Santa Came Early, And Brought a White Sleigh

Our new (used) van came with a remote starter, and it's rather sweet. We had one on our last 2 vans, and have become accustomed to getting into a warmed vehicle in the dead of winter. That is, when the remote works. Sometimes the battery will die on the remote, sometimes the van wiring is on the fritz, sometimes it's just not a full moon or it hasn't snowed for 18 days straight and the remote will choose not to work. Who knows? But the remotes on the previous 2 vans were after-market installed. The one on this van is from factory. It's part of the van. It has been since Day 1. This means that when it's not functioning, we don't assess the situation ourselves, but take it to an authorized dealership for professional help. We did just that, because for whatever reason this van has made up in it's mechanical little mind, the remote starter isn't working.

Sam dropped me off at the grocery while he did the manly thing and took care of the vehicle. We were on a strict time schedule with a parent-teacher meeting staring us down from an hour away. That was why things went horribly, horribly wrong. At just the time we should have been leaving, we got the news that the van was rendered completely undriveable. And by undriveable, I mean that it wouldn't even start.

This seems like bad news, but as we've been down this deeply rutted road with this van before, we know it's more like craptacular news. The main computer chip was taken out, making every other feature that's controlled by it unusable. This includes things like the lights, and door locks, power windows, and turning on. Well, nuts.

And by now I was officially late for the meeting with Micah's teacher. I called to let her know I was running late, and we discussed options with the dealership. They kindly gave us a loaner car until our van was once again capable of getting itself home. So after the meeting at the school, home is where we took the rental car.

Luke was so kind in asking if we needed help carrying groceries in. (Sometimes that boy just needs a pony.) Since he went out to be the best son ever, Micah decided to go as well. (There's very little that Luke does without Micah copying.) And while Luke was all, "Whoa! Where'd you get the car?," Micah was more, "Dude, for me? You shouldn't have!" His grin wasn't going anywhere as he ensconced himself in the driver's seat, checked out shotgun, and searched the back seat for hidden treasures.

He's seen the commercials. You know, the ones where Santa is at the car dealerships. Santa came early as far as Micah was concerned. I didn't know that Micah was so into vehicles. Apparently Santa does know all.

The Canine Uselessness Has Baffled Even Me

We stopped training our dogs quite a number of years ago. I think it was the sheer numbers thing that finally broke me, but I'm pretty sure it also had something to do with the fact that I had to teach myself that the dogs are a business and not just my pets. I learned the hard way that the more time I invest in my dogs, the more attached I get to them. And I just can't be all that attached when they cycle through here every 5 years or so. I love them. I care for them. They live in my home. But I do not invest time in training, daily walks together, or taking them with me to Walmart. The heart can't afford to reach that level of commitment.

I do, however, teach my dogs the basics. House training is of utmost importance, of course. One cannot be soiling my house all willy nilly. It just doesn't sit right with me. Especially when I step in a puddle of wet (or worse) in my bare feet. They also learn to come when they're called (although they have mostly learned that they need to listen to me, and nobody else. Fail.), they learn to stay (which is a loose term for all of us. It simply means "stay in the house" or "stay in the kennel" or "stay near me" whatever the circumstance may be), and they learn to go to their crate when they're told. (Because we always have a dog that's in the puppy stage, or just not bright, they get crated when we go away and at night. If not, they'll shred all the tissues in the bathroom trash and pee on the floor. Every.Single.Time. Crating is essential. Also, if you know a good way to incorporate dog crates into home decor without making it look like you have way too many dog crates, please share.)

Other than that, we pretty much feed the dogs, pet them, and spend a lot of money on them. They do not know how to fetch, can certainly sit and lie down but never on command, know nothing of this "shake" thing, and will only play dead if a larger dog is threatening them. In general, they're useless to society. I did realize only recently that leash training is a very good thing. Carrying a nervously shedding dog around the vet's office will leave you looking rather shaggy yourself. But that's minor, and all dogs can be trained no matter their age. Leash training for everyone! (They'll love that. Heh.)

It was while sitting on the toilet that I was struck with the realization that my dogs are completely and utterly useless to me. I have one who thinks my toilet time is her personal petting time. Every time I sit on the throne, a nose magically appears between my knees. I'm sure it's totally unsanitary to pet a dog, then wipe, but else am I to do? (Oh, is that TMI? Sorry.) When I pulled the last square of toilet paper off the roll, and realized that the spare rolls are on the other end of the bathroom, I had my great epiphany.

WHY did I not train my dogs to fetch? Why did I not take the time to teach them things like, "Get the toilet paper," or "bring the phone," or even "shuffle the laundry." (Hey, one can dream, right?)

Stupid, useless dogs.

