A Modern Day Lazarus

There's one thing you should know about cardiac codes. If you don't intubate, if you don't give the patient immediate medication, if you don't perform CPR, or do a combination of these three things, the patient will die. 99.99999999% of the time.

Clint was the first responder to a code at the hospital on Christmas Eve. The woman was stationed on the plain-old medicine floor, so she wasn't in any serious condition.

When Clint arrived, he asked the nurse (who was in the room with the patient when she coded) what happened. She replied that the patient had merely choked on her pill and quit breathing. She also informed Clint that the patient was DNR/DNI (do not resuscitate/do not intubate) status. Clint checked for a pulse and found none. Since they couldn't follow regular protocol as per the patient's request, Clint and the nurse did the Heimlich, but the patient still laid there like a rag doll with no pulse.

Anesthesia arrived in the room next. Since they couldn't intubate, they didn't have a whole lot of work to do. Clint asked them to check the airway and scope the mouth for a pill or any other article that was blocking the airway. They couldn't find anything. So Clint asked them to start bagging so she could get oxygen to her brain while they tried to figure out how to save her without saving her. So by hand, the anesthesia team pumped the oxygen into her mouth, but she still had no pulse.

The patient began agonal respiration, which is the breathing pattern that occurs just before death. The whole room was full of doctors, nurses, physician's assistants, technicians and they were all watching this woman die.

The patient had been without a pulse for five minutes when the code nurse asked Clint what to tell the chaplain. Clint told her to say that the patient had coded and was probably going to die. (Somehow in the translation of things, however, the message the family received was that the patient had actually died. Oops.)

Everyone in the room waited for the code to end (i.e., the patient to die because she was only milliseconds away from it) when all of a sudden a pulse appeared on the monitor and the patient woke up. Seriously WOKE UP, as if she had just been sleeping all night and it was time to wake up.

She was transferred to ICU, as is routine after a code, but only for monitoring, and she was back on the regular floor by the next morning, eating breakfast in bed with no ill effects whatsoever from her strange encounter with death.

One of the nurses asked Clint if he thought the patient had died and come back to life. Clint said, "She at least had enough time to approach the Pearly Gates and have a chat with Peter." Lazarus, indeed.

Good Finds: Stretch Your Skills

Even though the title bears the word easy, this book is far from easy for me, and I am convinced that I shall be eternally grateful (and shocked!) if I ever surpass this level of piano playing.

However, I seem to be able to play some pieces with a little practice and effort, and they have proved a delight. For example, Beethoven's Sonatina in G major, which is short, playful, and slightly Jane Austen-esque (from the movies) was a quick piece to learn. Also, Joseph Haydn's Sonata in C major, which I'm still working on (it's a lot longer than a sonatina), has been a fun project in my spare time.

The most charming quality of this book of classics is that the classics are in their original form. No editing. No altering. The essence and detail of what the composer penned has been preserved for player and listener to enjoy.

Christmas Day Events

Before getting started ...
Dad took the picture, and Grant didn't want anything to do with a picture, posing, fake smiling, etc. Scotty has recently started clapping over everything. Even sitting on mom's lap is reason to rejoice.

Opening the gifts

Someone was too tired for Christmas. He wanted to eat the ribbon, the tree lights, the ornaments ...
And he even tried to escape at one point ...

But we captured him and made him open a present anyway.

After this little episode (which occurred no more than five minutes after we started), we took compassion on Scotty and let him have a nap. Three hours later, we tried again.Much better.

Grant was so excited for each present. One of his presents was in a milk box. When he got the paper off, I said, "Look, Grant. You got milk!" He replied, "Oh yeah, milk!" He really thought that's what he got. And he really was happy about it. He also thought he got a box of Capri Sun. I wonder if he'll still want milk next year?

Hey Grant, what's in the paper?

A porcupine Webkinz?
Diggin' deep.
Nicole always has such a delicate approach to things. Even presents.
"You've won an all-expense paid trip to Utah!"
(Took a minute to register, but every morning since, the first thing Nicole asks is how many days until Utah.)

