books and tv. It wasn't real life.

And then I met Hope. I always called her Hope-who-has-no-hope. I was teaching at an elementary school about ten years ago or so, and this little girl was brought in for a preschool evaluation. She was the lowest-functioning child I'd ever seen at that time. I used to bring her in for therapy with a small group of her classmates. The other children sat at the table and we played simple games or worked on art projects or listened to stories while targeting their goals. Not Hope. We had to move therapy to the floor because if I didn't hold her on my lap, nobody was getting anything done. It was like having an infant in a child-sized body. She literally had no skills.

I felt so sorry for little Hope. It wasn't her fault she had no skills. She, along with her two baby sisters, had been abandoned in a trailer, found by the landlord who heard them crying incessantly and investigated. They were filthy, laying in piles of their own feces, with rats scampering all over them. Now they were in foster care with a relative whose home truly wasn't much better.

I can't even express how angry I was with the system when the social worker attended a meeting for little Hope at school, just before the adoption was finalized with this relative, and said after the meeting, "Could I go back to the classroom and see Hope? I'd love to meet her."

MEET her? She is the social worker assigned to her case, she's been in foster care for almost a year at this point, and the adoption is almost final, and she's never even met the child??? There is something very wrong with this picture.

Poor little Hope never got much better. I wanted to take her home with me. Clean her up, feed her right so she'd be healthy, work with her, teach her to talk and play. But I couldn't.

The last I saw of Hope, she was in the first grade and still couldn't do much of anything. It was the saddest thing I've ever seen. But little Hope instilled in me those first desires to take in a needy child and love it as my own. To give some other little one the hope that Hope never had.

The years went by and there have been other children in need of a good home that I've met along the way. Each time, I longed to take the children and give them what they needed, but I just never felt that I was in a position to do that. After all, I wasn't yet married; I had to work full-time; I didn't make enough money to support kids on my own. It just never seemed the right time.

Now it's the right time.

On February 7, I went and signed up to become a foster parent. It was the most special way I could think of to celebrate the birthday of my beloved Laura Ingalls Wilder. :) Since then, I've been jumping through the hoops to become certified. I'm going through the extensive training now, and when that's done, all that will be left is to pass the home study, which shouldn't be an issue at all.

But you see, my plan was pretty settled in my mind. I would only take infants or toddlers, preferably girls. And I would only take children who were on track to have parental rights terminated, not children for whom the plan was to reunify with their families. Because I didn't want to take in foster kids for a few weeks or a few months and then send them back! No, I wanted a child or children to keep, to adopt as my very own. I had wonderful ideas about how this was going to work. They would be so young that any learning and emotional problems they might have from their experiences could be worked out in time. I would turn them into happy, healthy, well-adjusted children with minimal problems.

That was my lovely plan.

But now I'm beginning to wonder if that was God's lovely plan. Because I'm beginning to feel like maybe He has other plans. He's equipped me with a love for children, a compassionate heart, experience with overcoming learning problems, and experience with overcoming emotional hurts. Maybe He equipped me with all of that for a reason, and maybe it wasn't to take babies that have few or no problems at all and raise them to be perfect little children. Maybe His plan is to give me hurting and needy children. Children I may not be able to keep. Children He may be sending to me for a season to help prepare them for the remainder of their life without me.

I don't really like the idea, I'll be honest. I don't like the idea of taking in a child and having to let them go again. Especially if they're returning to a place that I don't really feel is safe for them -- and I have enough experience with the system to know that that happens all the time. I don't like the idea of taking in older children who have significant behavioral issues. I don't like the idea of missing out on their formative years in the first place, and then to know their formative years were filled with abuse and neglect and have brought them to a point where now all of the bad things they learned have to be untrained out of them? That's a huge job, and I don't think I'm capable of it.

But He is. If it's what He wants me to do, He'll give me everything I need to do it. And I know that. But I'm still resisting. Like I said, this wasn't my plan.

But it's not about me. It's about Him, and it's about them. And if opening my home to foster children who may be older, who may be very needy, who may have significant issues to deal with, and who I may have to give up after a time is His plan, I know that I have to say yes to that.

So that's where I am right now. Trying to figure that out. Trying to decide what His plan really is, and trying to make myself obey it whether I really want to or not.

So Much to Say, So Little Time...

2009-04-06T08:55:00.004-04:00

I have so many different posts I need to write, and just haven't had the time to do squat. My long lazy days of winter are over. With all these lengthy drives to work several times a week, and "local" kids (local meaning the closest kid lives a half hour away...) on the off-days, and trainings filling up even my Saturdays, it seems all I ever do is work and drive. I didn't need to buy a house, because I live in the car. :)

A couple more months of this and I can stop making the long overnight stay at least, and that should help tremendously. Until then, life is more than slightly crazy.

But I've just so much to say. So... posts are coming...

What does Heaven look like?

2009-03-29T18:50:00.005-04:00

"This was a very fun day."

2009-03-28T23:06:00.004-04:00

I'm going to go into the book and the program I've discovered to help Little Girl and Baby Boy and all that later, but my sister has agreed to allowing me to try this program with Little Girl, and while she won't take her off the meds right now, she said she will take her off when school ends. (She previously had decided she was leaving her on them all summer!) This way we have a chance to find out over the summer if the program is taking care of the problem or not with no meds to mess things up.

So, she came over today for her "evaluation" and after she finished it, I let her stay the rest of the day.

We read a couple of chapters of Little House on the Prairie. Sang some silly songs. Bounced on the trampoline and played some badminton. Got out my fiddle and boy, was she ever determined to learn to play it. I think I'm going to look into lessons that she and I can perhaps take together, and buy her a half-sized fiddle (or perhaps a Half Pint fiddle? :) ) so we can play together.

Went for a walk, and admired the neighbor's flowers. (Since I have none. He has a yard just full of tulips and daffodils and hyacinths all singing the glories of spring and my yard is stark and barren. Ah, well, we'll fix that next year...)

And the strangest thing happened on this walk. Right there, on the main street going through the subdivision, far from any farm, were two corncobs and kernels of corn scattered all over. Where they came from and why they were there is anyone's guess. All I can figure is God knew a certain Little Girl had had a rough couple of weeks and needed a free gift, so He rained them down from heaven for us.

She gathered up the corn kernels and stuffed her pockets full of them, announcing that tomorrow she is going to plant them at Grandma and Grandpa's because they have a BIG yard, and then the corn will grow and we can get one of those machines like they have in South Dakota that takes the kernels off the corn when you turn the handle and make lots of corncob dolls. I like the way this child dreams. :)

We, of course, took the corncobs home and promptly turned them into dolls. Little Girl made them almost completely without assistance. Their names are Charlotte and Little Blue.

As we headed to the car so I could take her back home, she looked at me and smiled. "This was a very fun day."

I couldn't agree more.

I feel like Mrs. Boast...

2009-03-27T22:44:00.003-04:00

Mr. and Mrs. Boast lived by themselves on their farm. They had no children and could hardly make fuss enough over Rose.

When at last the visit was over and Mr. Boast was standing by the buggy to see them start, he started to speak, then hesitated and finally said in a queer voice, “If you folks will let me take the baby in to Ellie for her to keep, you may take the best horse out of my stable there and lead it home.”

Manly and Laura were still in astonishment, and Mr. Boast went on. “You folks can have another baby and we can’t. We never can.”

Manly gathered up the reins, and Laura said with a little gasp, “Oh, no! No! Drive on, Manly!” As they drove away, she hugged Rose tightly; but she was sorry for Mr. Boast as he stood still where they had left him, and for Mrs. Boast waiting in the house, knowing, she was sure, what Mr. Boast was going to propose to them.

~Laura Ingalls Wilder, in The First Four Years

Many people are rather horrified by this passage. How dare such good friends even think to ask such a question? And to offer to trade a baby for a horse?

But I'm not horrified. I understand. I'm glad Laura inserted the line that she was sorry for Mrs. Boast waiting in the house... I'm glad Laura could look beyond her shock that her friends wanted her baby to see the longing that brought them to pose the question, and the anxious waiting of the childless woman inside.

Yesterday I did an absolutely insane thing. I took a page out of the Boasts' book.

And now I feel like Mrs. Boast waiting in the house. Only instead of waiting only a moment for my husband to return to the house, I await a phone call that could come at any moment, or never at all. A phone call from a family who now has a decision to make, because I was crazy enough to ask them if I could have their little Rose.

(I did not, however, offer them my best horse.)

I'm still in shock that the words came out of my mouth... "I would take her in a heartbeat, if you'd let me have her..."

And now to wait for the answer... I just can't imagine they would say yes... I just can't. How could a mother sign away her little girl? They won't say yes. There's just no way.

But what if they do? After all, they haven't yet said no...

Mrs. Boast... I understand.

---------------------------
Update: I originally put this post up last Friday then decided it was a little too close to my heart to share with the world at that time, and also, if they did say yes, I didn't know that I wanted everyone to know the circumstances of how she came to be mine... So I took it down.

But I know some of you had already read and commented, so I thought I'd repost it now that the waiting game is over, and let you know how things turned out.

What I didn't say was WHY I asked this family if I could have their baby. Last summer I mentioned this family (click here to read) and I have never stopped wanting those little girls. A few months ago, the mother signed over the older child to a relative, but the relative was unable to take the baby. Without going into the gory details, things had reached the lowest of lows you can imagine and the family, and even the mother herself, realized that this baby is not safe in her care. Not safe at all. They were discussing all the family members that they were trying to get to take this baby and nobody could or would.

Thus prompted my "I would take her in a heartbeat, if you'd let me have her..." to the family who has the older child.

The response, "Well, if you want her! We'll talk to Mom and tell her you'll take her if she wants. You can just go down to the district attorney's office and for $500 they'll do the papers, and she can just sign away her rights to you."

$500... my best horse... what's the difference really? Who knew you could buy a baby for five hundred bucks...?

Floored me. Never expected that response. This family does love that baby and I never dreamed they'd give her up to someone not only outside the family, but who now lives hours away so they would never see her! I guess concern for the baby's safety won out over their own desire to be able to stay in her life, which is actually pretty admirable.

So you can only imagine the thoughts consuming MY mind all week. I do want to adopt, but this wasn't exactly how I planned to do it. Still, I knew that IF it was God's plan for me to take this little girl in, He'd take care of all the details someway or another.

I never got a phone call all week, so it was with quite some nervousness that I went to see the little girl yesterday. I had decided not to say anything lest the family had since that time become offended that I'd even offered to take this baby off their hands, and to wait and see if they said anything. Nothing was said for five or ten minutes as I played with the little girl, and then suddenly, "CPS came and took Baby Rose. So it's out of Mom's hands now. She can't decide who she goes to. Rose is in foster care."

Many details ensued, but that's all that's important for now. So just like Mrs. Boast, I shall remain childless -- at least for now. At least little Rose is finally safe.