The Dilemma of Bedclothes

I'm guessing that Micah gets hot. That's why he walks around in his boxers when he's at home. Otherwise, I have no explanation. Maybe he needs to destress after school? But that doesn't explain the days he's not at school. I guess it's his comfort zone. Each to his own, you know? We make sure he has clothing on when company is here, but if he wants to walk around in his undershorts in his own house, we're alright with that.

But recently, he's been taking his pajamas off at night. We get him ready for bed, put pajamas on him, and send him down the hall to get in bed with one of his brothers. (Yes! We do! He no longer goes to sleep in our bed, only to be carried down the hall sometime after he falls asleep. It's kinda nice, really. Okay, it's REALLY nice. Carrying that boy down the hall at the end of a long and exhausting day, staggering under his dead weight, was becoming a safety hazard.) But somewhere between the time we see his little backside retreating down the hallway, and the time he gets up at the crack of dawn, he loses those pajamas we took time to make him put on.

It took us a while to realize that he was undressing because Luke has taken to sleeping in his skivvies. (What is it with boys wanting to just wear their underwear?) Always wanting to do what his older brother does, of course Micah would sleep in his underwear if that's what the big boys do. Plus, hello! The boy just loves walking around in his boxers.

This is a problem, though, because while Luke can manage to stay under the covers all night to keep warm, Micah does not. Mr. I Thrash and Kick and Toss stays covered for all of 21 minutes before he's happily exposed to cold air. Without those pajamas that we take time to make him don, he gets really cold. And when he's really cold, he wakes up, walks down the hall, and joins us in bed to warm up again. The only thing worse than 70 pounds of thrashing, kicking, and tossing, is an ice cube thrashing, kicking, and tossing in bed with you. Something had to be done.

I bought Luke pajamas. More pajamas. And I got them on sale during a Black Friday sale, too. Problem solved, and money saved. I rock. I also insisted that Luke wear his new pajamas, and we sent the boys upstairs to bed. Annnnd several hours later, a thrashing ice block joined us in bed.

Turns out, both of Micah's big brothers have the same sleeping habit. And Micah will find the one that allows him to dress the way he loves. Or undress, as the case may be. I think I'm going to have to buy more pajamas. I wonder if 14 year old boys love super hero PJs?

Mama's New Toy

This is going to make up for the Christmas decor still being trapped in the attic.

Santa Met Micah

Micah saw Santa at the mall, and was quite enamored. I wasn't surprised, because he is always fascinated with costumed characters from afar. It's when they get close his personal space that he starts to freak out over their proximity and decides that awesome is now more in the camp of freakish. He'll retreat to the safety of Far Away as fast as he can, with a look of pure fear on his face. His thoughts are so visible, it's like a bubble hanging over his head in cartoons. They say, "buddy, you get anywhere near me and one of us is going down."

Each time Micah passed the mall Santa, he'd stop and wave. Unfortunately, he generally did this from the upstairs balcony, and Santa was downstairs. Santa just didn't see him with the Friday evening crowd going on between them. The last time we walked by on the way out of the mall, Micah stood at the railing and yelled a greeting (it sounded like "AAAAAAHHHHHHH") and was very loud. Because it's Micah, it was loud enough to fill the upstairs and downstairs mall space, swirl around a Friday evening crowd of shoppers, and grab the attention of Santa himself. Santa looked up to see Micah frantically waving from the balcony, and waved back.

Santa rocks.

So I knew that I had to take Micah to see Santa. We took the escalator downstairs, and it practically dumped us out in Santa's workshop. Micah grabbed my hand in both of his and led me directly to the end of the line. He oh-so-patiently waited his turn while Santa held a baby that was quite fascinated with his very real white beard. Santa's helpers took their time getting the best photos of the interaction. And Micah waited, eager with excitement.

Honestly, I was surprised. Not since Disney has Micah been excited to meet someone dressed up. He loves them, mind you, and is quite fascinated with them, but only from a distance. That personal space thing he wants from them is about the size of a 10' radius. Space is good.

When it was Micah's turn to visit with Santa, he practically ran up to the jolly old elf. Thank goodness he decided that he was a bit big to sit on Santa's lap, because at 70 pounds he'd have thrown the geriatric elf's back out lifting him. Santa asked Micah what he wanted for Christmas, and Micah suddenly got shy. It's that I Can't Talk thing kicking in. I mean, what's a nonverbal kid going to do when someone asks them a question that they can't answer? It's more polite to simply drop your eyes and pretend you don't know what to say than to stare defiantly into someone's eyes and not say a word. Even kids with mental handicaps know this. Micah glanced over at me for some help, and I signed "book" since it would be something easily picked up by a non-signer. Micah told Santa that he would like a book. Santa now knew that he was dealing with a nonverbal child, and bless his heart, he did not stop talking to Micah.

