Spring finally sprung here in the mountains. I mean, we had rain every day for 40 days and 40 nights and ark plans were heavily considered, and the next thing you know it's 90 degrees and things are so dry I'm watering the garden. Silly weather.
But now that the rain has stopped, I can finally hang laundry out to dry. This makes me very happy. I'd like to think the dryer is sighing with relief. Or maybe it's disgruntled because that old fashioned hussy took over it's job. But I don't care what the dryer thinks, really, because I'm saving money. Saving money is sexy. Plus the clothes smell divine.
I'm also pretending that all the bending and stretching to hang is doing wonders for the waistline. So far I haven't noticed a difference, but I'm holding out for One Day, when I wake up and say, "Whoa, a waist. Who knew?" It'll be a good day, because my sheets will smell like sunshine and wind, and one can only wake up happy when smelling that all night.
See how fun hanging laundry is? Except that it takes 10 minutes to shuffle from the washer to the dryer. It's no longer something that I can do quickly while running out the door. I try, though, while the family is in the van waiting for me. And the earlier I get a load hung in the day, the more loads I can accomplish (just like when I was drying).
The other day I was hanging my first load before Micah left for school. He is all about helping (if it's his idea) and gladly tagged along to the clothes line. He handed me clothespins, and wet clothes, and more pins, and more clothes. And then decided he wanted to hang clothes like mommy. Except mommy can barely reach the line, being vertically challenged and all, so there was no way Micah was going to reach it. Not to be deterred, he did the best he could.
He worked, and struggled, and successfully hung a clothespin on the ends of the clothes that were waving gently in the breeze. Fine motor skills are a difficulty for him, and his therapist would be extremely proud. I know I was.
Later that day, Becky was mowing the lawn. Driving past the laundry gently blowing, she noticed that some of the items had clothespins on the bottoms of them. It was baffling, for sure. Given that mowing the lawn offers a lot of time for thinking, she came up with two theories. 1. It kept the clothes anchored so they didn't blow around too much, and 2. It kept the bugs from getting up inside pant legs.
She never did guess that it was her brother, lending a helping hand.
Seasonal Mystery
Unappreciated Vacation Destinations
We took advantage of the long weekend and went to DC for a get-away. Mostly because my niece graduated high school and we went down to celebrate with her. Yes, we'll take family vacations anywhere we can find them.
Always on the lookout for ways to expose the kids to important parts of American history and heritage, we subjected them to Arlington National Cemetery. While I think that kind of stuff is super duper fascinating and awe-inspiring, the kids just aren't old enough to appreciate it. Becky is almost there, and history geek enough to appreciate it, but the boys fall short.
Josh was quick to say, "I hate history." And that was the end of his good time.
Luke said, "I know this is the kind of stuff that we'll look back on when we're grown up and say, 'I was there once.'" At least he was making an effort to understand where we were coming from.
Micah was hot and bored, and that's never a good combination. There are a lot of signs at Arlington that look like this,
and Micah is not big on either of those qualities. He completely blew the Silence part out of the water when he loudly grumbled about being in a boring place in the hot sun. For a kid who lacks words, he's quite vocal in making his displeasure a thing of publicity.
It probably wouldn't have been so bad, but it was Memorial Day weekend. (Durrh) But besides the extra crowds that flock to the most popular cemetery in the nation to honor soldiers, the Run For The Wall group was there. We watched over 2,000 motorcycles file past us into Arlington before we could cross the street ourselves to visit the cemetery. It took just as long as you'd think for 2,000 bikes to pass at Just Fast Enough To Stay Upright speeds. And while it was super exciting to see something so big, and feel a part of it, and see the veterans make history, the kids lost their fascination after 15 minutes. Things went downhill from there.
Still, it was Arlington. We saw the Kennedy's eternal flame and gravesites. Jackie had a single pink rose on hers. I loved that. We toured the Arlington House, and watched the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. We were very humbled by the sheer size of the place, and how many wonderful servicemen and women gave their lives for our country.