Nicole and Grant bought gifts for each other. Next year Scotty will be old enough (sorta) so they can draw names. Nicole bought Grant The Little Engine that Could. It was the first present he opened and he kept saying, "Choo choo book!" He was so happy that he even gave Nicole a love. He got Nicole a "man Barbie," which we comically/disturbingly discovered wears a bracelet. Weird.
Even Dad got a little something. After my Wal-mart order got delayed (bad weather?), I was in a fix to find a substitute, even though I told Clint I wasn't getting him anything. It was just an updated road atlas. But you don't know Clint at all unless you know that he loves a good atlas. He keeps it next to his bed and reads it at night before going to sleep. No kidding.

The Rest of the Day

We read new books.
We started a savings account with this little gem.
It cost way more than it should have, but I'm hoping it will last all the way until grandkids. Maybe?Perhaps Grant will save enough money in it to pay it off one day.

Grant and Nicole both received remote controlled train engines for the tracks we already have. (I didn't want to hear any fighting on Christmas day.) Unfortunately, though, the remotes called for AAA instead of AA batteries, and we only had enough for one of the sets. Maybe the kids knew what would make Christmas special, and they didn't fight at all. They took turns happily. We have since taken down the tree and Dad set up a whole new track.

We registered Grant's new Webkinz online, and the kids spent a fair amount of time playing on the two computers together.
His name is Mohawk.

We're all cleaned up and ready to get in gear for Scotty's birthday, which is in six days. Holy cow!

Merry Christmas 2008

Potty Training Day 2 and So On, But Mostly Day 2

Also, Why Dads Shouldn't Be in Charge of Potty Training

As some of you may know, I have a part-time job that requires me to phone in for a teleconference two times per week. I usually go in my room to talk, Scotty sleeps (or plays in his crib), and Nicole and Grant watch a movie or play on the computer. This is our routine since Clint is rarely home during my meeting time. Due to recent back injuries, however, Clint was home on Day 2 of potty training, which happened to be a meeting day for me. Just minutes before I needed to call in, I checked Grant's underpants. He appeared a little bit wet, I thought, so I told him to go in the bathroom.

I went upstairs, and Clint took over as Chief Potty Trainer. Even with the bedroom door closed, I could hear Grant screaming downstairs. (That's not uncommon, but I knew this time it had to be potty-related.) When my meeting finished, I opened my bedroom door in time to see Clint and Grant coming upstairs, Clint with his stiff back carrying Grant out in front of him with his arms stretched as far as they would go. Grant had a hand towel wrapped around his midsection, and Clint's hands were on it, so as not to touch the surface of Grant's skin. Ha, ha, typical Clint, I thought. Clint reacts the same way if a baby spits up one teaspoon anywhere near him. I didn't have any sympathy for Clint until after he deposited Grant in the bath tub and told me the behind-the-scenes story.

As it goes, after I had left the two of them, Clint told Grant to go potty. Must have been a forceful "told," near as I can tell. So Grant obeyed. All over the floor. When Grant realized that he was standing in his own urine, he freaked out. Screamed. Tried to run for cover. You know, like anyone would behave if they had made the same disgusting discovery. As fate would have it, however, Grant slipped and, as Clint put it, did a belly flop in the red zone. (Ah, so that's why Clint wouldn't touch him. Justified indeed.)

Days 3, 4, 5, whatever have gone by much more smoothly, with the exception of this little incident:Chalk it up to damage sustained by potty training. Everything comes at a price. I'm just wondering if this is going to get fixed before our company arrives on Christmas. Hopefully dads are better at home repairs than they are at potty training.

Misunderstood

No one appreciates how hard it is to eat your lunch with only one hand and simultaneously cover your eyes with the other.

Rich

Nicole has been saving up money for a new pair of sunglasses. She had five one dollar bills in her wallet when she said to me, "Mom, I'm rich."

"You are now, but you won't be after you spend your five dollars on sunglasses," I told her.

"Yes, I will. I'll always be rich ... rich with family," she responded.

Outsmarted by a six-year-old.

I Had a Dream It All Melted

Pity Party Hiatus

The snow has temporarily quit, probably because there's no water left in the ocean. I've done enough complaining for you to know that I have spent every free minute (read Scotty's asleep and Grant's off the toilet) for the past two days shoveling snow. So this afternoon, before I opened the garage door to start Round 2, I said a little prayer, "Please give me the strength to finish."