I was utterly amazed at the level of patience and genuine affection the mall Santa showed each child. It was Black Friday, after all, and I'm sure he had to be completely exhausted. And tired of kids. And their parents. I thanked Santa as we were leaving, and I have never heard a more sincere answer. "It was my pleasure, ma'am."

I cried as I walked through the mall, holding my son's hand.

The Joy of Holiday Traditions

I love holidays. Most people do. We had traditions growing up that just were, like any other family. Since dad was a dairy farmer, we could not open gifts on Christmas morning until after he'd milked the cows, cleaned up, and ate breakfast. (When you're up at 4AM and have been working like a farmer for 4 hours, you deserve to eat a hot breakfast before allowing kids to open gifts. And if you're a kid and have been waiting for hours to open presents, what's breakfast? Plus, we had morning chores to do anyway. Animals need to eat, and bottle fed calves can't fend for themselves.)

On New Year's Day, our family crowded around Grandma's teensy dinner table (all 18 of us) and grossly underappreciated the best home cooking in the world before the cousins would grab the sleds and head to the Back 40. The hill in the cow pasture is the bomb diggity for sledding. And it was tradition that mom would have homemade (with milk!) hot chocolate for us when we got back, complete with toast to dip in it.

Traditions are what makes memories awesome, and they don't even have to be fancy. But it was just today that I realized I have a holiday tradition that most people would completely scoff at. In fact, if you're a neat freak, you'll probably want to just click out now and go find something else to read.

When we built this house 6 years ago, we started hosting all holidays. Mom opened her empty rooms into a Bed & Breakfast after the kids married away, and generally had guests on holidays, so it made sense for someone else to host. Plus, we wanted to use our new home to it's fullest. Win-win. So now every Thanksgiving, Christmas, & Easter, we're converged upon, chaos reigns, the kids have a grand old time, and a fairly decent holiday is had by all.

So while we'll sit around the dinner table long after we've finished eating, nobody does much to clean up. Chatting is where it's at. I have learned from experience that once someone gets up, adults seem to remember that they have lives they need to get back to. I'll turn down offers to help with dishes, because I'd prefer everyone just sit and visit. So when everyone leaves, the mess is scattered everywhere.

The aftermath of a holiday kinda leaves us exhausted. A day of cleaning and cooking in preparation just doesn't inspire me to get right on the dishes when I finally have a chance to relax. I'll neatly stack the plates and organize the glassware on the counter next to the sink, store the leftovers, and clean out the pots on the stove. But after that, I wait until morning to tackle the rest.

I'm greeted with a huge mess upon waking, but todayI realized that this is my holiday tradition. Waking up to dirty dishes stacked 20 high, limited silverware in the drawer, and messy countertops kinda makes me happy. (I didn't say it made sense, I said it's my tradition.) As I begin Round 1 with the dishwasher, I think of the good time we had with family and friends. As I wipe counters and tables, I think of how grateful I am to have family close by. Cleaning post-holiday gives me more time to revel in the holiday mood, and I have decided that I love waking up to a mess in the kitchen. It means that we have plenty of food to eat, lots of people to share with, and a home to entertain in.

Holiday traditions are awesome, as are dirty dishes in a messy kitchen.

The Pain of Family Photos

If you ask my kids, they'd tell you that formal photos are the worst things they'll ever be subjected to. I find this highly amusing, because I love the informal. A photo where each kid can be themselves is the best. I don't pose much more than can you stand there? Like this one:

I asked the kids to stand on the bench, and they did their own thing from there. Mostly, that was looking as grumpy as they could. They were not happy to comply that day. You know, like any other day that I ask for compliance.

There was this day, too.

While the general mood was a bit happier, there is still the "do we have to" just under the surface. Still, a rather good picture. I'm kinda fond of it.

But to point out a theme, I'll show you this as well.

While this picture had the potential to be awesome, it's just not. The busyness of it makes my eyes bleed. Mental note: pictures in the woods in the fall aren't the best. But I'm sure anyone with any kind of observant eye will notice who the most uncooperative one is in all the above photos. Micah has that firmly in his corner. We have learned a long time ago that if 3 of the 4 kids are kinda looking at the camera, it's as good as it's going to get. And if Micah is looking, it's probably not a good thing.

So imagine my over the top kind of excitement when mom announced she wanted family pictures in honor of the fact that my brother is visiting in his once-per-decade trip. Plus, it takes the full month of November to coordinate a time that suits everyone for Thanksgiving dinner. How on earth would we get together for pictures?

So here's how things went down. My dad is out of town on a missions trip this week, so he's already asked to be Photoshopped in. Except that he doesn't know what Photoshop means, he just said cut and paste. And he meant literally, because he's so old-school he's somewhere in the 1972 era of computers and has no idea that it's a real can-do kind of feature. I told him that it was.