And while the kids may not have thought it was the best day of vacation that we had, it was the best place to be this past weekend. And yes, Luke, someday you'll look back on this and say, "I was there. I saw that. I walked through history."
Happy Holiday Weekend
This weekend, find unexpected joy in the rain showers.
See beauty in the weeds.
Enjoy family.
And take time to honor the servicemen who gave their all so that we could live in freedom.
Good Morning, Neighborhood!
Five-thirty. That's what the clock read this morning when he got up. And being as it was that early nearly every morning for the past week, I'm reaching the Too Tired To Care point. This is not a good point to reach when you've got to be responsible for supervising the 5:30 party.
I lay in bed with my eyes closed and my ears open. As long as I could hear him, I knew pretty much what room he was in and what he was doing. No fridge doors were opened, no mirowaves were operated, the washer and dryer were untouched. And then I heard the door.
Darn.
But I could still hear him, which meant that he was either in the drive or on the patio. That was okay, right? (I am Mother of the Year at this hour of the morning, for sure.) As long as I could hear him, he was close enough to not be in trouble. And boy-howdy could I hear him. He wasn't singing (which is loud - no, wait, it's L-O-U-D) but he was just as loud, which means that he was either mad about something or excited about something. From the tone I gathered it was excitement.
But it went on. And on. And it was so loud. But I could hear him so I pretended that I could still lay in bed and rest. Except I couldn't because he was LOUD. And I looked at the clock at it said 5:45, and something in my very tired brain poked me and whispered, "the neighbors can hear that, too." So that's when I finally realized that, as the supervisor of the 5:45 party, I should get out of bed and actually supervise.
The boy was wearing a park ranger hat, boxing gloves, and cowboy boots. It looked like he was either directing traffic or an orchestra. And he was loudly telling someone something. I'd love a glimpse into his wee mind to know what he's doing. He's a creative little genius, I'm sure of it.
So later that day I was talking to my dad (who is one of our neighbors) and he said he heard Micah early in the morning. Mind you, living in the country, we have 4 acres of land all to ourselves. That means that neighbors aren't exactly next door. My parents are the closest, but dad wasn't home. No, he was walking his dogs on the Back 40, another few acres away. (Dad is a retired dairy farmer. A lifetime of getting up to milk cows at 5:30 isn't going to stop just because you're retired.)
Yeh, the neighbors love us. I'm sure of it.
I've Got Tickets!
I posted the other week that Legofest was coming to Pittsburgh. Our boys are uber excited about this. Still. Legos are some of the most entertaining toys for kids of all ages.
LEGO KidsFest brings all of the creative hands-on, minds-on fun of LEGO building and experiences together in one, and I have a pair of tickets to give away to one lucky reader. Yes! I do! And that lucky reader could be you. Here's what you'll see if you win:
• LEGO Model Gallery: 40 life-sized models made entirely from LEGO bricks
• LEGO Master Builders: building tips, tricks and live demonstrations from the crew who get paid to play
• Creation Nation: build your own creation to add to a custom map of the U.S.
• Mystery Mural: build a piece of a giant mural to help reveal the image
• Race Ramp: build your own custom car, then race it down the ramp against friends and family
• LEGO Games Arena: roll the dice to play LEGO board games
• Construction Zone: creative free build, play and display area
• LEGO DUPLO® Jams: toddlers explore building and imagination while rocking out to fun playroom tunes
• And much more, covering over 125,000 square feet of space
To be entered in the drawing for the pair of FREE tickets, simply leave a comment here telling me how excited you'd be to get them. Extra entries can be earned by tweeting about this giveaway and for posting it on Facebook. Let me a comment saying that you've done those things, and you're entered again. It's that simple!
The tickets are for 2 people to attend the Sunday, June 19th session from 3-8 PM. I'll be there, and hope to see you there, too.