Our Quirky Baby

2009-03-25T15:49:00.003-04:00

I haven't forgotten my Little Girl series. I'm coming back to that. But this post, though about Baby Boy, actually is going to tie in to Little Girl's story later. So bear with me. :)

Little Girl was the perfect baby. She was happy and content, bright and active, always met all her milestones right when she should, if not a little early, would go to anybody -- she was just wonderful. Baby Boy, on the other hand, is a different story.

Baby Boy was born with a problem. I actually knew before he was born that the chances were pretty good he was going to have it. Sensory integration disorder. When I graduated eleven years ago with a master's degree in speech-language pathology, I had never heard of it. That is unfathomable to me now. It's become a big buzzword in early intervention and with good reason: so many kids now suffer from it. Huge increases in recent years. In fact, most of the children I see have it to some degree or another.

I first heard of sensory integration at an inservice my very first day of teaching in the fall of 1998. I sat there in rapt attention as the symptoms of the disorder were described by the school occupational therapists. They were describing my life.

Thus began my obsession with neurology. I sought out more and more information on sensory integration and how to treat it in a desperate attempt to treat myself. And somehow I got really lucky and my haphazard self-treatments did some good; this was one huge factor in my personal journey to healing from depression, though not the only one.

Three years ago, coincidentally enough (God's timing is never a coincidence!), I attended a workshop on sensory integration disorders for early intervention, and it was the absolute best training I have ever attended in my life. Except for the one I flew to Florida to attend a month later from the same speaker because I was so impressed and eager to learn more, more, more. And the one I attended the next year when she returned, and the next.

I knew the day Baby Boy was born that he was indeed afflicted with this cursed disorder, which runs in our family and can be ultimately be traced back to my grandfather. (I never knew his family so I can't trace it back any farther than that.) And my suspicions were only confirmed in the weeks to come.

Poor Baby Boy had a rough first few months. He was allergic to absolutely everything, and covered in rashes and eczema as a result, and put on all sorts of medications to try and control the allergic reactions, which caused his beautiful head of thick dark hair to fall out. He cried and he cried and he cried. Nobody could hold him except his mother and even then he cried a lot. He was absolutely miserable (and so were his parents!)

Thanks to that training I attended, I had a whole notebook full of activities on how to treat an infant with sensory integration disorder, and I shared these with my brother and sister-in-law, and he gradually grew better and better. Were it not for those activities... had I never attended that conference just months before his birth... I am convinced Baby Boy was well on the road to autism.

But we saved him from that. Unfortunately, sometimes when you treat children young for problems, they make so much progress that they don't qualify for any special help... and yet without the help, they don't make the continued progress they should get. My big beef with the system, whose rules and regulations are invented by people who sit in an office and never see a child.

So when I had his parents contact early intervention to get Baby Boy some occupational therapy so he could have a trained specialist to continue to treat him instead of just me who had attended a conference or two on the subject, things didn't go well. He barely qualified for services, and he had to wait several months more for an occupational therapist, and then they'd only give him one visit a month. Like so much can be accomplished once a month... Then he ended up doing so well that they dismissed him entirely, saying he had no more sensory integration problems.

I knew better. He was definitely doing much better but I could still the subtleties. And now his speech wasn't developing properly, as a result. And now here he is, at two and a half, suffering from apraxia and "quirkiness".

Quirkiness? I don't know what else to call it. Except sensory integration disorder, which he supposedly no longer had. Baby Boy is quirky and there's just no other word to explain it. Most people would write it off -- others in my family even write it off.

"Look at how he runs... there's something just kind of awkward about the way he moves," I point out. My sister says, "Oh, he just runs like Dad. That's how Dad runs." Okay, to me it is a problem if a 2 year old boy runs like an overweight man in his 50s... but she just puts it off on genetics.

He eats french fries with a spoon and fruit snacks with a fork. He won't finger feed, everything must be eaten with a utensil. Not because he doesn't want to touch the food either -- he will actually pick up the french fry and put it on the spoon. Everything, once put on his plate, must remain that way on his plate. If he eats his mashed potatoes, you cannot turn his plate around so he can reach his green beans better. He will turn his plate right back to the position it started in.

He develops routines and rituals for everything, and does them the same way every time. If he enters my parents' home, he must go straight to the tv and turn on Wiggles. If he enters my grandmother's home, he heads for the Country Roads CD, puts it in the CD player and turns it on, pulls out a stool and sets a mat in front of it, and goes around and around in circles, climbing on the stool and jumping onto the mat. If I teach him a new game, he plays it with me. If someone else tries to play it with him, he'll return to me to play it. Everything must be done the same way with the same person in the same place.

See what I mean? Quirky. But I know it's just me seeing this stuff. And his parents are aware that something's not quite right, thank goodness; at least I don't have to fight to convince them something's wrong because that would be really awkward. Telling someone there's something wrong with their child is never fun, especially if they don't even see it...

So the past couple of weeks I have been on a mission to get occupational services back in place for Baby Boy. I've interviewed OTs in the area and selected someone I think will actually be able to help him. (My brother and sister-in-law are all for it, lest you think I'm being the pushy aunt. :) They want to do anything they can do to help him!) And she's aware that the issues are subtle and hopefully that means when she comes out to see him, she'll qualify him for services.

You may think Baby Boy is a really weird kid based on the things I'm saying, but if you saw him, you wouldn't. Most people would look at him and say, "I don't know what you're talking about, he looks fine to me. Maybe he doesn't talk quite as well as he should, but other than that, he's great."

And they'd be right. But with my background, and the knowledge I have, I see the subtle problems -- the problems that may not be so subtle on down the road. And I know that NOW is the time to fix them, not later after they've escalated into much bigger problems.

Well there happens to be a superb OT in the town I've just moved from that I wish could work with him but the distance is far too great. But I decided last week to pick her brain a bit, and out of that conversation came a book recommendation.

I ordered the book, received it in the mail yesterday, and thus the decision to post about Baby Boy's problems... and about Little Girl's problems too. Because this book has opened my eyes to the real problem underlying both of their issues: a brain imbalance.

And the solution to that problem. I hope!!

I will return after finishing the entire book for part four... the potential solution. So if you have a kid like Little Girl, or a kid like Baby Boy, please stay tuned... the answer is coming.

Little Girl and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Medicine (Part 2)

2009-03-24T18:30:00.004-04:00

Read Part One here, where Little Girl is given Vyvanse for ADHD and has horrible side effects of depression and perfectionism.

So. My mother and I begged my sister not to ever give that horrid pill to Little Girl again.

Her response? "Oh, she probably just needs a bigger dose."

A BIGGER dose!?!? What on EARTH is she thinking!?

She gave her the pill anyway the next day, and the next, and Little Girl is still taking it.

On Tuesday, so the third day she was taking the pill, I had to go pick her up from cheerleading. She was a perfectly normal Little Girl that evening... but I think it's because the meds wear off by night. She doesn't eat all day but in the evening she does.

Saturday evening we all took the kids to the park. Ditto. She was fine. But again, it was evening. However, my sister reported that she had done well in school all week, and that she's been just fine. Well... but my sister doesn't see her till about 6 pm... and it's worn off by then. That's my theory. More on that later.

Last Sunday wasn't bad. She wasn't crying all day or being a perfectionist, at least. But she still wasn't Little Girl. She was quiet and played off by herself all afternoon. "See how good she is," my sister praised the pill.

Yes, I saw how good she was. The trouble is, Little Girl was lost inside of that "good" child. Her personality wasn't there. Little Girl is the sunniest little thing you ever saw, and that was missing. She was calm and well-behaved sure, but where was her spirit that I love so much!? I still wanted my Little Girl back.

This Sunday was at least as bad, if not worse, than the first Sunday was. She was so touchy. Everything had to be exactly so-so or there was a meltdown. First, she was busy lining up things in her bedroom at my parents' house and wouldn't leave them, even when I said, "Little Girl, we're taking Baby Boy outside to play... do you want to come?"

Her two favorite things in the whole world: playing outside, and playing with Baby Boy. And her response? "I have to finish this first."

"Okay... well... I'm going outside to play with Baby Boy then..." We played outside for awhile, and she never came. Then we headed to my grandmother's house to visit with family. I called down to my parents' house and told the others to come and bring Little Girl. "Um, we're trying..." responds my sister. "She insists she has to clean her room first."

Clean her room? Who on earth IS this child!?!?

She never came. A little while later, my aunt and I took Baby Boy on a walk and when we passed by my parents' house, I said, "I'm just going to get her." It constantly frustrates me that my sister takes eons to get Little Girl to go places. I tell her all the time, just pick her up and go! She sits and cajoles and bargains and begs and Little Girl ignores her completely.

So I walked in the house, into Little Girl's bedroom, scooped her up and she screamed and wailed that she wasn't finished cleaning up her room. She had a million stuffed animals lined up in a row on the floor and was neatly arranging them on her bed. Again... who IS this child?

She settled down and curled up against me as I carried her (and whew, is that child ever getting big!) to my grandmother's. Up there she sat in the middle of the couch and insisted that my sister sit next to her, to her right. However, my aunt was already sitting to her right. She insisted that my sister sit there anyway, but would not scoot over, so my sister tried to squeeze in between them, and she screamed that she was crowded. But she still wouldn't scoot over. Then she demanded that my aunt get up. We sat and discussed the issue for quite some time while she kept insisting and crying and finally my aunt said, "Well, I'm sitting on the other side of you then." Little Girl agreed that this was okay.

Then a few minutes later when she got up to do something and someone else sat there, Little Girl screamed again. "NO NO, YOU SIT HERE" to my aunt. She's turned into an absolute tyrant, and there's no dealing with her because she just screams and cries and is inconsolable. If this were her typical behavior, obviously some major disciplinary strategies would need to be in place, but this is NOT her. I don't think you can discipline out the side effects of a drug...

So she sat and drew her picture, and then she snatched my mom's laptop and sat at the table playing games online and getting SO upset that it kept lagging because the wireless internet connection is actually at my mom's house, and the distance was so great that the connection was pretty thin... and slow.

She kept screaming at me to come help her, and I kept trying to explain that there's nothing I can do to make it work any faster. I stand there with her trying and trying to explain this and calm her down and then she yells at me to "JUST STOP TALKING." Well fine. I walked off, and she screamed, "NO COME BACK HERE AND HELP ME!"

You cannot even imagine what a frustrating afternoon this was.

But the worst came when my brother and sister-in-law got up to leave. After five hours, mind you. Five hours that she has barely acknowledged Baby Boy's presence.

"NOOOOOOO!" she wails. "I want to play with Baby Boy!! I didn't get to play with him!!!"

There was no reasoning with her. If you think explaining that she has had five hours to play with him and has chosen not to was going to work, then you think wrong.

She just sobbed and sobbed brokenheartedly. Baby Boy went around the room for his hug-everybody-goodbye ritual and stood back from Little Girl because she was crying so hard and he didn't know what to make of it. We urged him to give her a hug, and he did, but then just as he pulled away from her to head toward the door, she let out a piercing heartbreaking SHRIEK like her entire world had just collapsed on her.