Sam is working daylight this week, and my brother-in-law is working mids. This means that one is leaving for work as the other is getting home, so one of them just won't be in the picture. Two of the family are already out, and we haven't even tried sitting for a photo shoot yet. Things are going swimmingly, no?

So after Thanksgiving dinner, we all rolled into the living room and arranged ourselves so that we'd fit in a viewfinder from across the room. There were 4 cameras involved, and self timers, and a lot of praying that the entire family was actually in the picture. And because that wasn't already fun enough, Micah decided he wanted nothing to do with it. He stood back and laughed at us, in his head.

My camera cut off one side, then the other. It seems that my only brother and I cannot be seen in the same photo together. Micah tried taking the picture instead of allowing it to just take care of things itself, but since he generally gets ceiling fan blades in most of his shots, we figured he wouldn't get many of the family included. Halfway through, he chose to join us, but his poses were all his own creating. He's Micah, what else would you expect?

In the end, we decided to share photos between the 4 of us, because surely someone could photoshop things together to get all the family in one place at one time.

(This awesome photo? Not only are dad and the BIL missing, but Micah was making fun of us somewhere near the camera, and Sam and I apparently weren't cool enough to be in that particular shot.)

I'd like to think we'll have better luck with a family photo the next time my brother is in, but in another decade, we'll have kids in college. Or married.

Egads.

I think I'll go curl up in a corner and cry for a while.

It's Another Haircut For The History Books

Micah is not known for sitting for haircuts. In the past, we've gotten all kinds of creative in trying to get the job done. The arm and leg lock was given up when he became stronger than I am, so we learned that if we sat him on a stool he'd wiggle less for fear of falling off. Still there was a lot of wiggle room.

We gave him a mirror to watch himself (the boy is vain), and toys to play with, and a lollipop to occupy his mouth so he didn't scream (that was a fail - it became covered in hair in less than a third of a second), and let him play in a sink full of water and bubbles. Still, he screamed and thrashed and was as uncooperative as a little boy possibly could be. We did cuts at home between cuts at the salon so that neither I nor the beautician would have to deal with him on a regular basis.

The last time he had a haircut was at the salon. He sat in the chair, told me to go sit in the waiting area, and chatted with his stylist like the regular customer that he is. We were thoroughly amazed. But we weren't holding our breath for a repeat performance, because Micah doesn't work like that. Except he did, because Micah likes to mess with us.

Daddy was getting a haircut, and afterward, Micah sat in the chair and insisted that he wanted the cape. Note: he hates the cape. He also was pretty adamant that he wanted me to cut his hair, so I started small, like trimming up at his neckline and cutting back his sideburn growth. And he sat through it, laughing and (dare I say it?) enjoying it. So I moved on, giving him a buzz cut. (It's what we always do, because the closer you shave the head the longer you can let it grow between trauma-inducing cuts.) And he was sitting there like a pro.

And then it happened. The guard came off the blade as I was heading up and over the top of his head. Now, at the very top, is a shiny spot of baldness. It's awesome in ways you can't describe, and enhanced by the fact that the clippers suddenly needed oil and we were fresh out. So now I had no guard, and blades that were leaving spots of uncut hair while trimming all around it. The boy now looks rather like a chemo patient, which is not even awesome to joke about.

Have I mentioned that my brother is coming to visit for the first time in years, and mom wanted family pictures? *sigh*

It Seems I Have Nothing Else To Take Pictures of Lately

Optimism Is Fighting Reality

We refinanced the mortgage recently to get a super awesome interest rate, and while we were re-doing things we took a little money out to build the garage, add the front porch, put some pretty trim in the kitchen, and get the basement that "finished" status it's been longing for. For the record, it's not nearly as much money as you'd think it would be. We are King and Queen of Do-It-Yourself, and plan to do all this on a budget that makes even other Do-It-Yourselfers scoff in disbelief. Maybe we're living in delusion, but at least we're happy here. Mostly because we haven't started any of these fun Do-It-Yourself projects yet, so the happy hasn't been tampered with yet.

The garage is taking the lion's share of our funds, of course. And we are very excited about this addition, because it means we'll be done scraping ice off windshields in winter. There will be no more preheating the van just so our hands won't freeze fast to the wheel. It will be glorious. Truly.

For those of you who do not live here in The Vortex of Perpetual Winter, I'm going to have to point out that this garage will not happen until next spring. While we would absolutely love to have this be the winter that we do not deal with ice on windows, it is way too late in the season to begin a building project. The moment we dig a hole for a foundation, two feet of snow will fill it up. We will never get shingles to adhere in sub-zero temperatures. We do not build things in winter.