Sometimes There are Thorns
It was a fast-and-slow kind of song at church. Micah likes those. Micah likes any music, really. On the slow parts he waits things out, clapping to keep time, but when the fast part comes he's all about singing with a joyful noise as loudly as the next person does. Except that Micah can't sing, of course.
When Micah sings, everyone knows it. The kids sang in front of the church the other week, and while all eyes were on another little boy in the back row pretending to audition for Dancing With the Stars, all ears heard Micah. He'll drown out an entire church full of kids so that all you hear is his deep-voiced drone. And there is no doubt that he's singing with his entire heart behind it, too. You can't help but smile, even if you can't hear your own kid above the din.
So Micah was in his glory, singing along with the fast parts, giving his all to the Lord, when a little boy in front of him turned around and put his finger to his lips. Micah ignored him because it was time to sing, not be quiet, and kept on making that joyfully loud noise. The little boy held his hand out in front of Micah's face to tell him to stop, motioned again for Micah to be quiet, and sternly glared at him. Micah stopped, and didn't sing the rest of the song.
My heart broke watching that interaction take place. Micah has grown so very much in so many areas lately, that I fear he may have understood that his singing is not like everyone else's. He may have gotten the message loudly and clearly that his singing is not welcome in a world of words. He may have been embarrassed for the very first time by the fact that he's different from everyone around him. And even if that wasn't the case this time, that time will come. And it hurt me, because there is nothing that I can do to help Micah, or to change the fact that he can't sing. All I can do is be there for him and let him know that God loves to hear his voice just like God likes to hear the voices of those who can make words happen, because God created each of us to be unique. And I'll let him know that I will always love to hear him sing, even at 5:30 in the morning when I'd rather be asleep, because his voice is uniquely his and I love him exactly as he is.
And I pray that it'll be enough for my boy, because I have nothing else to offer.
Pearly And White
Micah seriously needs to learn to tell time, and then adhere to a strict "we don't get out of bed until the clock reads..." rule. I'd try Duck Taping him in but I hear CYS really frowns on that kind of stuff. The boy is up at the crack of dawn frequently. Sometimes he's up before dawn even thinks about showing crack, like his 5 o'something kick he's on now.
No, we're not amused.
So he was up at 5:30, poked Daddy to get him to move over and allow him into the Master Bed, lay there thrashing to ensure that each of his parental units were awake with no hope of falling back to sleep for the remainder of the day, and then got up and went on his merry way. His job was done, and done well.
We, however, didn't get up, because even if there was no hope that we would sleep the rest of the day, we can still lay there and dream about it. In my sleep deprived stupor, I heard Micah go to into the kids' bathroom. Then I heard him come into our bathroom. I heard his electric toothbrush, and heard feet pitter patter back to the kids bathroom. Annnnd then I heard the pitter patter back to our bathroom and a toothbrush being laid on the counter.
And as I lay there trying to pretend that our smallest son wasn't on the prowl way too early in the morning, I felt a tap on my shoulder. And another. I cracked an eye open, and saw Micah standing in front of me, proudly pointing to his teeth. I cracked the other eye open long enough to notice that the clock read 6:10 as I weakly said "good job, buddy."
Seriously. The Boy Who Never Brushes His Teeth had the overwhelming desire to do so at 6:10 in the morning. He's weird. Why does he never feel the need to just sleep?
The Van of Blessings
Van shopping was rather short lived, and would have been shorter if I'd have followed my own words of wisdom. Here is the rather long-ish story of how God is way more than amazing.
It starts with our income tax return that we filed way back in February. It was due in 2 weeks (hello, electronic filing and automatic bank deposit!) but instead was delayed 6-8 weeks for reasons that were valid but will only hold up the story unnecessarily. Yeh. Go, IRS. We were several weeks into the endless wait when it occurred to me that God was going to delay that return until the gas line was ready to go through. When the gas line progresses, we'll get a hefty check from them, and between the tax return and the gas line settlement, we can buy quite the nice ride for ourselves without financing a penny of it. God is good that way.