Notice I didn't ask for the snow to disappear, although that would have been the smart thing to do. So, out I went ... sore and tired, but determined. We had at least another fresh eight inches since the morning. It was like I had never shoveled at all. But if you looked around at the houses where no one had completed a morning shift, you would see that they were buried in two feet. Eight inches, nonetheless, is not fun. And to be honest, I am running out of places to put it. I need someone to take it away, like they do in Minnesota. Big trucks haul the snow off the roads and to some snow dump, otherwise the snow would stay piled on the roads until ... I don't know, June?

About half-way through clearing the driveway, I saw my next door neighbor pull into his driveway with his truck. I thought he was nuts to be driving about in this weather. Less than five minutes later, he was in my driveway with his brand new snow plow. I couldn't believe it. I mean, I could because he's a nice guy. But it was just one of those times when you don't expect something really great and sweet and amazing to happen to you ... but then it does, and it feels like a miracle.

It's nice to know that God answers prayers, and that he does it by convincing my neighbors to plow my driveway. I needed that today.

Hatred

It doesn't seem right that the weather forecasts happen to be accurate today. It has been snowing for more than 24 hours straight, and I can no longer open my back door without snow falling inside. I have never seen so much snow in my entire life. Since I grew up in Utah, that's saying a lot. Nicole said to me this morning, "Mom, why do you keep shoveling? Don't you know that it's going to keep snowing? Just wait until it quits." I'm thinking I'm just going to wait until it melts.

Throughout all of the snow, I have found one positive point. (I know, shocking.) It's not that the kids are having so much fun, because they are not. The snow is so deep that Nicole would have to grow three feet in the next hour if she wanted to play in the yard. The only good that has come of it at all is that I have been able to visit with all of my neighbors -- even the hermits.

If this weren't my last battle with snow ever, I would be crying. The end is near, the end is so very near. Oh, and by the way, no city is so cool that I would ever want to endure snow to live there. No one ever had to shovel four feet of heat in one day or miss work because they couldn't get their car out of the driveway due to face-melting temperatures. Heat beats snow any day. Arizona, save me!

Not Funny

In a world where shoveling snow is traditionally considered "a man's job," I am quite content to bake cookies and prepare hot cocoa while my husband fulfills his manly duties. Unfortunately, Clint's back problem seems to have hit at a most untimely phase in our lives.

I'm not much of a weather forecast follower, so I'm not sure exactly how many inches have trespassed on our driveway and sidewalks today. But if I had to guess, I'd say it's somewhere in the ballpark of 100 to 2000 inches, which gives me approximately a million reasons to find a way to make living in Arizona work. You know, pretty much at all costs. Seriously, if I had been digging dirt instead of snow with my shovel, I could have dug a hole to China (by the way, I tried that in my backyard when I was a kid, and it is so much harder than it sounds). The mounds of snow piled next to the driveway are so high that I am not sure if I can throw snow on top of them anymore. The most depressing thing about it all is that Clint told me that we're supposed to get another foot of snow overnight. Clint is much more of a weather forecast follower than I am, although he frequently mumbles that "meteorologists" have better luck guessing than predicting.

But I digress. What I wanted to tell you was that when one shovels snow for four hours in one day (yes, it's true), one finds a lot of time to think. Here's what I came up with (don't get excited, it's not going to give me a patent, a Nobel prize, or a million bucks):

• When you're looking for a house with a three car garage, you don't calculate all of the extra driveway space that will need to be shoveled.
• The snow in the middle of the driveway is harder to clear.
• Your third time clearing the driveway in eight hours takes longer than the first time.
• You wonder where the zealous boy scouts who need a quick buck are hiding.
• The worst part of the driveway to shovel is the part that was shoveled clear twenty minutes prior, but that now has a fresh two inches atop.
• The best part to shovel is the last snowflake.
• My hands are as sore as my back.
• People who pray for a white Christmas are not the same people who have to shovel the snow.
• Looks like we're going to have a white Christmas this year. I would trade it all for one mature palm tree.
• People who don't drive a truck with a lift and four wheel drive will not be able to leave our neighborhood tomorrow (not that they would want to).
• Before Clint goes to work tomorrow at 5:00 a.m., I am going to have to shovel the driveway again so that his truck doesn't pack the snow down.
• I have lifted the equivalent of six gun safes today, one shovel full at a time.
• Clint's back better heal quickly because, at this rate, I'm going to be the one in bed with a bad back, and Clint will have to take over outside.