Scared Baby Boy to death and HE started crying, she was again inconsolable and cried and cried and cried. It was a positively dreadful experience.

CLEARLY this is not a medicine this child needs to be on. But how to convince my sister of this?? Because even observing this behavior, she simply replies, "But she's so good at school now, her teacher said she never has to say a word to her to keep her on track, she doesn't hum and sing, etc."

I don't care. Little Girl is now suffering from depression and anxiety, produced by this drug. I know she is, because I recognize it. I thought that was what was going on two weeks ago, but the scream at Baby Boy's departure... I knew it beyond the shadow of a doubt. The absolute heartbreak of someone you love leaving you -- it's beyond understanding. It's truly not anything I think you can understand or imagine unless you've been there. I know now what it's like to be normal, and to say "Hey, had a great time, see you next time" and that's the end of it, and you're fine. But years ago... that tearing away was like ripping out a piece of your heart. It was as if you'd never see the person again, like they were dying. And that's what I saw on Little Girl's face as Baby Boy walked out that door. And it's unbearable to think that she's suffering that kind of pain -- and needlessly!! It's drug-induced!!!

And as for why she doesn't behave like this at school but does for us, I've figured that out too. She still feels that way at school, but she can't trust them with these feelings. When I suffered from depression/anxiety, most of the world had no idea. None whatsoever. I was just quiet, kept to myself a lot. Hmm. Isn't that what Little Girl is now doing at school? The only people who I ever let see the ugly side of depression/anxiety were the people I trusted not to hate me for its ugliness, the people I hoped beyond hope could help me out of the ugliness. That's what she's doing. She's showing us what she feels inside because she trusts us to help her out of it.

And as long as my sister keeps giving her that pill, there's not a thing in the world we can do to help her out. It's the most helpless and heartbreaking feeling in the world.

I HATE that pill.

There will be a part three. And I hope it contains a solution. If you have a kid on Vyvance who acts like Little Girl, come back again...!!

Little Girl and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Medicine (Part 1)

2009-03-24T15:19:00.006-04:00

So in recent weeks, Little Girl was officially diagnosed with ADHD.

I have many opinions about this. First, how do you diagnose a child with ADHD anyway? You have the parent and the teacher fill out a questionnaire, that pretty much any kid who is being referred for ADHD testing is going to fail anyway, and then they call it a diagnosis. It's not like they can do a blood test or a brain scan or something and say, "Oh, look, yep, there's the problem right there, this is definitely a case of ADHD." So I don't put any stock in a doctor's diagnosis of ADHD anyway, for any child. All they're doing is putting a label on symptoms, not diagnosing a cause.

Second, do I think Little Girl truly has ADHD? Maybe she does, but I'm not convinced. I think she has a combination of things going on, myself. Her diet first and foremost. I have told my sister repeatedly that if she would stop letting her eat anything she wanted (and she eats a LOT of junk food... a LOT) that that might be enough to cure her right there. But she won't take the time and the effort to change the child's diet. "It would upset me if I couldn't have cookies and candy and pop," she says. "I don't want to upset her."

Um, yeah. Not impressed.

She also has not been consistently disciplined. It's understandable to an extent. Her dad walked out on them when she was just a baby, my sister was young and very inexperienced and trying to struggle along raising an infant by herself, then I won't even go into all the men she dated along the way who all had decidely different opinions on how Little Girl needed to be treated and my sister is a pushover (except when it comes to my opinion, apparently!) and then all the uproar with Little Girl emotionally when my sister finally married. And they do much better disciplining her now, but even still there are certainly flaws in consistency... and Little Girl takes full advantage of them!

And add on top of all that the fact that she inherited the family stubborn streak. :) She decides what she wants to do and by golly, nobody's going to convince her any differently. That includes teachers.

However, despite all these issues, she really hasn't had problems this year at all. In kindergarten, she was constantly in trouble, but she has a much more reasonable teacher this year who recognizes that, hey, these kids are 6, and doesn't expect them to sit motionless and silent for 7 hours a day as the K teacher did.

So why my sister decided Little Girl has to be on meds now is beyond me anyway. I think she sees it as a magic pill that will make her perfectly well behaved and she won't have to do any work to do it. No discipline. No dietary changes. Just pop a pill every morning and I have an angelic child.

I was very very unhappy with this decision, and have been fighting her on it for months, to no avail. I even found an "alternative" treatment which utilizes various vitamins, minerals, Omega-3s, etc. to boost attention in kids -- all of which I know Little Girl doesn't get enough of because all she eats is junk -- but the pills were too big for her to swallow, and when we opened the capsules and tried sprinkling it in food or drinks, well, it just wasn't going to happen, let's put it that way... I don't know why on earth they couldn't have made this in a chewable form, or in smaller pills, knowing it was designed for children.

So two weeks ago, Sunday, Little Girl took her first ADHD pill. She's on Vyvanse, for all you google searchers whose own darling children have been transformed into someone you don't even know and you're looking for more information.

It was a dreadful day from beginning to end. The first I saw of her was when I went to pick her up from Sunday School. Typically, I enter the room to find Little Girl up and about, doing something. Always busy and happy. She'll turn and see me and excitedly run to meet me and show me what she's playing with or working on. But on this day, I walked in and she was sitting in a chair. With her head down. Doing absolutely nothing. Just sitting.

"Little Girl," I called. She looked up. No reaction. She just sat there. I was alarmed. Was she sick? Hurt? What on earth had happened to our Little Girl? No, she said she was fine. She very quietly got up and came with me. No excitement, no nothing.

She didn't even ask for a donut on the way out, and that has NEVER happened before. Typically it's me trying to scoot her past them on the way out of church without her going into a tantrum, because if Grandpa is there, he always lets her have one.

Typically the whole family goes out to eat every Sunday after church, but on this particular Sunday, various members had various things going on, and as it turned out, only my parents, Little Girl, and I went to dinner. She talked incessantly the whole way there as she always does, but somehow it was different. Usually there's so much enthusiasm, she's so cheery and chattery, but this was just like a nonchalant rambling with no excitement to it at all. She just droned on and on.

We arrive at the restaurant, and she receives her kids' menu and starts working on a word search. And then the real problems began. Typically she sits and works on her puzzles and coloring and such in her menu and never asks us for any help at all. If she can't do it, she just does what she can. Sometimes she might show us what she did. But that's it. Not this day! She wanted constant help -- but she didn't really want help. She would whine that she couldn't find a letter, and that that letter wasn't in the puzzle, but she wouldn't let me show her where it was or even give her a hint. If it so much as looked like I might be going to give a hint, she went into hysterics. And the tears just rolled down her cheeks nonstop. It was the most dreadful word search I've ever seen in my life.

And then she was circling the word "butter" and accidentally drew her line a little long so it started to encompass the next letter, which happened to be an S, and she flipped out. "It's okay!" I assured her. "No big deal, here, we'll just fix the circle." Normal Little Girl behavior would have been to fix the circle herself and never even mention the problem.

"But you can still see it going around the S and you can't erase crayon!" she wailed. "Well, we'll just mark it out," I tried to calm her, and I took the crayon and scribbled out the extra mark. "But you can still see it!!!" she cried. "Well just circle the S and make it butters then," I suggested.

"Butters isn't a word!" she kept on crying. "Sure it is," I said. Anything to try to calm her down. The waitress had just brought the basket of bread, so I picked up two little packages of butter and said, "Look, here are two butters for your bread." ;)

"It's not butters, that's WRONG, it's just BUTTER!" she declared. "Butters isn't a word!"

"It's a word," I said. "If Grandpa says nice things to Grandma so he can get her to do something, you'd say that he butters her up."

It didn't work. Finally she moved on to just coloring a picture. Surely there wouldn't be any stress involved there, right?

Wrong. She didn't have brown, and the picture of the boy on her menu is the same as the boy on her cup, and on the cup the boy's hair is brown, so she has to have brown. "Just use red," I said. "He can have red hair."

"But his hair is BROWN!" she retorted. She attempted to use every color she had on his hair in the hopes that the mix of colors would make it look brown, but it just looked a mess. This did not help.

Despite the fact that Little Girl is "grounded" from getting any toys except as gifts for holidays right now, because of repeated tantrums when being told no at stores, we bought her a Webkinz that day. We figured her mother would just have to deal. The child was distraught. She deserved a Webkinz. Did I mention she didn't eat anything for lunch? Not a single bite.

So we went home, and she went straight to the computer to register the new Webkinz and was quiet there for awhile. But I noticed her hands shaking, like tremors. I watched for awhile without saying anything, but it just kept going. Finally I said, "Are your hands shaking?" to see if she was even aware of it. "Yes," she responded calmly. "Do your hands always shake like that when you play this game?" I questioned. "No," she said simply.

Great. And she still wouldn't eat.

After awhile, she asked where Baby Boy was. I said they had gone to a special activity somewhere but they would be here sometime this afternoon. "I wish he'd hurry up," she said. "I want to play with him." A few minutes later, they arrived. I ran in to see him, but Little Girl didn't come. I thought perhaps she was so engrossed on the computer that she didn't realize he was now here. "Little Girl!" I called to her. "Baby Boy's here!!"

Typical Little Girl reaction? She LOVES her little cousin. ADORES him. She typically would have jumped up and come running and scooped him up and covered him in kisses. Her response on this day? A droopy glance up, and a sigh. "I know." That's it. No emotion.

Well, Baby Boy had brought with him a new kite, and it was a windy day, so we took the kids outside to play with it. As I said, she adores Baby Boy, never has any problem sharing with him or giving him turns, or even letting him have ALL the turns!! Not today. SHE wanted to fly his kite, she wanted every turn, she had numerous meltdowns when the kite wouldn't fly, she did NOT want my brother to help her, she wanted to do it herself and it wouldn't go up without some help.

My brother's reaction? "This (the medicated version of Little Girl) is supposed to be BETTER?"

Yeah. Exactly.

I don't know who that child was that day, but she wasn't our Little Girl.

And she never did eat anything. ALL DAY.

To be continued...

No Place Like Home

2009-03-23T15:16:00.005-04:00

After a crazy winter involving lots of transitions, spring has brought with it a peaceful contentedness.

At last referrals are starting to trickle in locally and today was my first "local workday". I haven't had a local workday since moving from the old town, and quite honestly, I still find myself feeling a little more at home there than I do here. That seems strange, even to me: I was born and raised here, and my family is all here. This is home, right?

But the old town... well, I'd put down some definite roots. And my daily routines and especially as it pertains to work, well, they belong there, not here.

So today I got up, left the house at a reasonable hour, drove just up the highway a-ways and started seeing kids. Right here in my very own county. And then, I came home. It didn't take me 2-3 hours to get back, when I was done, I was done.

I had forgotten what that was like. It's what I did in the old town day after day for several years. And I realized, that's why there feels more like home than here. I didn't realize how important work was to me. I need to work to feel involved in the community, I think. I need to get up in the morning, leave the house, and see families right here without extensive drives, and then come back home, to feel like I really belong here.