So I told Sam what God was up to, he agreed, and we waited patiently. Or otherwise, but we're only human. Sam would look at a van here and there and I'd refuse to look even over his shoulder at the picture on the internet screen, because (and I quote myself) "God won't give us a van until He gives us the money to pay for it. If you find a good deal before we get our money, it'll be someone else's good deal."
And then we signed papers to have the gas check released, with assurances that we'd have it the following week. I knew for a fact that the tax return would be deposited magically the following Friday, because my God is that kind of awesome. And boy-howdy, I was right. I told Sam to nix all plans he had for the day because we were going van shopping. His response? "We don't have the gas check yet." True, I said (because they didn't come when promised), but we know it's coming. It should have been here this week, so it'll definitely be here next week, and we know exactly how much money we're getting, I said. (See me ignore my own words of wisdom? Oh, the stupidity of my excited, eager little self.) And so we van shopped. And we found a van that we loved immensely. Except it was just out of our price range. Our price range was the exact amount of the tax return plus the gas money, minus the 10% that we give to God on everything that we make. That was the exact amount I was going to find a van for, because MY GOD IS THAT KIND OF AWESOME.
We walked away from that van (it was hard, trust me) and found another one. That second van came with a motorcycle - the very same kind of motorcycle my husband has wanted since I met him. And it would be sweet to ride to work in summer to save on gas. And it was just a tad over our budget, but since our budget didn't include a motorcycle it was alright to go over. God provided such a good deal on the van that we felt justified on the bike. Except, the more we looked at the van, the less happy-happy we felt about it, and we were still waiting on that gas check to arrive.
Reminder to self: God won't give you a van until He gives you the money to pay for it. That's the way He works.
And then the attorney called and said our checks were in, and could we come sign for them on Friday? You know for a fact that we were there as soon as we could make an appointment, and that very same Friday Sam woke up and checked the vans for sale online yet again. There was a new one listed that wasn't there the day before, but it didn't have a price. We debated on whether or not to even call (knowing what they're valued at normally) but after getting the check deposited in the bank we decided that one never knows if one doesn't ask. So we asked, and the van was in our price range.
We looked at the van, found nada wrong with it, and the salesman quoted us a drive-it-home-right-now price. It was EXACTLY the amount of money we had to buy a van with, because that's how God rolls. Except that's the amount of money that we thought we'd have. We didn't know that the attorney would ask for another $400 after he assured his his last bill was all inclusive. Dilemma: I knew God would give us a van for the money He gave us to spend, but now what to do? To paint a picture, this particular dealership prices their used vehicles at Blue Book or above. Can I get a Seriously Overpriced over here? Because yeh, they were. And then there was "our" van, priced at $4,000 under Blue Book value, with nothing wrong with it. We couldn't figure that out, except to say that God does great and mighty things and we just need to sit back and thank Him. (Becky found it most amazing that God will mess with people's minds to fit into His will. Why would the dealership under price the van?)
So knowing it was already a deal too good to be true, we were straight up with the salesman. "We thought we had the money to pay for the van at asking price, but we didn't know we'd have an attorney's fee of $400, so we're short that much. Can you work with us on a price?" And if you haven't guessed yet that GOD IS INCREDIBLY AMAZING then you haven't been reading a thing. They took $400 off a van that was already priced $4,000 under it's value, and there's nothing wrong with it. Nor will there be, because God won't give us junk when we wait on His timing.
My God rocks. My van is the same as the first one we found, which also happens to be what Sam was secretly hoping to get. God gives us the desires of our heart if only we'll wait on Him.
Coming of Age
"Mom, next time you go shopping, can you get me deodorant?"
Sure, Luke. Why the need all of a sudden?
"My teacher said that we're at that magical age, and now that it's spring and we're running around on the playground, we could really start using deodorant."
God bless that teacher for making stink sound all grown-up and cool.
No Salesmen Were Hurt In the Making of This Blog Post
We're car shopping. If I suddenly disappear without a trace there are several theories you can explore.