After all of the shoveling, I decided that it would have been easier to leave the snow, wait for it to melt on its own, and just remain homebound until such a day arrives.

For Better or For Worse

Yesterday was our anniversary (eight years already). And while we didn't have any plans per se, this was definitely NOT how I thought it might unfold.

Part I
Note to self: Hire professionals
For starts, Clint bought his own gift (a gigantic gun safe), which he insisted on moving from the truck to our house all by his own strength. (Way to go He-Man!) That was Saturday. Oh, and before I forget, don't feel bad for me. The gun safe is for us to share. I can store any valuables in it that I want to. How did he know it was exactly what I wanted this year? I think my raised eyebrows gave me away, so later Saturday night (before he did any heavy lifting/pushing/shoving), he bought me a gift card to Panda Express (that's more like it). Anyway, back to the story ... Clint had to work all day Sunday. He woke up a little sore, but as the day went on, he found it difficult to sit, climb stairs, and eventually even tie his shoe. He tried to cover up when he got home Sunday night, but I'm a super sleuther, so I detected the problem straightaway. By Monday morning, just in time for our anniversary, the situation has deteriorated to this:
That's a genuine smile on his face, there. He's not smiling because it hurts so bad. He's smiling because when Nicole saw him, she said, "Dad, quit walking like an animal!"

Part II
No Potty Train, No!
Friday night, I decided that Saturday was potting training day. I told Grant, and he replied, "No potty train, no! Diapers"! I didn't know he even knew what potty train meant. I don't know why I decided it was time. I just did. Completely random, arbitrary, and nonsensical. But I'm stubborn, and once I say we're doing something (losing the bottle, binkie, crib ... yadda yadda), it's lost. Forever.

But once I thought through the training, I decided it would be best to postpone it to Monday because I didn't want to take Grant to church on Day 2 of potty training. I figured Day 7 would likely be more successful, and that everyone would thank me later. When I made the move to Monday, I somehow overlooked the anniversary deal. So, even though it was our anniversary, and even though Clint couldn't walk, we followed through on potty training. Grant spent the entire day (7 a.m. to 9 p.m.) like this:He refused to wear the underpants. I don't buy cool ones. He gets the old-fashioned, thickly padded white ones that his sister used. And I don't even care or feel bad. The way I look at it, he's lucky to have a toilet. He could be stuck with a bush in Africa (which he would probably think was more fun, but life's not fair).

So, report card time. Day 1 stats: three times in the toilet, one time on the chair. I'm adequately satisfied. Oh, and for the record, we spent somewhere around two hours in the bathroom today. Grant screamed for most of it. I think he was saying something like, "Done! Potty! No! Potty! Aaaagghhhh!" All in all, and I can't believe I'm saying this, the potty training was kind of fun. I'm looking forward to trying again today. I hope I have the same sentiments tomorrow.

Part III
53
That's how many degrees warmer it is in Phoenix than it is here. And I don't mean that we're 50 and Phoenix is 103. We are freezing here! Our roads are solid ice, our heater runs nonstop, and even Clint has mentioned that the house feels cold. It's so cold, in fact, that when I walked into my laundry room this morning to start on my weekend pile (yes, I took the weekend off, and I sure paid the price for it today!), I was not even surprised that our water pipes had frozen.
Ugh! Clint suggested we set up our space heater in the room, and voila, two hours later, I had running water again. The plumbers or "pipe specialists" are coming today to treat the pipes so that we don't have breakage next time. I haven't watched the news in weeks, but I hear pipes have been breaking all over the valley, and these fixer-uppers are swamped. Job security, I say. I also say thank heaven that I will never have this problem in my own warm and toasty house in Arizona!

We watched our wedding video yesterday. We always do that on our annivesary. Nicole swears she had never seen it before, but I distinctly remember that she and Grant watched it at least five times last year. I love our video. It always reminds me how excited we were to get married, and it makes it feel like it happened just yesterday. Clint said after the video, "It really has been a great eight years." I couldn't agree more.

