The Fun New Toy

The best things in life are free. I just set up a Skype account. And then I told my mom about Skype. She has an account. We got to video chat. Fun for me and for the two kiddos that were still awake. Couldn't get my microphone to work. But Kermit has fixed that. (He's so awesome.)

So, now I have this wonderful way to communicate with my family. I can include the kids in the conversations. It's wonderful. It is such a blessing.

This is going to be a really short post.

My Interview by Hannah

For a school assignment, Hannah interviewed her little sister.

H: Where do you want to live when you grow up? What do you like about that place?
S: In Forney, because I see lots of pretty cars and some time I see changing color cars.

H: What kind of animals do you want? Why do you want them?
S: Cats, dogs, chickens, pigs for ham and bacon. I get to pet my cats and dogs and kill the pigs and chickens.

H: What to you want to be when you grow up? What do you like about that job?
S: A doctor. Then I can look in peoples' ears and know a bunch of stuff. And I can have fun.

H: Who are your friends? What do you like about them?
S: Ari, Catherine, Alina, Maggie. They play with me and we have fun and play lots of things.

Halloween Tricks and Treats (or clothing sizes lie but daughter's smiles make it OK.)

My mother may think I wasted my college education on a theatre degree, but around October it comes in handy. My children are completely delighted with the large Rubbermaid storage boxes we have full of costume bits and pieces. I a bit fond of them myself. I'm only embarrassed by the fact that I only have two.

This year, as in years past, we delighted in pulling out the bits and baubles to create costumes for ourselves. My oldest found a long wig and a dashiki. Instant hippie. If he was just a bit bigger he could've worn his dad's bell bottom jeans. My youngest wore the pig costume that I made when that hippie-boy was the toddler. We've gotten a lot of mileage out of that costume. Each one of the kids have worn it. Each one made it a little different. When E. wore it she decided it was more appopriate to say "Oink" instead of "Trick or Treat". When it was S.'s turn, she added a tutu.

The Halloween trick was on me. I was helping H put together something, so she wouldn't have to be Hermione Granger again. Stripey socks and a mop cap inspired a "Ragdoll" costume. She thought that I should dress-up, too. I pull out my costume skirt and my blousy blouse that I made before I was married. It's one thing to know that you are not that same size as when you are 20. It's quite another thing to be confronted with it in a very real, concrete way. When I shop for clothes, I buy that same sizes that I did 20 years ago. Therefore, I have not changed size. (Big, fat lying clothing manufacturers). What a surprise to put on this skirt and discover that I could not fasten it shut. Not only could I not fasten it shut, I couldn't even make the hook side even get in the same county as the loop side. No big deal, I thought. I'll put on the waist cinch that I made way back when. It will tuck everything in. I'm not sure why I thought the waist cinch that I'd made at the same time I made that traitorous skirt would fit any better. Some form of denial, I'm sure.

I was about to give up on the whole idea, except for my daughter. My daughter, who was so very delighted with the idea of matching costumes with her mom. My daughter, who smiled with pure joy as we painted faces and put ribbons in our braided hair. In an instant I realized that this was important to her. Safety pins and an apron could cover what that daughter and her siblings had added to my waist. My kids don't care that I'm thicker in the middle or that I'm soft where I used to be toned.

The Halloween trick had become the Halloween treat.

He Was Going To Eat It, But It Fit So Well Up His Nose

Well, after a long, dry spell here I am again to report on the doings of my little tribe. Let's start with Little J. Little J. That is what he likes to be called now. "I Little J", he says. Poor Little J has had a hard week. He has now officially been to the hospital as many times as Big J. Two of those trips happened this past week. Last week Hannah thought it would be fun to swing him around by his arms. (Oh, no. Wait. According to Hannah, they were travelling through a magic portal.)

"Hannah. Don't swing him around like that."

"But, Mom, it's fun."

"No. Seriously. Don't do that."

"Ha ha ha ha. Ho ho ho ho. Hee hee hee...."

"WHHAAAAA!!!!"

"Mom. Something's wrong with Jacob's arm."

Another trip to the ER. Jacob has now been sent to the ER by all of his sisters. Poor Hannah felt like dirt.

A dislocated elbow is surprisingly easy to fix.He was very tense, which made it a little difficult to pop the elbow back in place. They gave him some pain medication. After the drugs took effect, fixing it was as easy as a handshake. He was using his arm again as soon as he forgot that he was supposed to be hurt.