So hopefully today is the start of a real homecoming. I'm already counting down the weeks until I don't have to drive back to the old town anymore, though the final goodbye is certainly going to bring with it a bit of sadness.

By summer, I'll really belong here, and FEEL like I do. They say that home is where your heart is, and my heart has been HERE for a very long time; in fact, it never left. Home is where your work is just doesn't have quite the same ring to it. :)

Maybe my heart is more into my work than I realized it was. And that's not necessarily a bad thing, when my work involves changing children's lives.

Whatever is going on, I'm just glad to not only be home, but to feel like I'm home.

Happy Spring, everyone!

Little Red Riding Hood

2009-03-18T16:04:00.008-04:00

I love history. I love seeing how things that happened in the past influence the things of today. Perhaps it's because it shows me how things that I do today can influence things that will happen in the future, and that gives significance to the little day-to-day routines.

I learned some new history today, quite unexpectedly.

When I was a little girl, I loved the story of Red Riding Hood. I made my mother read it to me so many times that I could recite it. I liked to act out the story, so my grandmother made me a little red cape and hood to wear as I played.

Then the year I turned five, I decided I wanted to be Little Red Riding Hood for Halloween, so she made me a dress to go with it. At least, that's the story I've always heard. It's what my mother told me. Now I'm wondering if I was influenced at all in that decision. Perhaps without even my mother's knowledge. We certainly influence Little Girl in her Halloween costume decisions. We let her decide what she wants to be, but we definitely offer up suggestions and talk them up in the hopes of convincing her that she wants to be what we'd like her to be. :) Laura Ingalls... Alice in Wonderland... Little Red Riding Hood... oh, did I say Little Red Riding Hood? Back to the story...

So my grandmother made me a darling little red dress with a white pinafore of eyelet. I was in kindergarten that year, and there was a costume contest at school -- the entire elementary lined up along the edges of the gym while the judges walked back and forth, looking closely at each of us. And then the prizes were awarded. The scariest costume... the funniest costume... And when they called out the name for the most beautiful costume, it was mine.

The time came, of course, when I outgrew the costume, and it was tucked safely away in my closet. My little sister wore it, and it was put away once more. And there it sat, unused, for years upon years upon years.

And then along came Little Girl. I got the costume out when she was four and tried it on her. It was a little big but she was absolutely adorable.

In October, we took her trick-or-treating at an amusement park that had a Storybook Village. Of course she had to be Little Red Riding Hood. She was so adorable going around all the little fairytale houses in that costume. Here she is trick-or-treating from the Old Woman that lived in a Shoe.

This week her class is doing a fairytale day and the children are supposed to dress up like a fairytale character. Little Girl, of course, is Little Red Riding Hood. And though my grandmother has seen her in this costume before, we even have pictures of her with Little Girl in the costume, she told me a story today that she has never told me before.

"Little Girl is wearing that Little Red Riding Hood costume I made for you to school," she called to tell me. "Do you know why I made you that dress?"

"Because Little Red Riding Hood was my favorite story?" I responded.

"No," she said. "When I was in high school, we had some kind of special event and people were dressed up and such, and one of the teachers had a little grandchild there who was wearing a dress like Little Red Riding Hood. I thought it was just the cutest thing. And I always wanted to make a dress like that for a little girl. So then when you were little, I remembered that and that's why I made you that dress."

Some child wore a Little Red Riding Hood dress around 1940, and that's why Little Girl is Little Red Riding Hood at school today almost seventy years later.

What might the little things I do today influence seventy years from now?

Crazy Days, Crazy Nights

2009-03-18T01:11:00.003-04:00

These days, I'm either so busy I can't see straight or so bored I can't keep my eyes open. :)

I'm still driving back to my old town every week to work for two days, spending the night. I've crammed a lot of kids into that two days, so on those days, I get up very early, drive the almost three hours there, work all day, kid after kid after kid without stopping, get to the hotel very very late at night, and get up in the morning, do it all over again, and drive the 3 hrs home that night. Exhausting.

And then I have the weekend off. Saturday anyway. Sunday is always nicely busy with church and family.

Every other Monday (well usually it's Monday) I then drive waaaaay out in the boonies. Why? Because I'm a pushover, I guess. And desperate. I was begged to go to this very rural area because no other speech therapist will. I agreed if they could give me a day's worth of kids to make the drive worth it, I'd go. After all, I need to get kids here so I can eventually stop driving back to the old town. They found me eight kids, and wow, is that ever a full day. Counting the driving time, it's a 15 hour day with no break. I mean none. That means no breakfast, lunch, or dinner, till I get home at 11 pm.

See what I mean about crazy? And then I have Tuesday and Wednesday completely off to sit around the house and twiddle my thumbs until Thursday comes around again and it's back up to the old town again.

I really don't twiddle my thumbs. I stay very busy on my days off too, but it's a different kind of busy-ness. It's a sit-down kind of busy. It's "write a chapter of this book", now "email back these people who wrote you while you were working on the book", now "contact these people about this project you're working on", now "goof off a little online", now "research this information and put it together in a document", now "time to email people back again", then it's "write up an article for this project", etc. I find myself sitting at the computer from morning till night, always with more more more to do.

I guess I'm making up for the three days a week I'm so busy seeing kids that I don't come anywhere near a computer all day. :)

I like my crazy life, somewhat. I like it when days are so busy that they really fly by because it's just kid after kid after kid and before I know it it's night. And I like the prospect the night before of a long day stretching before me with nothing I have to get up and do at any specific time. All on my own schedule, and relaxing in my own home.

But at the same time, I'd like things to level out, and be more "normal" again. A five day work week, where I leave at a reasonable time and get home at a reasonable time. And where I don't have to make loooong drives every week. And where I don't have to stay in a hotel.

Or maybe not. After all, what is normal? Are things ever normal? They never seem to be. It seems there's always some crazy thing going on, and when it comes to an end, some other crazy thing replaces it.

Life is just a little crazy, I guess. And that's okay. Because if it ever weren't crazy, I probably couldn't stand the boredom.

Good night, all. I'll probably be back tomorrow. After all, it's another long day stretching before me to waste on the computer. ;)

Oh, and for those who asked me what on earth those Gaelic phrases meant, I have one question for you... haven't you ever heard of google? :)

Top o' the morning to ye!

2009-03-17T02:28:00.002-04:00

In honor of St. Patrick's Day, I leave with you this fine old Gaelic saying, chosen for its Laura Ingalls Wilder relevance. :)

Furain an t-aoigh a thig, greas an t-aoigh tha falbh.

Spotting Kindred Spirits

2009-03-09T10:37:00.002-04:00

Have you ever seen someone -- a total stranger -- and just thought to yourself, "That person looks like a kindred spirit. I think we could be friends." ??

I have. Numerous times. But they're total strangers, and just how do you go about approaching a total stranger and saying, "Hey, you look like someone I could connect with, want to be friends?" Okay, an outgoing soul might be able to pull it off, but not me. So I never have the opportunity to really find out if that person is a kindred spirit or not.

Over the past few months, when I've been in town, there is a girl in the choir at church that always grabs my attention. I have no idea why. She really looks no different than every other girl standing up there in the choir. But something about her just draws me to her. "I could be friends with that girl," I would always think. "I just know we could."

Well, my sister is also in the choir so I always intended to ask her who that girl was, but always forgot. But the next time I'd see her at church, I'd think the same thing. And again, after church, it was forgotten.

Well one day a couple weeks ago, I suddenly remembered this girl while I was at home, and I thought, "I know, I'll go online and see if she's in the church directory." And she was. Her name was Alyssa Dark*.

"Alyssa Dark..." I thought. "That name seems vaguely familiar for some reason..." I couldn't place it, however, and dismissed it as just someone I did not know.

The next week in church when I saw this girl in the choir loft again, I thought to myself again, "Okay, that girl's name is Alyssa... Now I finally know..." And then it hit me. I DID recognize that name. I didn't know her personally, but it was the name of someone in a family story I'd heard many times throughout my childhood.

You see, my little sister (Little Girl's mother) is six years younger than me, and when my parents were discussing names for the new baby, I suggested Alyssa if the baby was a girl. My mother loved it, and so it was settled, the baby's name would be Alyssa.

And then another family at church (the Darks, of course!) had a baby and named her Alyssa, and my mother decided it would be too confusing for both girls over the years to grow up together being the same age, in the same Sunday School classes, possibly in the same school as our church ran a school in those days and most of the kids from church attended it, with the same name. So Alyssa was abandoned, and my sister was given another name. I always mourned the loss of the name... I just loved it. When I grew a little older, I began planning to name my own little girl Alyssa someday. I don't know that now I still will, but it's certainly on the list of names I will be considering. The real name, of course, not necessarily Alyssa. :)

Well, when my mother would retell the story of how my sister came to have the name she has instead of Alyssa as she and I had wanted, she always ended it with a sigh. "And then the Darks left the church a few months later, and we could have named her Alyssa after all!"

I personally think she should have gone in and had a legal name change. :)

So... this girl I kept noticing was the very girl responsible for my sister's name NOT being the desired Alyssa! How interesting.

I brought it up that day at dinner. "Is that Alyssa Dark in the choir the same Alyssa Dark that was in the church nursery when Sister was born?" I questioned. My mother confirmed that it was indeed.

My sister was surprised. "I never knew that..." she said. I reminded her of her name change. Apparently my mother stopped telling that story before my sister got to be of an age that she could remember, or it just never meant much to her, because she didn't even remember ever having heard that story before.

But the neatest part happened when my sister said, "I think she must be a kindred spirit... I noticed one time on the choir contact list that her email address had avonleapei in it."

What? An Anne fan in our midst? A big enough fan to actually make it part of her email address?

I do indeed think I've spotted a kindred spirit. And I suppose now that I've moved here and made this my church again that it's time to make contact. Maybe I have a new friend in the wings. :)

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent. :)

Things I've Learned in 2009

2009-03-06T23:08:00.003-05:00

It's only been two months so far, but it's been a very full two months.

I've learned that:

*Real estate contracts are meaningless.

You know the whole, "Once you've signed the contract, there's nothing to worry about!" notion? It's a lie. Sure, there are often contingencies on the contract, and you know there's a chance that one of them could end up doing you in. But what if the seller just up and decides he doesn't want to sell his house after all? After the contract is signed. With no contingencies to allow for such a change of heart?

Well, I thought he just couldn't do that. After all, wasn't that the point of the contract? It made it legal. He had to go through with it, right? Apparently not, from what I was told. You can't MAKE someone sell their house.

Well, I didn't make him put it on the market, I didn't make him agree to an offer, and I didn't make him sign a contract. I am still of the opinion that yes, since all of that was done of his own free will, I could indeed MAKE him sell his house, even if I had to take legal means to do it. But... my opinion means nothing, and I was told too bad, so sad, if the seller wanted to back out, he could.

Fortunately, after an extremely stressful few days in which I believed that I would soon be homeless, the seller changed his mind again and the sale went through as planned. Whew. A lot of prayers went into making that one happen, I can tell you.