Good Finds: Based on a Masterpiece

The Three questions by Jon Muth is based on a short story by Leo Tolstoy's work of the same title. In it you find a boy who is striving to be a good person. He seeks answers to questions that he thinks will help him accomplish his goal. He asks a wise turtle ...

1. When is the best time to do things?
2. Who is the most important?
3. What is the right thing to do?

The turtle doesn't give the boy the answers straightaway, but through a series of his own actions, the boy finds the answers to his puzzling questions. The Three Questions is a very sweet tale that should be read often by children, and daily by adults.

No Room at the Inn, and Inequality

Clint finished two months straight in the ICU, where all 49 beds were full nearly every day and night. Whenever a new patient came in from the ER and needed a bed in the ICU, the most stable ICU patient was moved to a regular floor. Makes this cartoon seem not so funny.
Only it's still kinda funny. Unless you're the patient who needs an ICU bed. But then nothing really is funny at that point. In fact, I was just thinking the other day about how many prospective doctors write in their applications to medical school, "I want to be a doctor because I want to help people," or some variation of that. Very few of them probably think about all of the people they will have to watch die. It's a part of doctorhood that we don't think about very often. And while doctors have many success stories, and save so many, many people who should die, they also have many sad stories.

On Clint's last week in the ICU, he had a 41-year-old dad die from complications related to Lupus. The patient's wife and teenage daughter were inconsolable. The daughter couldn't even bring herself to enter the room and say goodbye to her dad. It's not fair what some people have to endure.

Fresh Out of Rose-Colored Glasses

One thing you have to know about Nicole is that she experiences life unfiltered. (I don't know if that's a good thing or not -- I'll let you know in 20 years.) Everything for her is matter-of-fact, truthful, scientific, real and honest.

For example, when she learned our friends were going to butcher their turkey for Thanksgiving, she wanted to be there. She wanted every gory detail of exactly what takes place. The how, the why, the "oh my heck" of it all. And our friends so kindly and unwillingly obliged. (They were afraid to traumatize Nicole for life. But Nicole isn't a trauma kind of person. She's an "oh, so that's how it works" kind of person.)

I wanted to capture Nicole's face as she learned about how we get our food. It is part of life, after all, even if some people prefer to buy their chicken at the grocery store, prepackaged and flash-frozen, never giving it a thought as to who had to take the life of the animal and clean it all up to make it presentable for sale. (Was that my longest sentence ever? Oh, and by the way, that's how I get my chicken; and I never think about the person who prepared it for me. I just look for a sale price.)

As it turns out, we missed the turkey chop, but arrived in time for the rooster. The kids made friends with it first. That's an important first step. Fraternize with the sacrifice -- that way you feel less bad watching the blood drain out of its head.
Even though I had given Nicole the play-by-play in advance (three times), the shock of seeing an animal beheaded in real life suddenly takes on new meaning.
She's a strong-willed girl, and so she didn't faint when the blood dripped all over the chopping block and eventually onto the dirt beneath. But I'm pretty sure she muttered an, "Eew, gross."
Then they skinned it and Nicole said, "So that's what we eat?" Yep. Now how about some chicken noodle soup with Henry? Just kidding. I don't know the name of the rooster. But I think Henry would make a fine rooster name.

In hindsight, I think Nicole fared well. No weak stomach, nightmares or meat strikes. If anything, I think she was slightly disappointed that the chicken didn't run amok headless all over the yard. (Violent and funny.) Next time, perhaps.

King Kong

Nicole begged to put the tree up. I stalled for two weeks before I got sick of hearing myself say "no." I knew that Scotty would LOVE the tree, and everything that comes with it.

I hate it when I'm right.
We call him King Kong because he destroys our train tracks. Look at him. He really is like the giant smashing the little city below.

We tried this little getup, which lasted all of five minutes before he leaned so far over the edge to reach the train that he tipped out of his seat head first (thirty seconds after this photo was taken).

I try to keep him in his high chair or on my hip when we're downstairs, but sometimes I just feel so bad for him. So I let him crawl around until he gets into too much trouble.
(Never takes long.)