1. I may have exploded from stress and frustration.
2. I may have killed someone and am rotting in a jail.
3. I may be in a corner, rocking back and forth in the fetal position, crying softly to myself.
I hate car shopping. We've been so extremely blessed in our vehicle choices that this happens very infrequently for us. And we're good with that. If a vehicle runs, we're happy. The end. Our current van has 179,000 miles on it, and while the laundry list of things that are wrong with it is long, it runs. (Who, really, needs to put down the passenger side window from the driver's side?) Unfortunately, we know that with that many miles under her wide belt, she won't last much longer. And there are a few large, glaring things wrong with her that need fixed and we're at the point that we'd rather sink the money into a replacement than a fix. So here we are, at the point where I turn into a mess of murderous stress.
We set a budget and headed out into the world with a fistful of cash. The first dealership worked with us to an extent, but didn't grasp the concept of "this is the max that we'll pay" and called to hassle us for days afterward, asking if we found more money yet. Actually that question came the minute I walked in the door from test driving their van, and I answered, "No, not on the drive home." (Yes, I really did. The inner evil comes out in me when car salesmen are involved.) That salesman was now on my Bad Side.
We moved on to another van, and another, and yet another. A motorcycle was involved at one point. (Yes, for real.) And when we came around to the exact same model van we found at that first dealership, I struck on a grand plan. Mind you, Sam and I have been van shopping sans kids because we're not stupid. But we figured that we'd take the kids to the first dealership, allow the kids to completely test that van inside and out while pushing buttons, opening and closing doors, and kicking tires, then say loudly, "Kids, this is exactly like the van we're getting down the road. Now that you know all about it, let's go get ours!"
Hi, I'm Karen. I can be queen of passive aggressive when you purposely irk me while I'm stressed. Car salesmen, beware.
Unfriendly Are The Skies
We had an evening of missions emphasis at church. Different rooms were decorated as different continents, complete with representative foods and artifacts. There was a mock airplane made of sheets hung, pictures of clouds and an airplane wing out an airplane-window-shaped cut-out, and chairs in two rows of three with an aisle between. It was just a fun way to take us around the world for the night.
Micah is all about what happens at church. His greatest desire is to be one of the crowd, completely independent of Mom. When it was time to "board the plane," he ran ahead of me down the hall with his brothers. By the time I was halfway down the hallway, I met Micah coming back my way. It was a determined walk, and very much in the opposite direction of where he should be heading. I turned him around, but he was having none of it. Sixty five pounds of determination is a moving force that's getting harder and harder to reckon with.
I managed to get him headed the right way and reluctantly trudging down the hall. He was loathe to enter the room until he saw Luke in the front row, then ran to him and frantically tapped his leg and pointed at the door. (Translation: You! Come with me!) And that's when it hit me.
Micah was terrified of the airplane.
A homemade airplane, made out of chairs, bedsheets, and computer printed pictures, and it freaked Micah out. He's that afraid of flying, bless his little heart. He just wasn't going to rest until we were at the other end of the hallway, sitting on the couch in the foyer, safely on firm ground.
Micah and I left the other kids at church to visit countries around the world while we went to visit Daddy at work. It was a better night for my boy after that.
Poor little guy. Let's hope he never has to fly anywhere again.
My Very Own Parmesan Thyme Potatoes
I had broccoli and cauliflower planted in the garden a few years back, and they were infested with veggie-eating worms that were enjoying my produce before I had the opportunity to do so myself. I don't take kindly to bugs invading my space, but neither am I keen on using chemicals to eradicate them. Research told me that a certain herb repelled these worms, so I planted said herb right there in the corner of the garden and all was good. That herb is a perennial and has come back, bigger and better, every year.
The problem is that I can't remember if that herb is rosemary or thyme, and because of that I've not used it in cooking. This is the year that I took the time to identify my mystery herb as thyme, and started using it in cooking. I wish I'd have done this sooner.