*I have entirely too much stuff.

I honestly didn't think I had a lot of stuff. I used to be a hoarder. A collector. I had to keep everything I'd ever owned. And then a few years ago, I met Flylady and I've never been the same. "Do you use it? Do you love it? If not, out it goes." And so I am no longer a hoarder, and my piles of stuff have decreased significantly as a result.

But when I moved, I realized that I still have way too much stuff. The trouble is, everything fit under one of the two categories: either it was something I truly do use, or it was something I truly do love. Books and Laura Ingalls Wilder collectibles are my downfall.

What really overwhelmed me during this move besides, "how full can I pack my car up this trip down?" and "where am I going to PUT all this stuff?" and "will this house EVER be empty so I can LEAVE it?" was the discrepancy. I thought about my Compassion kids. I pictured their houses. I pictured their stuff. And then I looked around my house at the boxes upon boxes of stuff and wondered, why do we need so much? And how do they get by with so little?

It was a sobering thought, and one I haven't finished thinking through.

* When you lose touch with people you like, you never run into them again. But when you lose touch with people you don't, just hold tight. It's guaranteed they'll show up in your life again. And again. And again.

Just think Nellie Oleson. (as in the book character Nellie, not tv show Nellie, and not her real life counterparts... although Genny Masters still fits my example...)

Just imagine Laura's face, when after having left Plum Creek and Nellie Oleson behind forever, who should trounce into her classroom in her new hometown but Nellie herself. Not the Kennedy girls, mind you, whom Laura would surely have been quite pleased to see. Oh no, it had to be Nellie.

I felt like poor Laura must have felt the day I logged into facebook and discovered that my own personal Nellie Oleson had requested to be my friend. I haven't seen this girl in probably fifteen years, and was perfectly happy about that. WHY did she have to show up, and WHY must she add me as a friend on facebook???

I will confess... I left the request sitting there for three days while I thought about it. "Do I HAVE to?? No, I don't HAVE to... I COULD deny it... But then how they'll all talk (the entire Oleson family)... and someday I just know it will come back to haunt me..." Finally I gave in and clicked accept. And I've been sorry ever since.

Oh, it would have done no good to have denied it either. After all, she went and added my entire family, and half my friends too. She's everywhere. Unavoidable. And after fifteen or so years of childhood torture-by-Nellie, followed by fifteen years of adulthood bliss due to absence-of-Nellie -- well, I just don't know what the next fifteen years of Nellie on Facebook is going to hold. I hoped that age would have improved her -- after all, it certainly worked for tv Nellie. Well, it hasn't.

Yes, I know my attitude about this stinks. I'm working on it, okay? Somewhere I have a prayer journal from when I was 13 years old, asking God to help me love Nellie, because I knew it was right to love your enemies. He actually did answer the prayer... though Nellie never changed, my attitude toward her did. At least I thought I did. Obviously upon Nellie's reappearance, it was my initial attitude toward her that resurfaced, not that new and improved one.

So I guess I need to take a lesson from my 13-year-old self who was clearly a better person than my 34-year-old self, and start praying again to love Nellie.

Sigh.

*Don't judge others by their behaviors. You don't know the whole story.

Yeah, yeah, I know I need to apply this to Nellie. And I do. I just still don't like her. Sorry. Working on it.

Okay, back to the topic -- I shared this in a previous blog post, of the girl who hated me (or at least appeared to) many years ago, when in fact an awful lot was going on behind the scenes that I had no idea of that was causing her to do the things she was doing. In what seems like record time, this once-upon-a-time "enemy" has wormed her way right into my "nearest and dearest" circle. When I asked God to quickly send new friends in the area when I moved here, I had in mind NEW friends. As in people I hadn't yet met. I like His idea better. :)

*Prioritize people. Stuff will always be here. Your to-do list will always be here. People... they won't always be here and they're the only things that really matter anyway.

I already knew this, but I had a review lesson last month when my uncle was fine one day... gone the next. Death can come so suddenly and you'll never in this life have another chance to spend time together. So spend it while you can, and when you get bogged down with too much to do, remember: People come first.

*Just because there is a gaping hole in a cardboard box of crackers doesn't mean you have a mouse in your cupboards. It might just mean you have a really bad memory.

'Nough said.

When Worlds Collide

2009-03-02T23:27:00.002-05:00

I never realized until recently that I exist in different worlds, but I do. And lately, all my worlds have collided, and it's rather a strange feeling.

For example, last week I attended a conference. At the conference were my coworkers from my old home... my coworkers from my new home... my coworkers from the home previous to that... and two girls from church. Four worlds colliding. It was somewhat disconcerting... and who do you hang out with? Well, that decision was easy. I tried to keep to myself as much as possible because I had raging RSV at the time and didn't want to infect anyone else... not to mention the fact that I felt so miserable I could barely carry on a meaningful conversation anyway. :)

I guess this next example isn't really a collision... but it's a strange feeling anyway. I feel like I belong in two worlds, but don't fully belong in either. It started the weekend I moved. I moved on Saturday. I settled in all week. And then on Thursday I drove back to my old home, did the same job I'd been doing all along up there, saw the same families I've been seeing, visited with friends up there, etc. The only thing different was that I'm staying at a hotel instead of at my house... but other than that, when I return to the old place each week, it's like I never left.

But then I come back to the new place, and make that mental readjustment week after week -- no... I live here now.

I supposed it will be strange like this until I'm finished working up there. In a way it's worked out great; I haven't had to say any final goodbyes yet, or break loose the old ties. With all this dual living, it will really be strange the last time I go, knowing I'm not coming back, though.

But the biggest case of colliding worlds is occurring on Facebook. I've become addicted to it, I think. But it truly is a collision of ALL the worlds I've ever lived in. There's my Laura-Ingalls-Wilder world and my Anne-of-Green-Gables world. There are friends from church at home, and friends from church here. There are friends from work at home, and friends from work here. There are folks I went to elementary school with, as well as jr high classmates, and high school classmates. Most of my family has meandered on over by now, and then there are my internet friends and my real-life friends. All my worlds -- all in one place, mixing and meshing.

It can be disconcerting on occasion. But for the most part, I've found I really like it. It's been a great way for other people to get to know the sides of me they previously never saw, and see me as a whole person instead of just a coworker, or just a cousin, or just a speech therapist, or just an LIW fan. And it's a way for me to find out more about them too.

So while I know I railed against Facebook in the beginning, I've truly converted. I think it's awesome.

Colliding worlds... has a scary ring to it, but it's a pretty cool thing after all. :)

Rewards

2009-02-28T00:01:00.004-05:00

I know I've been a little scarce lately. Chalk it up to moving followed by RSV, I guess... Just one of those little gifts our toddlers so generously bestow on us.

But while those kinds of gifts are the negatives of this job, it certainly has its rewards too. And wow, this week was just full of them.

Take for example, the little girl who has been imitating any one-syllable word I say to her for about four months now... but can't get out two syllables or two words to save her life. I was so excited this week when I picked up a puzzle and said, "Say puzzle," and she said it, with both syllables. But not half as excited as when I then reached to open the bag the puzzle was in, and said, "Say "open puzzle"", fully expecting her to simply say, "Ope." as she typically will, hoping against hope that she might actually say "Open." "Open puzzle," she repeats with perfect clarity. I about fell over, I was so shocked.

Or how about the little boy who has been working on the word "milk" for no joke, six months. Has NEVER been able to say it. Always calls it "buck". He asked for "buck", I said, "Say milk. mmmmmiiiiiillllllkkkk." He drags it out just like me, "bbbbbuuuuuucccckkkk." I sigh. "Mmmmiiiillllkkkk," I repeat, handing it to him. "Mmmiiilllk," he says. "YOU SAID IT!" I gasp in astonishment. And that little boy, I tell you -- his entire face lit up, he leaped up from the floor and ran across the room to his mother, who was on the phone and not paying a bit of attention, and shrieked, "MOMMY, MOMMY, I SAID MILK!!!!!" And he did indeed say milk. Perfectly. EVERY SINGLE TIME after that. I can't explain it, but I sure am excited. :)

Then there is the severely autistic child that has been working for ALMOST A YEAR, week after week after week, and still the child has yet to communicate ANYTHING. No signs. No words. Nothing. I cannot tell you how many millions of times we have taken that child's hands and made him sign "more" so he could be swung in his blanket more, nor how many millions of times we have taken his hands and made him sign "eat" and given him a fruit snack. Over and over and over. It gets so frustrating after awhile. But yesterday? Yesterday I said, for the three millionth time as he reached for the fruit snacks and tried to grab them from his mother's hand, "No, tell Mommy "eat"" AND HE SIGNED IT!!! And then while swinging him, HE SIGNED MORE. TWO SIGNS in one day!! And then... THEN.... while reading his doggie book that has a dog on every page and we have said doggie to him ten bajillion times, and signed it, and barked, and asked him to point to the doggie and helped him do so.... but he has NEVER appeared to have ANY understanding of even the concept of "doggie", the child SPOKE. He said "doggie". Not once, not even twice, but THREE times the child said doggie, TWICE the child said arf arf, and once he signed dog!! This is mind-blowing.

So. It's been an awesome week in the speech department. Other than that, I have nothing to write about except cough, cough, cough, because cough, cough, cough is all that I've done for the last week or two. RSV. It stinks. :)

The Mommy Meme

2009-02-22T18:04:00.003-05:00

No, I'm not a mommy yet, but I saw this meme on Lots of Scotts and thought it was really cute, so I asked my niece to answer these questions about her mother, my sister... :)

Little Girl is 6 -- here's what she said:

1. What is something Mom always says to you?
"No."

2. What makes Mom happy?
"When I do a good job."

3. What makes Mom sad?
"Mommy's never sad."

4. How does your Mom make you laugh?
"When she tells me jokes -- if she ever does."

5. What was your Mom like as a child?
"She had glasses."

6. How old is your Mom?
"Uh... Mama, are you 28?" (She was right.)

7. How tall is your Mom?
"Large."

8. What is her favorite thing to do?
"Go shopping."

9. What does your mom do when you're not around?
"Go to work."

10. If your Mom becomes famous, what will it be for?
"She might go to Disney World."

11. What is your Mom really good at?
"Picking out shirts for me."

12. What is your Mom not really good at?
"Doing sports."

13. What does your Mom do for a job?
"Go to the credit union." (She's right.)

14. What is your Mom's favorite food?
"Pizza."

15. What makes you proud of your Mom?
"I don't know."

16. If your Mom were a cartoon character, who would she be?
She became frustrated at this point, insisted that she didn't know, and she didn't want to answer any more questions. We resumed at a later time. :)

17. What do you and your Mom do together?
"Watch tv."

18. How are you and your Mom the same?
"Eyes."

19. How are you and your Mom different?
"Hair."

20. How do you know your Mom loves you?
"She tells me every night."

21. What does your Mom like most about your (step)dad?
"I don't know."

22. Where is your Mom's favorite place to go?
"Shopping."

(I'm sensing a trend...)