News of the Kids

Nicole's ReadathonI kid you not, Nicole, of her own devices and volition, read this entire book today. One hundred ninety-four pages. In one sitting. Because she wanted to. Now I know of a surety that this is my daughter. (PS: Thanks Aunt Shari for the book. I never dreamed it would be put to such good use.)


Scotty's New Pastime
Notice the bib is off. His hands stayed blue for 24 hours after this picture was taken. I don't yet know the fate of the shirt. (It's sitting in the washtub awaiting treatment.) Scotty cares about none of this, so long as he gets another sucker.


More Missing Items

I looked everywhere for Grant's shoes the other day. For the sake of getting out of the house almost on time, I found a different pair for him to wear. The next morning, I opened the pantry to this:
You know I didn't put them there because I would have put the left shoe on the left side. Hmm, if not me, then who? We may never know.

Good Finds: Fish You Never Knew Existed

And, fish, I might add, that you would be happy to know spend most of their lives far away from human contact (like the angler fish). I said most of their lives. Watch the movie if you want to know when you might come in contact with some of them.

Here's one snippet I found on youtube, which is one of my new resources for school videos. (For example, how do bees make honey? It's on youtube!)

The name of the movie is Blue Planet: Deep Ocean. It was produced by the BBC, but you can buy it through the Discovery Channel store, or you can probably check it out from your library. If they don't own a copy, you can submit a purchase request, and they might buy it for you!

Useless trivia for the day: More people have traveled to space than have traveled to the bottom of the ocean floor.

Learn all sorts of other useless, but interesting trivia, by watching this short documentary that cost over $10 million and five years to produce. It truly takes you somewhere you will never be able to go (nor would you want to, but that's entirely beside the point).

It's Hard to Say "Sorry"

I sent Nicole to her room for good cause. It doesn't happen often. In fact, it happens like two times a year or less. She came out after a while, stood next to me, but with her back facing me, and pretended like she was enjoying looking at the wall. I teased her for a bit before she started giggling. Then I invited her to a game of chess. While we were setting up our pieces, here is what we said:

Nicole: "You need to say 'Sorry.'"
Me: "So do you."
Nicole: "You first."
Me: "Sorry."
Nicole: "Sorry." (smile)
Me: "Are we friends again?"
Nicole: "Mom!" (means "yes")

Almost Formula Free

Scotty's been drinking half-formula, half whole milk for a couple of weeks now, and I finally ran out of our big cans of formula. Not wanting anything wasted, I broke into his emergency kit and said oohs and ahhs each time I pulled something out. Clint was standing next to me, and said to Scotty who was in his arms, "Your mama has lost it."

What the heck is he talking about? Clothes and diapers that are too small for my fatso ... little packages of formula next to a bottle of water for mixing ... plastic containers of baby food ... all for my Scotty in case of a terrible tragedy. If it weren't for my practical side, I'd memoralize it in a shadow box frame above his crib. Just kidding, but it really was so cute. And kinda sad.

He had (*sniffle*) one bag for each day, to equal enough nourishment for 72 hours. Now I'm going to have to fill the bags with big kid things, like soup and crackers and suckers.

It was fun while it lasted.

More Important than Laundry

My mom is famous for saying, "Babies don't keep." The phrase must come from this poem, which I have read, for the first time in its entirety, just this week. I was surprised to learn that its title was "Song for a Fifth Child."

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
hang out the washing and butter the bread,
sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew
and out in the yard there's a hullabaloo
but I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

I can picture a mother sitting upstairs, tickling her baby and squeezing it tight while the world around her continues to spin and toil. I love how she loved her fifth baby as if it were her first and only.

So if you come over and happen to walk past my ironing pile that hasn't been cleared in a month, you'll know what I've been doing instead.

Full of Thanks

When it comes to being thankful, nothing is a small deal. This year I am especially blessed with things that I haven't always had in the past ...

healthy children
a house
a husband with a paying job
homeschool
gasoline less than $2/gallon (never thought I'd see that again as long as I lived)

Never, Never, Never, Never, Never, Never, Never

grow up.

Good Finds: A Good Moral, And It's Short!

The Treasure by Uri Schulevitz is about a man who travels far from home to follow a dream.