So because we are putting off the project, Sam said this will be the winter that isn't. His theory is that because we are not planning to build because of the weather, the weather will not happen. You know what I said?

HAHAHAHAHAHA (gasp) HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Now, I'm an optimist. An incurable one at that. But we've had two significant snowfalls already this season, and it's just now mid-November. I'm very afraid for what this winter will be. Very afraid, indeed. I mean, just tonight we had this:

And obviously, it was so beautiful that I had to run outside and capture it forever in digital image. Ignore the eyesore of the pipeline in the foreground, and focus instead on the gorgeous sunset. It's a beautiful autumn day, is it not? And then a literal 10 minutes later, there was this:

The worst thing about this picture is that one minute before I got my camera, the snow was an actual blizzard condition. Those pines on the far right were very invisible inside the swirling white blast directly from the North Pole. But that is definitely snow, not fog. And it definitely laid on the ground, blanketing things in white. Again. And it's not even mid-November.

So for the record, if this actually is the winter that doesn't happen here in the Vortex of Perpetual Winter, I will happily take the blame for it. And if you live anywhere near me, you can thank me if we get no more snow or nastiness this winter. The optimist in me wants to believe this could happen more than a 3 year old wants to believe in Santa Claus.

The Mixing Of The Holidays

I have always loved Christmas. I love the season of Christmas so much more than the actual day of Christmas, but the actual day is pretty awesome, too. But you have to admit that the entire season is glittering with love and goodwill, and I find that the most awesome thing ever. People are happier, kids are thinking of gifts to give to others instead of focusing on MeMeMe, and the twinkling lights are just purty. The whole month of December is nothing short of magical.

I love the Christmas season. It's my favorite.

And yet, I can't bring myself to decorate for the holiday before Thanksgiving. The day after Thanksgiving is fair game, and for many years I decorated on that very day. Then Luke was born 11 years ago and I found myself in a bit of a dilemma. With a birthday in the holiday season, I didn't want him to get lost. Thankfully his birthday is December 6, and it's so early in the month that I could wait until after his birthday to decorate. It would let him know each year that he's important enough to be celebrated all by himself without fighting for attention in the busiest season of the year.

That lasted about 5 years. Yeh, I'm impressed with myself, too. But when he was old enough to make a decision, he chose to decorate early, too. That's my boy.

But the one steadfast rule you never break is getting the Christmas out before Thanksgiving. It's just taboo, because you don't mix holidays like that. And you know what I say to rules? They're made to be broken. This is the year. It's a week before Thanksgiving, and I've put off decorating for Christmas for the past 2 weeks. Today, I procrastinated no longer. I broke into the stash. I got some feedback about it in the negative form, of course, but that doesn't bother me. The way I figure it, if Mother Nature gives us snowmen before Halloween, I can put up a random tree here or there before Thanksgiving.

Judge if you must, but know that I don't care.

Failure Is His Sport

Micah has been failing hearing tests since birth. It's another of his awesome super powers. When he was a teeny tiny baby of just 2 weeks old, he slept through a test, and still managed to fail. After that, things went dowhill in a hurry. Way back then, he'd purposely sleep in the van on the way so that he could be wide awake for the test. Being wide awake was not a good thing since the test required Micah to be very, very still. Ever try to hold a newborn very, very still? I'm not sure why they have ants in their pants, but keeping a baby from moving should be considered an Olympic sport. We never mastered that sport, either. He failed test after test.

As he got older, he was able to just sit through a test, with instructions to sit still and listen. The sound insulated booth blocked all outside noise, which just made things like your thoughts that much louder. There were zero distractions, and yet Micah failed the tests. He was bored, and fidgeted in his chair, so he didn't even try to listen for quiet sounds. He was given a book to help keep him focused quietly, but he'd get so engrossed in a book that even when I knew he heard something, he'd refuse to look up to acknowledge the sound.

Over the past 8 years, Micah has gotten skilled in failing tests, hence his super power in that aspect. Today was no different. Because of his ear drum fusing itself to his middle ear, an accurate per-ear reading was necessary to determine if that ear was damaged from the fusion or not. This is best done by headphones, which Micah wanted less than nothing to do with. In a fit of generosity, he allowed us to put them on him, but they were off by the time the technician was in her seat on the other side of the window. I knew that forcing him to wear the headphones would result in a pouty fit of noncooperation, and that would be completely unconducive for accurate testing.

I swear, sometimes it's easier dealing with the dogs than it is that boy.

So after simply listening to piped in sounds, and responding rather appropriately most of the time, it was determined that his hearing is the same as it has been, for better or worse. There has been no permanent damage done, and that's a very good thing. But Micah did learn a new way to fail a test today. If you place your hands over your ears, that signals to everyone that you are so over this whole shebang.