My Own Invented Recipe Combining Two Different Good Ones To Make An All New Super Duper Yummy One
Scrub up some potatoes. (How many is up to you. One or two for a single dish, a dozen for a family. It'll work out whatever you do.)
Microwave those potatoes until they're about done. (Like baked potatoes - EXACTLY like baked potatoes.)
Once they're done, cut them into bite sized pieces and toss into a skillet with butter. (Again, the amount is up to you, based on how many potatoes you have nuked.) You'll want enough butter to fry those in and give good flavor.
Sprinkle a liberal amount of Parmesan Cheese onto the lot, and stir to coat the potatoes well. It'll fry right onto the supds and taste incredibly yummy. Use your judgement on how cheesy you want your potatoes to be.
Head out to the garden for that yummilicious thyme that you realized you had and strip some leaves off some branches. When you have a small handful (like a tablespoon or so) go rinse it off and toss it into the skillet with the Parmesaned potatoes. Again, stir that stuff to distribute evenly.
Once the potatoes are a beautiful golden brown and crispy-coated with butter fried Parmesan, it's done. The hardest part remains: wait until it cools to eat it.
Quick, easy, and oh-so-yummy. You're welcome.
Leave It To Boys
The pictures are all over the place this spring. Moms and kids, playing together, making memories, having photographic evidence of it. It's fun. I know you've seen the pictures of chalked balloon, and kids lying on the pavement as if they're being carried away by the colorful bouquet they're faux-holding. The picture is taken from far above (like atop a skyscraper, or picnic table) so that you can get the whole child and the balloons in the shot. If done right, it's a cool shot, and the kids have a good time posing as well.
Knowing that I had a few handicaps, I attempted this photographic feat myself. The first downfall was the patio that we have. It's huge, and we lurve it, but it's made of pavers and not concrete. Drawing on pavers is like painting on pallets. There are cracks in the finished product. Imagination: Required.
The second flaw was the time of day. Lighting was horrid, with shadows and setting sun. We couldn't just move elsewhere, either.
The third flaw was the fact that the tallest thing I could stand on was the picnic table. For anyone besides me, it would have worked well. I'm vertically challenged, and the lens on my camera is permanently zoomed to 50mm. This means that I couldn't get tall enough to do the job right.
The fourth flaw I had was the fact that Micah didn't grasp the concept of "lay down and pretend you're holding onto the balloon strings." Maybe because he didn't get the fact that I drew balloons. When I color on the patio with the kids, Micah's goal is to play Bumper Chalk. His piece of chalk can bump my piece of chalk off that particular paver, and he'll be glad to prove it! Yeh, it makes for fun coloring. Micah was a challenge. But I had a plan.
I'd get Luke to lay down, I'd take his picture, and show Micah how fun it would be. He'd be on board in a hurry, because he'll never allow himself to be outdone by his big brother. (Don't dare tell Micah I just called Luke his big brother. I know he is, and you know he is, but Micah is in denial. Or rather, Denial, with a capital D.) It sounded like a good plan (like all my plans do in my head, just before they spiral downward), but Micah never did get on board with things. He looked at Luke and I as if we were practicing the Stop, Drop, and Roll procedures. Micah never made the attempt.
Luke, however, is an actor at heart. He lives for the stagelight, and by golly, he had mom's full attention AND her camera. He posed this way, and that way, and pretended to be flying away. He lost a shoe and let it dangle from a toe quite realistically. But Luke couldn't be content to just sedately hold on with one hand and let the balloons carry him away. Luke is a boy. If there's not some sort of over the top action going on, it's no fun at all.
Behold what happens when boys are involved in anything:
Yep, he turned those girly little balloons into super-helium-infused orbs that were dragging him out into the stratosphere. The world of boys is a fun one. It's our world.