It's one of those children's books that has a basic storyline for the kids, and a deeper meaning for adults. It actually reminded me of when I moved away from home to go to college. Read it; you might even cry.

Sour Grapes

One benefit to homeschooling is that I learn things with Nicole that I probably should have learned by my age, like the origin of the phrase "sour grapes." Turns out it's from one of Aesop's fables ...

One hot summer day, a fox was strolling along when he noticed a bunch of juicy grapes, just turning ripe, hanging on a vine high above. "Mmm, that's just the thing to take care of my thirst," said the fox. He trotted back a few steps, then ran forward and jumped, but he missed the grapes. He turned around and tried again. "One, two, three, go," he said, and he leaped with all his might. But again he missed the grapes.

Again and again he tried, but at last he gave up. And he walked away with his nose in the air, saying, "I didn't want those old grapes anyway. I'm sure they are sour."

And there you have it. Those who can't have what they want sometimes tell themselves that what they want is no good anyway. And sometimes they degrade the thing that they want to make themselves feel better. That's sour grapes.

This Baby Will Self-Destruct in Five Seconds

Remember Inspector Gadget, the cartoon, not the movie? I always loved that cartoon and how clueless he was, and how Penny always saved the day. And if I remember correctly, IG received his spy messages that self-destructed five seconds after he read them. Well, if Scotty were an inanimate object, he'd be a top secret spy message. He cannot be left alone for a millisecond without finding something potentially deadly. To spare my nerves a bit, my mom recommended I barricade the stairs so that Scotty could roam mostly free downstairs. I think it was the fact that the stairs had a large bench blocking them that attracted Scotty to the challenge in the first place. I heard him give a high-pitched yelp because he was stuck. (Are you kidding me? Find something else to do!) I watched him, to see if he could break free and climb the stairs. When he saw the camera, he giggled and found a burst of adrenaline that helped him break through. Ten months old. I think Scott will make a smooth transition to toddlerhood.

Never Too Young

To become computer-literate.
Or to get into trouble.

Good Finds: How Did I Ever Live Without This Book?

I am ashamed to admit that even though I played with our family nutcracker every Christmas season throughout my childhood, I had never before read the story of The Nutcracker. I had simply passed it off as a stupid ballet that I would never like. And it may very well turn out to be just that, but if it does, at least I'll have an educated opinion. It was this book that prompted me to buy the tickets to The Nutcracker symphony and ballet next month. If the real thing is as good as the book, then we're in for a treat.

So go get it. You don't even have to read it. Reserve an evening for yourself to sit on your sofa with a mug of cocoa, turn the lights off and light a candle or two, and enjoy this book as it is read by the soothing voice of a British actress, with Tchaikovsky's music played by the London Symphony Orchestra at all of the right moments.

Then share it with your kids the next day.

November, And A Life Lesson

by Alice Cary, 1820-1871

The leaves are fading and falling,
The winds are rough and wild,
The birds have ceased their calling,
But let me tell you, my child,
Though day by day, as it closes,
Doth darker and colder grow,
The roots of the bright red roses
Will keep alive in the snow.
And when the winter is over,
The boughs will get new leaves,
The quail come back to the clover,
And the swallow back to the eaves.
The robin will wear on his bosom
A vest that is bright and new,
And the loveliest way-side blossom
Will shine with the sun and dew.
The leaves to-day are whirling,
The brooks are dry and dumb,
But let me tell you, my darling,
The spring will be sure to come.
There must be rough, cold weather,
And winds and rains so wild;
Not all good things together
Come to us here, my child.
So, when some dear joy loses
Its beauteous summer glow,
Think how the roots of the roses
Are kept alive in the snow.

Our Status

Scotty needs braces.Or give him twenty years and he can replace David Letterman.

Grant needs a skin graft (or a face transplant). It started with two tiny red dots that mutated into a rash that is now overtaking his face. Then he fell out of the shopping cart at Wal-mart and hit both sides of his face on two magazine racks. (Ouch!) Fortunately no stitches or black eyes. Just lots of rubber-necking, but what else is new? One lady was on the aisle next to us, and when she heard the commotion, she really went out of her way to see what was going on. I thought she was so rude, and then when I carried Grant back to the car, she was loading up her groceries in the car next to us. I almost told her that she needed to cultivate better manners. But then I second-thought it and decided that would not be my best performance of manners, either. Plus I'm trying to teach Nicole that anyone can return evil for evil, but a good person returns good for evil (C. S. Lewis said that in Mere Christianity). So far, Nicole does a better job implementing my lessons than I do. But, I didn't reprimand the stranger when I wanted to so badly. Baby steps.