If you do this meme with your kids, let me know, I like reading what kids have to say. :)

She Has Our Eyes

2009-02-16T17:41:00.003-05:00

"You're sure you can't read any of the letters on this line?" asked the nurse who was performing a vision test on Little Girl.

We're all blind as bats in our family. I knew it was only a matter of time before Little Girl received the fated diagnosis. Our eye problems trace back for generations. But back to the exam.

Little Girl shook her head and answered, "No, I think they're in French."

The kid has inherited her great-grandfather's genes, too, I think -- she's a natural-born comedian.

My sister has been taking the brunt of Little Girl's funny remarks lately.

When Little Girl was doing her Valentines, one depicted an elephant with the comment, "I like you a ton." Little Girl didn't get it, so my sister explained that the elephant weighs a ton and he likes you a ton and that's the joke...

Little Girl responded, "Oh, I know -- I'll give this Valentine to you, Mommy, because you weigh a ton too!"

Another night my sister made cookies. She took two, her hubby took two, and Little Girl took two. They ate them. My sister then went to get another, and Little Girl seized the container and said, "Oh, no, no more cookies for YOU!" My sister doesn't have the willpower to stay on a diet. Little Girl just may provide that willpower for her... :)

Speaking of Little Girl, I'm taking her back to Little House land this summer and so I figured it was time she read more of the books, now that I'm in town to do it. We started Little House on the Prairie (we've already read Big Woods together before) one day last week. I was a little worried because she didn't want to read it. I kept urging and she kept saying no.

Finally, I took a chance, and just opened it and sat on the floor and started reading aloud. Sure enough, within ten seconds she'd wandered over and started listening. She listened throughout the first chapter. But the kicker was, when I closed the book after finishing the chapter, she cried out, "NO! Keep reading!" Whew, we still have our little fan-in-the-making.

I am loving reading these with her. How many times have I read Little House on the Prairie? I know exactly what happens. But somehow knowing that SHE doesn't know what happens adds a new level to the experience. Take "Crossing the Creek", for instance. I absolutely could not keep the tears from flowing down my cheeks. Sure, *I* knew Jack was fine -- but SHE didn't, and it was so heartbreaking reading that and knowing that SHE thought Jack had drowned.

I wonder how many books we can read before summer... maybe all of them. :) I don't want to rush it though. I want to savor every moment of her very first (of many, I hope) "Little House" reading.

A Beautiful Day

2009-02-11T16:09:00.004-05:00

What'd I say yesterday? And sure enough, here I am... :)

I had plans for today but they fell through at the last minute, so I ended up with the entire day ahead of me with absolutely nothing to do. The good news? It's a beautiful 70 degree day out today and I got to spend a good bit of the afternoon outdoors.

I explored the neighborhood. I've driven all through it a couple of times, but somehow you never truly know a place until you've walked it. Now I feel like I know my way around all the little side streets and such in the subdivision.

I walked to the pool and got a feeling of what it will be like this summer. It's an easy walk, about the equivalent of two blocks, I'd say.

I found an old friend's home. My best friend in elementary school lived in this subdivision, several streets away from mine, and I remember the fun we had biking to the pool, but I also clearly recalled walking to a park, and in my driving tours I've not been able to find this park. So today I walked out to her old house, thinking maybe I'd find the park nearby since we walked there instead of biked, and I found her house with a sign in the yard with their last name on it, so her parents obviously still live there. And I found the park tucked back away behind some houses, barely visible from the road, even walking. Not much of a park, though, a couple of basketball hoops is about all that's left of it, from what I could tell. The gates were closed for winter, so perhaps there was more to it out of sight -- when I was little, there was a big playground there, but it may be long gone as that was a good 25 years ago.

I walked over to the other side of the subdivision where I had seen an old cemetery on my driving tour. I wanted to take a closer look at it because I'd seen my grandmother's surname on one of the stones.

Interestingly enough, I spent Monday at the courthouse looking up land records, and had been looking for this particular surname. I recognized nearly all of the names in the land records as being various members of the family. But one name stuck out as being unfamiliar, and it turned up time and time again as these people apparently bought and sold property with some frequency!! My grandmother's brother was named Paul, and there were several transactions for Paul and Gertrude, his wife -- but then there were also transactions for Paul and Sarah, and I have no idea who Paul and Sarah were.

But guess what? When I went to the stone in the cemetery to see who with our family name was buried there, it was none other than Paul and Sarah! What a coincidence.

Now I'll be on a quest to find out who these people were and if they are any distant relation to us. :)

After exploring the neighborhood, I spent some time in the back yard, cleaning up leaves and such and getting to know my land a little better! After all, since the weather has been so horrible ever since I moved in, I've really not gotten to take a good look out there except from the window. With the warm sunshine making it feel like spring, it was a perfect day to look around the back yard and start deciding what I'm going to do with it in terms of trees and flowers and landscaping. And eventually a playground. :)

Unfortunately, our beautiful weather is supposed to last for today only, so it's back to winter tomorrow. But since I wasn't able to go to Florida or California for a break from winter, wasn't it nice of God to send its weather here before finishing our winter?

I am so ready for spring!

What to Write When You Don't Want to Write...

2009-02-10T01:02:00.002-05:00

I realize the blog has been sorely neglected of late. At first it was due to busy-ness, but I must admit that's not been the case for the last week or so. I just don't seem to want to write right now, and I can't explain why.

There is so much going on right now, so many things I could write about, but maybe it's just that they're too close to my heart to put out there in black and white.

So maybe something will come to me soon that I'll want to write about, but until that time comes, all is well, life is great, I just don't have anything that I particularly wish to write about at the moment. :)

(Now that I've written this, I'll end up posting like ten times in the next three days. Doesn't it always work that way? :) )

Moving In...

2009-02-03T12:38:00.003-05:00

Yes, I'm here in the new house. It's been a busy couple of weeks, to say the least, but now things are settling down and the house almost looks like a real house. :) I'm just waiting on a furniture truck to arrive at any minute, and then I can finish the last room...

Just over a week ago on my scheduled moving day, I grew quite worried as it began to snow a couple of hours before the movers were due to arrive. They came nonetheless, and loaded all the furniture despite the constant downpour of snow. We probably got two or three inches just during the time they were there.

It has done nothing but snow there since November and I was so glad to get out. Because at the new place? Why, it hardly ever snows there, and if it does, it's a mere dusting compared to the amounts of snowfall we got at the old place. After emptying out the house and handing over the key to the new owner, I got in my car and drove away, elatedly saying, "Goodbye, snow! And good riddance!"

Sure enough, when we got to the new place, the sun was shining, the ground was clear, and they hadn't had a bit of snow. It was a happy day.

And then the very next day, it began to snow. And it snowed and it snowed and it snowed. And then after a couple days of snow, it began pouring down ICE. Lots of ice. I walked across my yard to my mailbox on top of about six inches of snow and never left a footprint. Who needs snowshoes?

Unfortunately, the ice took out the electricity so it was a chilly night, but I was fortunate enough to get mine back the next day. Some people are still waiting...

We finally began to clear out from the ice storm. People could actually leave their home. (Seriously, the whole state was shut down one day, nobody went anywhere!) And then the blizzards hit. Constant blizzards and whiteouts all day long. Meanwhile it was sunny and clear at the old place...

Yeah. Very funny.

We had a nice warm sunny weekend which got rid of some of the ice (it's still there on anything untreated but at least now all the main roads are clear) and now we sit waiting for the next big storm to hit. Apparently any minute, since the schools just let out early although it's not snowing yet.

The local schools usually miss one to two days a year tops for snow. Since I moved here, there have been seven school days, and they have missed five and a half of them. I can't even begin to tell you how unfair this is...

Will I ever escape the snow?

Excuse me, I think... I hope... I hear my furniture truck arriving. Or maybe it's just the next blizzard.

If we only understood...

2009-01-31T22:25:00.004-05:00

Hurt people hurt people. It's a saying I've heard for years but more recently I've really come to believe it. I don't believe that people who are mean or hateful to others are happy people. I don't see how they can be. That nastiness they show on the outside has got to be just the surface coating of what is lurking underneath.

So I've tried to remember this when people do not-so-nice things, and try to see things through their eyes. Give them the benefit of the doubt. I may not always be able to figure out what inner hurt is causing the outer behavior, but even if I can't, I just assume there is something there.

It's not about not holding people responsible for their actions, or making excuses for them, or allowing them to be as mean and nasty as they want to be and just being a doormat. It's about understanding and forgiving.

I've had a developing situation over the last couple of weeks that really gave me some insight into my own theory -- proved it, actually.

Many many years ago, I was in a situation where a number of people were very hateful to me, without cause. One of those people re-entered my life recently and I will admit to being very hesitant at first, though she was being quite friendly. I was friendly back, but inside, I was thinking, "Okay... why are you acting like we were great friends and you're so glad to be back in touch... you HATED me when we knew each other..."

She continued with the friendliness, and it really seemed genuine, so I finally brought it up. I'd already started putting together what happened from some of the things she had shared with me, but when I asked about it, she shared even more. It seems that she herself was very insecure at the time, and felt friendless. (I never in a million years would have guessed it, from her tough exterior. But it was an act to cover up the hurt inside.) She had been through a recent trauma and was thrust into a situation she had no control over, with people who didn't want her. She wanted desperately to be wanted and accepted by these people, and it just so happens that the girl she wanted most to be accepted by was my childhood Nellie Oleson.

She seriously was. She had the golden ringlets and the storebought dresses and the snooty attitude to go with it. She was the perfect Nellie. And she despised me in much the same way the real Nellie despised Laura.

So... this girl recognized this and was intentionally nasty to me thinking it would please Nellie and make Nellie accept her. All the while the girl actually liked me and wished we could be friends, but thought that I was "too smart" to ever want to be friends with someone like her. And there I was desperately wishing for someone, ANYONE, to just be NICE.

We really could have used each other back then, she and I. She later realized what Nellie was really like and decided she never EVER wanted to be like that, but by that time we were no longer at the same school, and until quite recently had never seen each other since those days of our youth. :)

We've discovered we actually have quite a bit in common and are quickly becoming friends now. A shame we couldn't have found this out then, when we both really needed a friend, but better late than never, right?

And it just reminds me yet again that you just never know what's really going on with someone inside. I totally thought all these years that this girl hated me. I also thought she was confident and assertive. Turns out none of those things were true. Just goes to show we can't judge others based on their actions alone -- there's so much going on under the surface that we just can't know about. Maybe it's time to dig a little deeper, take a few risks, and show that we care enough to find out what's going on inside, rather than just rejecting based on what goes on outside.

After all, "We would love each other better, if we only understood." ~Rudyard Kipling

Random Sunday Morning Thoughts

2009-01-18T12:39:00.003-05:00

I want to go to Malone.

Last Sunday in the old house. Next Sunday, new house. Yay.

I want to go to Mansfield.

But I really want to go to Malone.