Lego My, Oh Wait, We're Not Eating Waffles
You know what just about every kid loves? Legos. For my part, I have mixed feelings about them. I love (LOVE) the creativity it inspires in the kids, and the fact that it helps them with thinking skills and engineering feats. If I'd played with Legos as a kid, I'd probably be way better at a lot of things. As it is, I can't do much more than make towers of varied colors of Legos and call it art. (Lame, I know.) While the list is pretty long on the reasons I love Legos, the one glaring negative is stepping on them in the middle of the night.
Maybe that's because we have a gazillionty tons of the things. No, really. We got the sweetest deal EVER at a yard sale and have a Rubbermaid crate full of the things. Our kids can make just about anything they want, short of an addition to the house. It's awesome, except at 2 AM on a bathroom run. You know what Lego needs to make? Glow in the dark bricks. Or maybe they already have. Obviously, we don't spend time in the Lego store because we have so many of our own, and I swear they breed in the closet.
The boys, however, were enamored with the Lego store at Disney Downtown when we were there. And the awesome Lego statues that were displayed caught the attention of the whole family. Legos truly are some of the best toys out there, for any age group.
Which is why I'm super excited to find that LegoFest is coming to Pittsburgh. I cannot even begin to imagine the over the top kind of fun that is going to be. And the boys are beside themselves with anticipation. It's just a week or so after school is out, so their wait time is growing shorter. (June 17-19 for those in our area that want to get in on this.) We sooo wanted to get to Disney again this year, but it's not in our plans for various reasons. For this reason, we're glad for LegoFest, allowing the kids to do something that they normally don't have access to as fun summer entertainment.
LegoFest, coming to a city near us. It's what the Rocking Pony house will be doing next month.
It's the Stuff Mother's Day is Made Of
I trust that you all had the best Mother's Day ever. I know I did, because my family rocks. Plus, Micah gave me this handmade flower. I'm not stupid, and I know that Micah's (wonderful) personal aide did 100% of the work on that thing, but I also know that Micah wrote his name all by himself.
Endearing.
Required Uniform
While at the doctor's office today, an interen was in to practice his medical skills before the LPN came in for the official diagnosis. (Josh sprained his foot playing basketball. It's nothing serious.) The intern was wearing a white coat, which didn't fit his long arms very well. It irked Becky.
"Why do they all wear white coats anyway?" she asked.
I don't know, I guess it's standard uniform for interns. Your dad wore one when he was in school as well. I think it's a way to let everyone know they're students and not licensed yet. Once you're hired, you take on the dress code of the medical practice you're working at.
"Well that's just stupid. It's like requiring plumbers to show crack while in school."
We laughed over that for the rest of the day.
What I Really Want for Mother's Day
"I need help around the house," I whined for the five hundredth time. "I need someone to just do dishes for me. And maybe laundry. And if someone would clean the floors daily I'd really appreciate it. In fact, they can clean bathrooms and dust while they're here, too. You know what I really want? I want Alice."
Remember the Brady Bunch? Alice was my favorite character. She was stable, and loving, and held the family together while keeping it running smoothly in the right direction. She did all that I need someone to do here, and more. She cooked, cleaned, helped with homework, kissed boo-boos, broke up fights, shopped for groceries, and so much more. She was the mom, the maid, the babysitter.
I told Becky that I wanted Alice for Mother's Day. Someone to do everything, just like she did.
"That's too much work for anyone to do!" she said.
"What do you think your mother does?" said my wonderful husband.
At least someone appreciates the work a mom does.
Defying Gravity
We spent the weekend at my parent's cabin in the mountain over the weekend. (Yes, I know we live on a mountain here, and no, the cabin isn't on a higher mountain, it's actually on a lower mountain. But it's a different mountain than we live on so we can "vacation" there. Please don't ask me to explain more, because I'm starting to see the absurdity of this conversation.)