Nicole got new earrings. We were at the mall, and Nicole was being such a good sport helping me spend my birthday money. She picked out CUTE shoes for me to try on, which shoes I actually ended up buying and have worn every day since. Just like her earrings. She's worn them every day since we bought them. So anyway, Grant and Scotty were riding in the stroller, and as we were finishing up, Grant started to wake (and in a terrible mood) and Scotty was just falling asleep. I was ready to head for the car when Nicole asked for a new pair of earrings. The last pair of earrings that I bought for Nicole turned up one earring short of a pair within a week after she opened the box for them on Christmas last year. I don't blame her, though. She wore them to bed, and presto, one was missing the next morning. We searched everywhere! So she's been wearing her one and only pair of diamond studs since. When she asked for another pair at the mall, I thought about telling her that they would make a great Christmas gift. I knew she would probably say, "OK, Mom. I'll write it on my list when I get home." And then she would so patiently wait until Christmas morning to see what I picked out for her. Then the thought occurred to me, and I don't know why I didn't think of this one first: we are at a MALL, where all girls deserve to find something to take home. Then I didn't care how fussy Grant was, how long Scotty slept, how dark it was outside, or even how scary the other shoppers suddenly appeared. We had an important task to complete. You should have seen her on the way home. She carried her bag to the car, and as soon as her seat belt was buckled, she took the earrings out of the bag and looked at them and talked about them the whole way home. She wore them to bed that night, and she checks on them every morning to make sure they're still in. I'm happy to have an excuse to fix Nicole's hair up. I've missed seeing her entire face all day long. When her hair is all slicked back in hair glue (those are the exact words on our bottle of extra super firm hold gel), she feels like my Nicole. Her hair almost fits into a pony tail. Like I said, hair GLUE. It's amazing stuff.

Clint's working hours have decreased slightly, leaving him a little more time to, well, sleep, mostly. Oh, and occasionally glance in our general direction before going to bed. Actually, today is his first day off in five weeks. I don't hardly know what we'll do. I know what we won't do: family pictures. Every day that goes by and we don't get the family photo done, I wonder if it's really going to happen this year. I'm a micro-inch away from ushering the family onto the front lawn and kidnapping the first person I see to snap a photo for us with my camera.

Me, I've turned up with a bad case of paranoia. Clint and I planned to go on a date this weekend. It worked out that we would be taking a residency applicant to dinner last night. I was really excited to go somewhere -- anywhere -- with Clint, even if I had to share him with another adult. Fine. Whatever. So I booked a sitter and started fantasizing about which sweater to wear with my black slacks. But then yesterday morning, I woke up (after only sleeping for five hours) with a near panic attack. I had the worst feeling overcome me that if I left Scotty at home with a babysitter, something mortally dreadful would happen to him. So I canceled the sitter and stayed home with the kids myself while Clint went to dinner with the applicant. (As a side note, I've seen two men sitting alone in a nice restaurant before, and I've always thought it looked so ... odd -- if you know what I mean.) I played with Scotty and squeezed him tight and kissed him and told him that he better grow up to be a good boy because his mama sacrifices a lot for him. Then he went to bed early, just like he likes to do, and Nicole, Grant and I made note cards and watched A Series of Unfortunate Events. It wasn't the evening I had planned, but at least I wasn't stuck in a restaurant far away from home, worrying about my Scotty choking on a Polly Pocket piece, and wondering if our babysitter knew the Heimlich.

Sheesh, I'm thinking I don't even need to send out Christmas cards now. Maybe if we get the family photo, I can get "Merry Christmas" printed on the card and mass mail them out. I wouldn't even need to write an update, although I suppose I could write a few words, just to make them a little more personal. Maybe something like, "Merry Christmas, Love, Dopey, Epileptic, Princess, Non-Existent and Basket-Case." That'll do.