The next trip to the hospital was just yesterday. This one started about two weeks ago. It was then that I noticed a rather foul odour emanating from my darling child. There was nothing on him. Bathed the boy. Washed his hair. He was still smelly. It soon became apparent that the smell was strongest around his nostril. (Never thought I'd be sniffing a nose.) It was then that I remembered that I stuck a hot roller sponge up my nose when I was that age. My mom described the smell. It seemed suspicious. The mystery object was far up enough that he would need to be sedated to remove it. We were scheduled to arrive at the OR in the very early hours. It took the doctor about 5 minutes to remove the object. It was a piece of once white fabric. I think it was a piece of the wedding dress I just constructed for my niece. I can only guess that it felt silky and smooth.

To Explore Strange New Worlds

This weekend I visited a strange new world. It was not completely foreign. It was just a shade different from the one I already know. This weekend I chauferred my oldest son to the Regional Pokemon Video Game Championship Tournament. This was a real event. I had no idea it existed. I had no idea so many people took Pokemon so seriously. Several of them were in costume. A few came as "teams".

I waited in a line with Daniel for two hours so that he could register. About half that time we were waiting outside in the heat. Fortunately, it was only in the 80's, still hot enough that we felt quite grateful to be inside. If you are not too shy, it is possible to make a new friend when you stand in line for two hours. Daniel started up a couple of games with a couple of the kids near us. I was impressed. He has mentioned before how hard it is for him to make friends. I suppose if you start with at least one thing in common it is easier to strike up a conversation. After it was all over the girl (she was cute) asked Daniel for his email.

Daniel won the first round he played. He lost the second round. I'm sure he was a little disappointed, but he took it very well. Later he told me that he had fun and that it was all right if he didn't win. There was a guy next to him in the second round that didn't take defeat very well. He started crying. Daniel tried to offer some words of comfort to no avail. On our way out we spotted that guy crumpled in the floor. Daniel's thoughts on that, "You know, I take my Pokemon seriously, but that's a little TOO serious."

My son is so cool. I'm so glad that he could go and fun with this. I'm so glad that he has such a healthy view of it. Meet friends. Play game. Have fun. That's what it was all about. Winning would have been awesome, but it wasn't the most important thing.

Knee-Slappers

It's been a funny week and I so needed a laugh.

Last Saturday, Hannah went to Medieval Times with her Girl Scout troop. She had a wonderful time. Sarah went with me to pick Hannah up. We got to hear Hannah tell us all about how awesome and wonderful it was and she had to go again. I asked Sarah if she would like to go to Medieval Times.

"No," she says in no uncertain terms. "Fashion girls don't go to that place. And I am SO fashion." Then she takes her little hands and one at a time flips back her hair. I nearly wrecked. One of those times that I wish I had a video camera on constant record.


I think she might actually like to go to "that place". She might still be mad at Hannah. Hannah was trying to turn the lamp off at bedtime and Sarah did not want it off. There was much weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. It ended with Sarah telling Hannah, "You are so mean. You used to be nice to me. Let me sleep in your bed and leave the lamp on and play with me. Hannah. You RUINED my life!"

I think the best one this week was Joe at the dinner table:

"When I grow up, I want to drink, smoke and eat sushi."

What Went Wrong With That Recipe

I come from a family of wonderful cooks. From Gramma I learned good, down home cookin'. Lots of fried things, beans and cornbread, veggies from the garden, wild onions scrambled with eggs, pot roast with carrots and potatoes and the staple of every southern table: gravy. Mom made all these things, too. She is a wiz on the grill and makes fabulous desserts. The desserts are not neccessarily cooked on the grill, but they are full of fat and sugar, as all desserts should be. Good eats are not confined to the womenfolk. My dad is pretty handy in the kitchen. Everytime we visit, I look forward to breakfast. And try as I might, I just can't get cabbage rolls that are the same class.

It took me awhile, but I did eventually learn to cook well enough to hold my own. My first attempts were...uh.....interesting. Gravy is a fairly simple thing to make. All you need in fat, flour, and a liquid - milk for white gravy and broth for brown. It is simple, but not easy. There is a delicate balance to getting the proportions just right. The first time I made gravy it was thick. Very, very thick. So thick, in fact, that it could be sliced. I've had other culinary failures that I just don't remember as well. Probably because they just as funny as slice-able gravy.

Sometimes I hear people tell me that they are a terrible cook. I never used to believe them. Probably because my mother and grandmother were severe about their own cooking. No matter how completely delicious a meal was, something could always be better. I had a roommate who told me when we first met that she was a terrible cook. I didn't believe her. One Sunday after we came home from church, she started cooking for a potluck dinner we were attending that evening. I laid down for an afternoon nap to the delicious odours of ground beef and onion cooking. I woke-up to something completely different. She had made this casserole thing. Cheese and crackers and who know what else were in there somewhere. It looked solid and somewhat rubbery. This particular roommate wasn't going to the potluck. My other roommates and I were commisioned to take the thing with us. We did. No one and I mean absolutely no one ate it. We ended up depositing it in a dumpster on our way home. Since then, I believe people when they tell me the can't cook.