While the cabin has most of the modern conveniences such as electricity, running water, and indoor plumbing, it lacks things like a telephone, internet, and good cell phone reception. While I'm 176% okay without the modern conveniences of computer and phone, the kids are not. I go to unplug, relax, and unwind. The kids are all about having a good time, and one can only sit in the cabin playing Apples to Apples and watching videos for so long before boredom sets in. We take walks, and play ball, and make meal prep a family thing, but there are still too many hours in a day for the kids, so we have to get creative.
This past weekend we took the kids to Gravity Hill. It's an out of the way little place where things roll uphill. Granted, the hill is not big at all, and in comparison to most of the roads we normally travel, it's rather flat, but there is a slightly definite uphill grade to it. Gravity Hill is a Thing, featured on TV even, and has a Start and Stop painted on the road where you're to stop (at the Start), put your car in neutral, and then let off the brake. You will then coast up the tiny uphill grade to the Stop. It's whacked. We took a ball to allow the kids to further experiment with, but the sad fact is that the road is not flat. It has a bump in the middle and the balls rolls down off into the ditch.
Yes, people, this is WAY out of the way, where we CAN let the kids play in the middle of the road. Welcome to our world. It's slower paced and rather awesome-ish. For entertainment we roll balls uphill and play on the road. And we love it.
It Was An Appropriate Day To Say it
The speech is coming along for Micah. He's been (occasionally) practicing sounds like M's and B's and D's, but never in context of course. He'll use them in babbling like a baby would, but not to say Becky or Daddy or Micah. Those are still Eeeee, A-Eeee, and I-Yah. Small steps, but yet very big ones, too. Apraxia is hard to overcome, especially when you're saddled with so many other handicaps in the brain and mouth.
Tonight Micah was playing with his Cars cast, lining them up and driving them from here to there. He made the usual noises like AAAAHHHHH and GRRRRRRR because cars make all sorts of loud noises like that anyway. But as I was upstairs in the sewing room, I heard him say something completely out of the ordinary for him. He linked syllables. In those syllables, there were the new consonant sounds he'd been practicing. And he said a real word, too.
Obama. My boy said o-ba-ma. (It was really very much like the one with hyphens, with tiny pauses between the syllables.) Now I'm not going all political on you here, because the boy doesn't know anyone in his world named Obama. We don't make it a point to talk about the president in our everyday life, and I highly doubt they do that in school, either. In fact, I think Micah was just putting syllables together and accidentally said a real word. Perfectly. And he said it twice.
The funny thing about apraxia is that the kids have a very hard time remembering how they put things together to make words, so the chances of us hearing o-ba-ma again are slim to none - at least in the near future. But people, we're one step closer to actual and real speech. It'll come someday, and today another stepping stone was laid on that path. Rejoice with me.
That's One Benefit I Just Didn't See Coming
In an effort to be healthier, I joined the ranks of runners. This is big, because I'm not a runner. I never have been. I love walking, but jogging is not my idea of a good time. And sadly, the older I get, the more my bladder has to say about things like running. It tends to scream pretty loudly when I run, if you know what I'm saying.
I have learned a few things since becoming a runner. It's been amazing for the arthritic knees. I haven't been stiff in the morning, I don't have difficulty walking upstairs without pain, and there is no waiting to straighten the legs after prolonged sitting. Love it.
I'm incredibly out of shape. I'm repeating weeks 1 & 2 on my Couch to 5K program because I am waiting to be able to actually run the running parts before moving on. While I'm mostly there, every now and then I have to speed walk a run instead. Small steps, and I'm happy that I'm doing as well as I am.
The screaming bladder is actually a fan of controlled running. Who knew? I also am aware of it's strengthening, which is also a good thing.
I am not the brightest bulb in the pack. After the 5th day of running I finally figured out what the encouraging voice on the iPod means when it says, "you've reached the halfway mark, you can turn around now if you need to." I was all "how stupid does it think I am? If I turn around, it's as long as it is wide. It's not an easy way out." Yeh. 5th run before I realized that not everyone runs on a treadmill and turning around is the way to get home again.
Running. It's been so good for me. I may even be smarter for it in the end.