Lots of lasts. Last time grocery shopping here. Last time at this church. Last trash day. Last laundry here. Last pot roast made. Last... last... last...

Next week will be full of firsts. :)

Some people don't want to go to Malone. Some people think it's too cold right now to go to Malone. What do they want?? California?? Florida??

I want to go to Malone. Tomorrow would be good. Today would be better.

So much to do. Packing. Throwing away. A Goodwill run. Where oh where does all this STUFF come from?

Call all the utilities. Here and there. Decisions to make. Cable or DSL? Furniture to buy. Appliances too. More decisions.

Heap Big Snow. In My Driveway. Procrastinating on the shoveling. Why bother? It's still snowing anyway. :)

I want to go to Malone.

We hope you enjoyed this edition of: Random thoughts that go through Prairie Rose's head in the span of one minute.

Things I'll Miss...

2009-01-11T12:29:00.003-05:00

Although I'm very excited about moving, and very eager to get there, I can't say there aren't some sad moments about it too. After all, I've been living here several years. I've put down a few roots. And I like it here. It's not as if I'm running away from something I didn't like; it's that I'm running toward something I like a little more... but that doesn't mean I won't miss what I'm leaving behind.

I'll miss the people. The people I work with. (Those phone calls have been so hard to make, and I haven't made some of the hardest ones yet because I've been putting it off as I know they'll be difficult goodbyes...) The people I go to church with... And I'll miss the kids. Some of them I'm keeping for awhile -- that actually worked out well, I got to pick and choose which kids to let go and which ones I'm going to keep to make ends meet until I get new clients at the new place, so I got to keep my favorite families. ;) But it's only short-term. The goodbyes are coming.

But most of all, I'll miss the friends that I've made up here. One is moving soon anyway, so that makes it a little easier -- I know she wouldn't have been here anyway so the goodbye had to come. But the others -- well, thank goodness for technology -- as one of them said when I told her, "You don't really have to say goodbye to anybody anymore, unless you want to -- we have email and phones, and it's not too far to visit once in awhile." It's true -- you really don't have to say goodbye to anyone anymore. It's not like pioneer days where you moved away and said goodbye knowing good and well you would probably never see that person again until you met in heaven. No, it's not the same as, "Hey, you want to stop by this evening?" but it will do.

I'll miss the house too. I really like my house here. It's one reason I've wondered why it took so long to sell -- because it truly is a beautiful house. Everyone who came through said so... but they couldn't afford it, couldn't get the loan, couldn't handle the steep yard, there was always something. I guess God needed me here until now for some reason.

I'll miss the deer. :) I just sat by my bay window watching them in my front yard. We've always had deer run through the back yard, but this year for some reason they seem to have really proliferated and they're just everywhere! I can't tell you how many times I've wandered into the living room, only to jump a mile because a DEER was staring at me through the window and I totally was not expecting it. :) I was walking by a little bit ago and saw one, went to look, and lo and behold, there were 8 deer wandering around in my front yard. I don't think that will happen at the new place, so I'll miss that.

Sometimes I wish I could just cut out the 2.5 hrs between here and there, and move everything I like about here, THERE. Or everything I like about there, HERE. But that can't happen. So I choose to give up all of this, for that.

Because "that" is family. And when it comes down to it, that's the best thing of all.

(Especially when family includes Little Girl and Baby Boy. :) :) :) And it does.)

So goodbye, old home. I sell you tomorrow. And hello, new home. I can't wait to see what you've got in store for me.

A Love Obsession With a House

2009-01-07T21:32:00.004-05:00

I absolutely love my new house. No, it isn't mine yet... still waiting... but soon! Like Mary Poppins, it is practically perfect in every way -- for my needs anyway.

But that isn't the house I'm referring to in my title. No, the house with which I have a love obsession is the final home of Laura and Almanzo Wilder, the farmhouse at Rocky Ridge Farm. (That rock house is very appealing, too, but there's just nothing like the farmhouse.)

I'm not sure what it is exactly; I guess it's that Laura and Almanzo lived there for so many years, and loved their home there. Built it the way they wanted it, and cultivated the land with their own hands. It's as if their presence can still be felt there -- not in any weird kind of ghostly way -- just in a warm fond remembrance kind of way.

I went out this past fall to celebrate my birthday there with a friend -- because where better to celebrate one's birthday than in the home one is obsessed with, right? :)

We knew we were more obsessed than most with LIW and with Rocky Ridge itself, but that trip revealed to us both just how far beyond obsessed we apparently are. It began with the owners of the place where we were staying.

"You're staying... FOUR nights?" they questioned. We nodded. "And you're going to the Wilder Farm?" We again nodded our agreement. "Oh," said they, "And what else are you going to do?"

We just looked at them. "We're going to the Wilder Farm," we finally responded.

They exchanged glances, and we thought to ourselves, "They think we have no idea what's there and we're going to be sorely disappointed."

So the next evening, they came hurrying over to meet us when we returned from our day at Rocky Ridge, and asked us how we liked it. "You were there ALL DAY?" they questioned, and we nodded. We discussed our day for awhile, and then they said, "So what are you going to do tomorrow?" Surely these ladies have now figured out they've done absolutely everything there is to do out there... they must have been thinking.

"We're going back to the Wilder Farm..." we answered. They just looked at each other and didn't say a word.

They weren't the only ones wondering about us. By the third day, we were starting to get some quizzical looks from some of the staff members who were now recognizing us. They were polite enough not to ask us why on earth we kept coming back ;) but they had to have been wondering.

But the icing on the cake... the event that convinced us that we are just beyond insane when it comes to this place... occurred on our last night there.

We had both come in separately as we don't live anywhere near each other, so we had our own cars. We had somewhere to be VERY early the next morning so knew that was our last day at Rocky Ridge. That evening, we went out to get something to eat, and we drove separately so we could each fill up on gas rather than have to worry about it at dark o'clock the next morning.

After we ate, my friend called her husband as she didn't get reception on her cell phone at the place we were staying, so I told her I was heading on back to our place and I'd see her there. On my way back, however, I remembered that we only had one key -- and she had it.

"Oh, well," thought I. "Rather than sit in the car and wait for her, I'll just take this opportunity to head back over to the farmhouse!"

Yes, it was night. Yes, it was long since closed. Who cares? I could LOOK at it, couldn't I?

I told you I was obsessed. Just gazing lovingly at this beautiful home from the roadside was an appealing thought. So off I went, and as I approached the house, I slowed down almost to a stop so I could look over.

But just as I did so, another car came from the other direction, and rather than just driving on past as I expected they would do, they too slowed and were staring at me. I quickly sped up and drove on past, so as not to look suspicious. I wasn't doing anything wrong, of course, but I recognized that it might be considered unusual behavior to slow to a crawl outside the Wilder home at night and therefore the townfolk might get a little suspicious, and perhaps the person in that car was a staff member or something so was concerned that something was amiss here.

"No big deal," thought I as I drove on. I'll just drive out to the Rock House and turn around and come back.

And so I did. And daggone it, despite the complete lack of traffic on that road, once more just as I reached the house, I saw approaching headlights. Again, I slowed and hoped they'd go on past, but no, they slowed too, and then came to a complete stop.

"You've got to be kidding me!" I thought. "What, do they just drive back and forth and patrol the place all night or something, to keep crazy people like us from staring at the house after hours!?"

I gave up and figured okay, I'll just drive on and turn around again and come back. But this time as I passed, I saw the car turn into the parking lot. "Oh, great," I thought. "Of all the luck -- it must be someone who works there, now I have no hope of going back. They totally will not understand that I just want to LOOK at it from the road!! That has got to be too weird for the average person to comprehend."

But then as I glanced in my rear-view mirror at the car that was now in the parking lot, I recognized the car. Before it had been too dark to see it clearly, but now there was a faint light shining on it. It was my friend!

She pulled out of the lot and followed me back to the place we were staying. We got out laughing and asking each other what on earth we had been doing.

And, of course, we had been doing exactly the same thing. She too had been on her way to take one last look at the house, and she too was thinking, "Oh, no!" when *I* slowed my car as she couldn't see mine to recognize it either until it was past.

Too funny! So neither of us got a good look at the house on our last night out, but the next day after arriving at our respective homes, we did learn that each of us, on our way out from the place we spent the night, did another drive-by in the wee hours of the morning and got a lovely view...

Of Rocky Ridge in deep fog. :)

Now that, my friend, is obsessed. Guilty as charged. :)

Not Your Typical New Year's Post

2009-01-03T14:52:00.004-05:00

Time. It's a concept that has always intrigued me. It's something we focus so heavily upon, a fact that is never clearer than at the start of a new year.

I did nothing to celebrate New Year's. I never do. It just isn't a big deal to me for some reason. I didn't make any New Year's resolutions. Again, I just don't see the point. If I want to make a resolution, I'll make it when I think that it's something I need to do, not wait around until January 1, nor think something up just to have one for the new year.

But all the posts I've read on blogs, newsgroups, message boards, email lists, etc. have got me thinking about time and its significance. And it's hard to think about time without thinking of eternity... and thinking of eternity is -- well, it's mind-boggling.

I'd like to share some thoughts about time, and timelessness, that I've put together over the years.

It started when I was eleven years old. My grandfather had just died, and as I lay that first night in bed trying to go to sleep, he was of course all I could think about. It wasn't the first death of someone I knew, but it was the first death of someone I truly loved, so coping with death and trying to wrap my mind around it was all new to me.

Then suddenly, the thought struck me that I didn't even know for sure where he was... was he a Christian? Was he now in heaven? Or wasn't he? I had no idea, and I felt incredible guilt that I had no idea. I began to think back... did he go to church? I didn't even know that. He didn't go to my church... and he never talked about church... maybe he didn't. Most of my family members talked about God a lot, especially in teaching us kids, but I couldn't remember a time when he ever had. I panicked. Maybe he wasn't -- and now it was too late. There was nothing I could do.

I don't know that an adult brain would ever even think to do something like this, but you know what they say about having faith like a child -- I did the only thing I could think of to do. I prayed that he was saved. I prayed over something that had already happened.

Can you do that? Certainly you can pray about things that are happening. And you can pray about things that are going to happen. But isn't it too late to pray about something that has already happened? It's too late to change anything now -- what good can it possibly do to pray about it?

Stick with me. I have an answer to that now. The question, of course, never even occurred to my 11 year old self. And I prayed not only that he was saved, but that somehow God would reveal to me that he was without me having to ask. Because that was a question I absolutely did not want to ask anyone.

Well, during the visitation, I was standing by the coffin with my dearly beloved great-aunt, my grandfather's sister. Because my grandmother had died when my father was a baby, she had raised my father and was therefore like a grandmother to me herself. I therefore spent those visitation hours glued to her side, and overheard every word she spoke to all the people that came to the visitation. And one of those comments I overheard was, in response to someone's comment that he looked so peaceful, she said, "Yes, he's in heaven now... how well I remember the day ten years ago when he accepted the gift of salvation and changed his life."

Prayer answered! Yes, he was saved; and yes, I got to find out without asking.