Ironically, he loves hearing tests. He cannot wait to get in that sound booth, and dances with glee when it's his turn to go. I think it's because he's that excited to try out new methods to make our heads explode.

Lesson Learned

I walked into the department store with my return, and saw the line was Way Too Long. This did not make me happy, knowing that it would not be a quick and easy in-and-out, but as I was walking toward the back of the line I saw the other register only had one person there, and she was checking out. Hello! I'll get in line behind her instead of 20 people deep in the other line! But as I rushed to stand behind her (and allowed 3 other people to get in line ahead of me in the Longest Line Ever) I saw the reason everyone was rushing to get in the other lane. The sign said, "I'm Sorry This Register Is Closed. Please Go To Aisle 2 For Assistance." Well, crap.

So I trudged to the back of the line at Register 2, and 10 minutes into waiting I saw a line formed at Register 1. Seriously? They're really open? Now I'm doubly ticked, because I could have completed the return and been on my way long ago had I stayed in line behind Lady #1. Both lines were equally long at this point, though, so I stayed in Line #2. And waited patiently as it inched forward.

It was the slowest line ever, and Line 1 didn't seem to be moving any faster, but my turn finally came and I plunked my return on the counter along with the receipt. "Oh, I'm sorry, returns must be taken care of at Register 1." But it said that line was closed I said rather unkindly as me and my steaming ears headed to the back of Super Duper Long Line #1.

So I waited again. And my efforts at reminding myself that I needed to be patient and understanding weren't working. The closed sign was still up, and I decided to point it out to the cashier when I finally got to the head of the line. I would also let them know that I was not very happy to have stood in line twice because of their incompetence.

My turn was next. Just the couple in front of me, and as soon as they were done checking out I could finally make my return. Hurry up already. So close...

"Wow, it's crazy busy in here tonight, isn't it?," they asked the cashier. The manager was there with the young boy, and she answered. "We had 2 employees call off tonight, and the only cashiers I have are these two trainees. They're so overwhelmed. We had two different people in buying $1000 worth of toys for Toys For Tots, and we were so backed up. This is just the aftermath of that."

The couple in front of me wished the cashier and manager both a very nice evening despite the craziness of it as they left. It was finally my turn, and I couldn't be mad any longer. As frustrating as it was for me to have to stand in line for 20 minutes, I didn't have to deal with the non-stop complaining from disgruntled customers for the next several hours. And this kid was a trainee. Egads, he needed some positive at this point. And as I just learned a very valuable lesson, I figured I'd put it into practice and be overly kind to the poor cashier just like I was shown by the thoughtful couple in front of me.

Dyson, Terrifying Dogs Since 2008

We have a busy home here, and it's filled with dogs. We love dogs, but we do not love their hair. Weirdly, I do not love hairless dogs, so that's not even an option. To combat the rolling balls of hair, Dyson and I have teamed up to become a force to be reckoned with. I'll bet my Dyson has seen more action in a year than most other Dysons will in a lifetime. I scoff at those people who buy a vacuum to dust the drapes every 6 months. That's not us.

We vacuum daily around here. That's an average, of course. Some days I vacuum more than once, although on those days, you'd never know it. On days that I vacuum twice, it's because we have a dog with what could be a a shedding gene on steriods hopped up on caffeine and fueled with sugar.The hair is overwhelming. O.Ver.Whel.Ming. (And the vet was as baffled by that excessive shedding as I was. Truly, the worst case I've ever seen. And $200 spend on bloodwork to realize it was nothing that could be treated.)

So with all this vacuuming going on, the family knows that Dyson gets a workout. The dogs know that part of life here is getting many free handouts from Micah and dealing with the noise of the vacuum interrupting their scheduled naptimes. And they're chill with this. The one spaniel simply looks at it like, "you again? Just don't suck in an ear while I lay here in your way, mmkay?" The other spaniel and the corgis just make a point to find an out of the way place to wait out the storm and quietly disappear. But the Boston? She's a nutjob.

This dog has lived with us for 3 years, and for 3 years we've vacuumed daily. But instead of just realizing it's part of life here and getting over it, she's allowed the vacuum to become The Things She Obsesses Over, and takes obsessing to all new lows. When I vacuum, she cowers, and the whites of her eyes could glow in a dark corner. But on days that I get the vacuum out, then realize that I need to empty the trash before emptying the vacuum canister before refilling it, and while I'm taking the trash out I get distracted by the dishes in the sink over where the new trash bags are kept, and then answer the phone and check email, and the vacuum sits in the middle of the floor where I left it when I got distracted by life, the dog goes nuts. I forget about that vacuum, even though I'm walking all around it, until I see a quivering mass of black and white looking like she's about to lose all bowel control. The vacuum doesn't even have to be on to terrify her. She's demented.

And her dementia has taken a turn for the worse. We keep the vacuum in the laundry room, which is also the mud room, the room where we keep the dog food, and where we meet guests or UPS deliveries. It's a rather busy room, and in a dog's world, many good things come out of it. But the Boston will no longer excitedly follow me into that room. And if I go in, then turn around and come back out, I find her squatted near the floor looking up at me with eyes full of sheer terror, anticipating the fact that I *could* be wheeling Dyson out with me.

There's so much potential for destroying that dog's life. She's lucky that we like her so much. But in the event that she gets in the trash one too many times, I may be tempted to touch her with the vacuum hose. Shoot, the vacuum won't even need to be plugged in. The dog is a freak.

Saturday Shot

Hugs & Kisses

We now have a reason to keep the lock on the dog crate 24/7. We have learned the hard way that if the lock is not on the crate, puppies will disappear. It's not the mama dog hiding her brood from the spying eyes of the family; it's Micah, taking puppies to play with.

You can't blame him, really. Who doesn't love puppies? (Okay, Becky doesn't, but that's because we have so many, she says. I think she's lying. I prefer to believe that, because otherwise, I may have to disown her. Who doesn't love puppies?) But Micah loves puppies. A lot. And he loves to play with them. He puts them in trucks and drives them around the house, and takes them to the trampoline to play, and puts them way down at the bottom of his bed under the covers. One never knows where a puppy will turn up, and when a puppy is too little to walk on it's own, or even survive without it's mama, one cannot have puppies in random places. We know this from firsthand experience. You can't make this stuff up.

So we have a lock on the dog crate. But the mama had to go outside for a moment and the crate was unlocked while awaiting her return. Micah snagged the opportunity. He loves puppies, he does. So I figured I'd take advantage of the Canon moment.

"Give the puppy a kiss," I told the boy.

That poor, poor puppy. Being eaten alive is not anybody's idea of a good time, and it's evident that puppies tend to feel that way as well. So we tried again. "Give him a hug," I said. "And hold him with two hands."

While Micah is incredibly gentle with puppies, he gets a little too comfortable with them sometimes. It's always best to watch him. And keep the dog crate locked.

Forever On The Lookout

Because the whole world knows that Micah loves Woody, the whole world thinks of him when they see anything Toy Story related. We've been given so much awesomeness because of this, and have appreciated every bit of the awesomeness. Including this:

I swear, we have the best friends ever.

It's All So Confusing

I got a note home from school that Micah did not want to go to lunch. If you know anything about Micah, you'll know that this is as out of character as finding a fish in a tree. Instead of walking (or running excitedly) down the hall, he ended up on the floor in a puddle of melting boy. After making a game out of things, he quickly pulled himself together and proceeded to walk to lunch like it was any normal day.

Except it wasn't, because it's out of character for Micah as finding a fish in a tree. And it happened a second time, too. So now there's a pattern, and now I'm wondering. A lot.

Micah ran out of Sunday School this past weekend without giving anyone a heads' up or asking permission. That, too, is out of character for the boy. When accosted in the hallway, he melted into a puddle of boy onto the carpet. His sobs were heart wrenching. Clearly, something major was wrong. But when Daddy went to console him, he just dried up the tears, went to the restroom, came back and hugged his teacher, and sat in class to continue learning. He was asked if he needed to use the restroom, and he simply cried. Yet, that's what he needed to do.

Are these things related? The school and church things? What do they mean? Why is he melting into uncooperation on the floor?

One of the biggest problems we face with Micah is his lack of speech. In cases like this, it's much like trying to solve a crime with few clues, and witnesses trying to hide evidence. It's all speculation and second guessing. And we can never know if we've found the answer or not, because even if we hit the nail square on the head, Micah can't talk to confirm that. As frustrating as it is for us, it's got to be even more so for Micah.

I've been thinking about the lunch walk a lot. Could he simply want to be a packer instead of a buyer? Can I solve this by giving him a sacked lunch? Is he being bullied? Which I cannot imagine happening, because his aide is always by his side, and she'd tolerate that every bit as good as I would. His aide is his mom-at-school, and worth her weight in platinum. She's a keeper, she is. So I'd think that would be a long shot. So now we're back to speculation. Does he hate his assigned seat all of a sudden? (Do they have assigned seats?) Are his legs tired? Did he want to do another math page before heading to the cafeteria? Your guess is as good as mine, and I'm guessing mine isn't very good.

Generational Communication Fail

The nephew was staying after church to practice drums, and was arranging a ride home. The conversation went mostly like this:


Becky: Are you riding home with us?

Nephew: I don't know. I'll see if Pap can bring me home.

Pap: Sure I can take you, I have a meeting anyway.

Nephew, to Becky: I'm going home with my home skillet, Pap.