Many years later, when I was in college, I found myself dwelling on that grandmother that I had never known, my dad's mother who died when he was a baby as I mentioned, because of some information I had discovered about her that I won't go into here. :) I found myself wondering the same thing about her -- was she in heaven? Because based on the information I found, and the knowledge that my grandfather wasn't saved until decades after her death, I was thinking it pretty unlikely that she was. And while I never knew her, that thought really disturbed me. After all, she was part of me, somehow... and it became very important to me that her eternity was being spent in heaven.

Remembering the answered prayer of my youth, I threw logic to the wind and prayed again. I prayed that my grandmother, who by this time had died over forty years earlier, was a Christian -- and again, I prayed that somehow I could know that she was. This seemed very unlikely, as nobody EVER talked about her -- and as I said, she had already been gone for over forty years! And once more... can you really pray about the past? Yes, it had worked for me before, but this seemed like a really huge request.

This prayer wasn't answered quite as immediately, but it wasn't more than a couple months later that we got a Christmas letter from that great-aunt, the very one I mentioned before. Never before in my life had we gotten one of these from her. She told me afterward (out of the blue, unquestioned) that she doesn't even know why she sent us that letter, she never does, she writes one every year but only sends it out to people she doesn't see much of, so they will know what's going on with her -- but we already know it all so there's no reason to send us the letter. But for some reason, she just thought she would that year.

For some reason, eh? You won't believe what that letter contained. It mentioned my aunt's move to California, and she explained for the sake of her recipients that this aunt was the daughter of her brother and her brother's wife, who had died when my aunt was but a little girl. She then wrote an entire paragraph about this brother's wife -- my grandmother -- including the fact that THE VERY SUNDAY before she died, she had come forward in the Chapel and given her life to the Lord.

Okay -- you might call the first time a coincidence, but the second time too? I puzzled over it quite a bit, but was convinced that yes, a prayer today could indeed affect something that had happened in the past. I didn't fully understand how, but I knew that God could do anything, even what seemed impossible to us. I thought at the time that of course God would have known back forty years ago that I was GOING to pray that prayer, and could have answered it then with the foreknowledge of what was going to happen.

I was close, and maybe even right, but there is a theological concept behind all of this that is absolutely amazing... mind-blowing... incredible. The concept is that God is the "I AM" over my "was."

This is a lesson title invented by Beth Moore, and I won't go into the full theological background of this truth, but it's really quite fascinating, and if you're interested, I encourage you to go watch it for yourself. Click here to view all of Beth's video teachings at Life Today and scroll down to find The 'I AM' Over Your 'Was'. The piece I'm talking about is explained in Part 4 but you really will want to watch the whole series because there is so much background to it that you won't want to miss. And for that matter, while you're there, watch all her other teachings too, because I'm telling you, this woman is inspired.

But back to my topic, the key verse that delves into this truth is John 8:58, where Jesus states, "Before Abraham was, I AM." Did you catch that? God doesn't live in time. He IS in the past, just as he IS in the present and the future. He's still back there working in my past. It's not over and done with, as we so often say! He's still there in it working!

He could answer my prayers about my grandfather because He existed simultaneously in 1985 when I prayed, and in 1975 when He answered the prayer. He could answer my prayers about my grandmother because he existed simultaneously in 1993 when I prayed, and in 1951 when He answered the prayer.

ISN'T THAT COOL?

So I encourage you in this "new year" to us to remember that God is still working in all of our old years. He's still there in our past. And if there's something regrettable in your past that is "over and done with" -- recognize that it's not. Pray for God, who is still back there in your "was", to redeem your was, which will in turn redeem your "is". How many of us have a less than stellar "is" because of something that happened in our "was"? It's time to give our "was" to the God who IS, the God who is present in our was, the God who is Almighty over our was, and pray for Him to do His mighty work in it.

Amen.

:)

Goodbye Christmas

2008-12-26T09:54:00.003-05:00

So Christmas is over.

We had a nice day once again, of course. One tradition that we have been doing as a family for quite a few years now is having Christmas crackers with our Christmas meal. We became friends with a family from England about 10 years ago or so, and it became an annual tradition to phone each other on Christmas day. On probably our first of these phone calls, they mentioned that they were wearing their crowns.

Your crowns?? we questioned. And then came the explanation of Christmas crackers, which we had never heard of before, and they couldn't believe everyone in the world didn't know about and do.

Since then we've occasionally seen them in a store, but our Christmas crackers are authentic, sent straight from England by this family. In recent years, he has somehow managed to open the crackers and insert a nicer toy inside for Little Girl, and now Baby Boy, without ruining the cracker. Little stuffed animals and things like that.

Well, for some reason, the mail seems awfully slow this year for everything. And after the mail came on Christmas Eve, we were still cracker-less.

During Communion (prompted by the eating of the cracker), Little Girl whispered to me, "Are we going to have those other crackers this year that we don't eat, the ones that pop and have a prize inside?" I had to tell her no, they didn't come in time, but when they came we would open them. She was very disappointed, and my grandmother was very disappointed as well when she too asked about them, and was given the news.

My mom had her annual Christmas phone call to England yesterday morning, and they too were disappointed to learn that the crackers didn't arrive in time.

We were due to eat at noon, and at 11:30, I heard a car drive down the driveway and a door slam. I went to the door, expecting to see Little Girl and her family, and lo and behold, who did I see but ~~Old Saint Nick~~ the mailman delivering our Christmas crackers! As it was just sent regular mail weeks ago, not overnighted or anything, I can't believe he came out on Christmas day to deliver our crackers, but we're very glad he did. How surprised everyone was to come in and find them sitting by their plates!

However, our British friend didn't make a special cracker for Little Girl and Baby Boy this year, and instead, just enclosed a couple of sheets of Christmas stickers for them. So when Little Girl opened her cracker and found a keychain, she was greatly disappointed.

"How about we open yours?" she suggests to her mommy, and was again disappointed to find a pair of tweezers. Moving on to her stepdaddy, she says, "I'll trade you a sticker for what's in your cracker." But when she discovered another pair of tweezers, she quickly said, "No, I don't want to trade," and moved on to Grandpa. Grandpa had some tiny dice, but she didn't even want those. Grandma had the best prize, but we didn't know it, it was a "fortune telling fish", but it just looked like a fish cut out of plastic wrap, so it was set aside quickly as junk. And at last to Mammaw, her great-grandmother, she went. And Mammaw had a little purple glittery pen! Little Girl was finally satisfied, and Mammaw agreed to the "trade". :)

Also in each cracker is a paper crown and a joke. The jokes are very very bad. Maybe they aren't bad if you have a British sense of humor, but... here in America, they are very bad jokes. But that's okay, because we laugh about how lame they are. :)

The fortune telling fish, once we paid closer attention to it, was a big hit. You lay this fish on the palm of your hand and it does things -- moves its head or tail, curls up, flips over. And the accompanying guide tells you what each of those things means. Little Girl was passionate. And indeed she is. About everything.

We spent the afternoon at my grandmother's, visiting with extended family. My cousin is recently married with a stepdaughter. My aunt, the little girl's new step-grandmother, bought her an American Girl doll, and she said the child just sobbed and said it was the very best Christmas she's ever had. Her mother and her mother's family gave her nothing. Her father's family gave her nothing. This little girl has never gotten anything for Christmas before, other than what her father could manage to scrape together for her, and now all of a sudden she's showered with gifts from her new grandparents. It's sad to think about, and yet happy because now she's cared for and loved. :)

And now, I must admit to being somewhat glad that Christmas is over, because now I can actually run into a store to get something and be out in a couple minutes instead of waiting in ridiculous lines for my one little thing I needed, and hopefully the crazy traffic will die down, as well. They may say we're in a recession, but I don't think folks around here have gotten the word yet, because you haven't been able to get anywhere near the mall or the shopping centers for weeks now. If that's a recession, I don't think we have a whole lot to worry about...

Some Fun Christmas Moments

2008-12-25T10:03:00.005-05:00

At church last night when getting ready to take Communion, my mother turned to Little Girl and whispered, "Do you know why we do this?" Now Little Girl certainly did know, because I'd asked her before church and she spit out the whole story of the Last Supper and the crucifixion and resurrection, etc. without a flaw.

But in response to my mother, she nodded and whispered back, "Because it's healthy." "Noooo..." my mom began, and Little Girl insisted, "Juice IS healthier than pop -- that's probably why Jesus gave it out."

!!!

She went on to add, "And bread is kinda healthy because it has milk in it!"

Well, there you go. How can you argue with that logic? We take Communion because it's healthy.

Other fun moments of the night were:

When Baby Boy opened a Buzz Lightyear toy and shouted BUZZ!! BUZZ! at the top of his lungs for at least five solid minutes.

I think he liked it.

Little Girl got an American Girls catalog in the mail a couple months ago. She went through it, and circled the Bitty Baby and allllll the things that go along with it. She then handed it to my mother and said, "This is what I want for Christmas -- I want everything except that girl." (She meant the girl in the ad modeling the pajamas and holding the doll.)

Well, she got it. And she was so excited she had to put on the pajamas immediately and COULD NOT WAIT for Grandpa to put together the crib. And after gazing happily at her little collection, she announced,"I got everything except that girl I didn't want!"

She's hysterical.

To her credit, that's all she ever asked for for Christmas. When I asked her a few weeks ago what she wanted, she shrugged and said, "Nothing." I said, "Nothing?? You don't want me to get you anything at all for Christmas?" She said, "I do, but I just want people to get me whatever they want to get me." Well that's refreshing. :)

The other big hit besides the Bitty Baby was a Build-a-Bear penguin. I bought this penguin the year she was born, when she was just a few months old, and had it tucked away, saving it for when she was old enough to play with it. I bought it because her mommy and daddy were VERY into penguins at that time, and this was a special edition so it wasn't something that would be able to be purchased later on. Well, instead of Build-a-Bear clothes, I put together a little collection of HER baby clothes and they've been tucked safely in the box all these years. I ran across it and thought, good grief, if I don't hurry up and give it to her, she's going to be too old for it, so at last she got her penguin. LOVED it. Dressed it immediately and tucked it into the crib with Bitty Baby.

Baby Boy gave her a little plant kit; she had to set that up immediately too, getting dirt everywhere, of course. She asked when the plant would grow, and she was told it would need light and water. She poured a ton of water into it, and then ran and got a flashlight and shone it over the pot. As I said, the kid's hysterical.

Baby Boy was very much into opening presents this year for the first time, and no longer needed a bit of assistance. However, he wanted to play with everything right then, naturally, and so all we heard all night was, "Open! Open!" while his parents struggled greatly with all the toy packaging. Why oh why do they make toys so difficult to get out?

He opened a video and clutching it in one hand, went dashing out of the room. He was on his way to put it in the DVD player, of course. :) He doesn't waste time.

All in all, it was a very nice Christmas. The kidlets will be back again shortly for Christmas dinner, so I'll wish you all a merry Christmas once again, and be off!