Pap: What did you call me?

Nephew: My home skillet.

Pap: What's that?

Becky: It means you're his home boy.

Pap: What's that mean?

Becky: It's just something kids say. I guess it's kinda like a good buddy?

Pap: I'm just walking away now.

Have a Wonderful Fall Weekend

So Many Questions

Buzz was in charge of carrying a very important package yesterday. One has to wonder what goes on inside a child's mind.

Why would Buzz need to transport a tooth?

Why would Micah go to the trouble of having me tape that lost tooth onto Buzz's pack, only to let Buzz lie there while he walked away?

Why was Buzz the chosen one and not Woody?

Mental Notes

Micah came through surgery today with flying colors, because he's a trooper like that, and because ear tubes aren't really considered surgery in most books. It's a rather decided non-event as far as procedures are concerned. But there are some things that the future me will want to remember about this day, so I'm reminding the future me of them right here, right now.

The boy remembers everything. It's probably why he loves elephants so much - both their minds are like steel traps. If something gets in, it just does not get out. And because we're aware that he has that brilliant photographic memory, we were shocked that he was so calm and compliant when we woke him at Way Too Early, threw him in the van in his pajamas, and drove to a hospital. And then shocked again when he happily snuggled up in a Same Day Surgery waiting room chair and played his iPod. But shocked was quite the understatement when he willingly offered his arm for a blood pressure reading and lifted his bangs to take a temperature on his forehead.

Who was this boy, and where was Micah?

But then he waved a cheery goodbye, reached for his coat, and tried to grab our bags, and it dawned on me that in his little mind, he'd twisted things into thinking that if he was a good patient, he wouldn't be "punished" with surgery. Bless his wee heart, life just doesn't work like that. He was unhappy to find this out through fist-hand experience. In fact, he was so disturbed over this fact that he had to visit the restroom, and because I sometimes suck at motherhood, I forgot clean underpants for him and he ended up going commando the rest of the day.

Mental Note #1 - Always pack clean underpants when Micah is going into surgery.

Despite the fact that we caught the ejection of his tubes nearly as soon as they were ejected, and scheduled surgery as quickly afterward as we could, his left ear drum fused to the bone of his middle ear. This has been our fear in not keeping tubes in, and it somehow happened in the 3 weeks he was without. This has the potential to cause permanent hearing damage, and it's yet to be determined if that's the case or not. We were quite vigilant in getting the boy to the ENT for regular check-ups in the past 10 months, so I'm not sure what we'll do in the future to prevent this, but we've got to try something. If we can protect his other ear, we most definitely will.

Mental Note #2 - Make standing appointments at the ENT every 6 weeks if we have to. A pain? Yes. Necessary? Yes. *sigh*

We forgot to tell the nursing staff that Micah gets nauseous on the anesthesia, so they did not give him anti-nausea drugs. He was sick in the recovery room, and we waited forever for him to sleep off the effects. While the extra sleep was so good for him, I know he did not enjoy the queasiness. Poor kiddo.

Mental Note #3 - Anti-nausea drugs are more important than happy juice. But both are worth asking for.

And at the end of a very long day, I will be completely and totally exhausted, and Micah will be well rested and have energy to spare. While I sit trying to focus on words like "24 hour rest" and "clear liquids only," the boy will be dancing to his favorite movie song, literally running circles around the dogs, and eating the 6" sub I brought home from lunch.

Mental Note #4 - I'm getting too old for this.

Because It Involves Micah

Because Micah's ears are resistant to the concept of ear tubes, he's scheduled to get his 9th set installed in the morning. (His ears should be in the "bionic" category at this point, except that he keeps rejecting his hardware.) (And actually, by the time most of you will be reading this, his newest set of tubes will most likely already be a part of him. At least for the next 6 months or so.)

Because loose teeth are a choking hazard when one is sedated and intubated, a visit to the dentist was in order to determine if his tooth was loose enough to warrant being pulled or not. It was.

Because Micah will not sit for the dentist to pull a very loose tooth, the dentist's schedule needed to be coordinated with the ENT and Same Day Surgery so that he could just pop out the tooth under masked anesthesia before the ENT doc could work her magic in Micah's ears.

Because nothing is ever quick and easy, this took days to coordinate, and the insurance was consulted to verify that they would cover the extraction under anesthesia in the hospital. It was. And things were all set up.

Because we spent days coordinating schedules and insurances, and lining up the stars to shine just right, Micah came home today with a missing tooth in his smile. It was wrapped in a plastic bag and taped to his folder. It was cute, if a little grisly.

Because Micah lost a tooth all on his own, I called the dentist to relay the fact that he didn't need to show up at the OR at 6:30 in the AM. He said that was the best news he'd heard all day.

I like spreading good news.