Poopshe Bears

45 Minutes

Can you believe it is already mid-October.  The barometer and thermometer and all those other “ometers” don’t lie.  The year is marching on in quick-step and sweeping us all along with it. 

 

I have absolutely no idea where September went, but I’m relatively certain it followed July and August, both of which I seem to have missed as I must have blinked as I ran through them.  Life is crazy busy and I have to remind myself to slow down and enjoy the fall before it’s gone and I find myself hip deep in snow, which in Ohio could be sometime next week.

 

There’s just something special, almost magical, about the feel and smell of fall.  It has a unique identity all its own.  It means schoolbuses, crunchy leaves, sweatshirts, costumes, corn mazes, apple cider, football, and baking.  I know I’ve mentioned it before, I really do love fall, but it seems to be the shortest and busiest season so I barely get to enjoy it before it’s gone again.

 

There has been so much to write and say, but life has been too busy to stop and put fingers to keyboard to capture the thoughts that run through my head during my drives through the countryside.

 

One of “our” newest adventures this fall is Kelley’s participation in a venture program through Lockheed Martin for aspiring engineers in the aerospace field.  I say “our”, not because I am in anyway participating, but I apparently have become the chauffeur for my aspiring engineer/pilot.  So, together, we set out every other week or so, to drive 30 miles away through the rolling countryside of northeast Ohio, whose gentle foothills are resplendent in autumn colors.  30 miles, which translates into 45 minutes one-way of conversation, observations and glimpses into the life and mind of a 14-year old boy.

 

·     45 minutes of peace and quiet. 

·     45 minutes to slow down and enjoy the fall. 

·     45 minutes to capture this moment in time with my son who is quickly approaching independence and adulthood. 

·     45 minutes to strengthen and nurture our relationship. 

·     45 minutes to get lost together – quite literally – and together find our way again.

·     45 minutes to teach and reinforce values, goals, morals, and ethics.

·     45 minutes to teach invaluable survival and coping skills, such as map reading.

·     45 minutes to talk about real life issues.

 

I’m loving every minute of it.

Fall is just around the bend.

For me this brings mixed emotions.

 

Life moves at a faster pace in the crisp coolness of fall than in the warm hazy days of summer.

 

School has started and with it order, routines and schedules.  Alarm clocks drag us from our warm beds while it is still dark and bare feet step onto chilled floors as we race for a hot shower.  Yellow school buses dominate the roads, reminding us of the necessity of slowing down and enjoying life (and leave earlier tomorrow).

 

The world takes on a golden glow as the colors slowly change from deep greens and bright flowers to the bronze of autumn’s patchwork.

 

Rows upon rows of orange pumpkins now stand beneath signs proudly announcing “Cinderella Pumpkins” in place of watermelons, corn and strawberries at the roadside markets.  Soon they will be joined by indian corn hanging from rafters and stalks of corn bound and tied to posts.

 

The air is beginning to be filled with Canadian geese in their ever-present flying “v” formations.  The local parks and ponds provide a gathering place for them to rest on their long journeys where we now walk with greater care than we did just a couple of weeks ago.

The aroma of campfires drift on the cool breezes and there is just a general feel and smell in the cool air that reminds of us of our own school days…

 

...of homework and buses, pep rallies, Halloween, piles of leaves to jump in or burn, friends and football games. 

 

The crockpot has been pulled out of storage and in it’s place is the ice cream maker.  The cabinets are once again filled with the ingredients for hot chocolate and chili.

All around are the sounds of the challenging shouts and crashing heads of males asserting their maturity, masculinity and dominance. 

 

For some species, such as rams and deer it’s their antlers… for humans, it’s football helmets.

 

 

 

Fall is a wonderful time of year.  It would be better if it stayed a little longer.

Pomp and Circumstance

Wow!  It's been two months since I blogged about anything!  Would love to say I was sitting on a remote beach somewhere without benefit of any modern conveniences such as computers and cell phones... but the reality is I've been hard at work... working, mother, wifing, etc...

In the last 36 hours I have sat through Ethan's high school graduation and Kelley's 8th grade graduation ceremonies and I have to say I have learned a few things...

1)  First and foremost I am PROUD of these boys. 

Ethan graduated magna cum laude at age 16 and is now somewhere in "identity crisis" mode waiting for college.  (I should be appearing on Oprah any day based on his meltdown Saturday night over his apparent and appalling lack of a childhood directly related to the fact that he skipped 1st grade, is the oldest of 4 children, and I made him do more chores at an earlier age than any of his friends - I'll keep you posted about the Oprah-date)

Kelley graduated, also with honors, from middle school and is heading for high school, safely from his bed where he is trying to make a quick recovery from walking pneumonia (that we discovered - credits to the urgent care for getting us in and out in 2 hours in time to change clothes for Ethan's graduation - yesterday morning).  He made a valiant effort to attend the 2½ hour long (yes, I did say 2½ hours! 1 hour longer and 400 children less than Ethan's of the day before) ceremony and has 1 more final at the high school tomorrow and then back to bed.  Football workouts start on Monday!

2)  Any school that is going to attempt to host a 2½ hour long graduation ceremony in an unairconditioned gymnasium with 60% seating capacity should have a suggestion box and a PTA committee to assist.

3)  People are tacky and classless in large groups.  The blatant disregard for the teachers and staff requests that all applause WAIT until ALL names are ready is appalling.  I am thrilled for you that the first child in your family for 10 generations has managed to graduate 8th/12th grade, but I would like the joy of hearing my own child's name read, which I cannot because you are whistling, yelling, hollering, and making a public nuisance of yourself.  Ignorant, selfish, egocentric, narcissistic, and rude are just a few words that come to mind.

4)  The tendency to award all children for just showing up negates the hard work and achievement of those children who actually deserve the accolades. 

The high school has done away with the Valedictorian and Salutatorian on the grounds it is "unfair".  Unfair to reward and acknowledge 2 students who have worked hard to achieve this momentous status?  Instead they elected "anonymously" chosen speeches to be read and the top 10 students received a medal, but none were identified as being better than any other.  Heaven forbid.

The middle school, bless their little hearts each one, gives out certificates to each classroom for (no joke) 1) all kids with A's all year, 2) kids with B's and C's all year, 3) kids who have made the most progress all year, and 4) kids who have worked hard even if their grades don't show it.  Seriously!  (explains the 2½ hours doesn't it). 

Sadly, those 8th grade students who have actually excelled and are taking high school classes, not just 1 but 2, and not just freshman level but honors sophomore (that's 10th grade) classes are not recognized because their teachers aren't there to hand them out. 

We are caught in a society of praising everyone the same, regardless of effort and achievement.  It's like we're keeping our children stuck at age 5 in T-Ball - that amazingly pointless version of baseball where there are no positions, no scores, no winner, no pitcher and all kids receive the same trophy - but for life.  What are we doing to our children?  This is not how the "real" world works.  We are teaching them they don't have to work for anything, just show up, and that working hard for something brings no results so why bother.

5)  Kelley has a great 10th grade honors geometry teacher.  He sent the middle school a certificate for him for "outstanding achievement" all year (he had a grade point average of 4.0).  This is the first time a high school award was included for a middle schooler, but not the first time an 8th grader earned one. 

6)  Kelley has a great school counselor.  She presented him with this geometry award and made a point of explaining that this is a 10th grade  honors class at the high school.  He was called to stand up before the entire assembly.  Hurray!  Finally, a child, just one, awarded for an achievement earned and not part of the masses just because everyone is getting an award.

I totally agree that no child should be left behind.... but no child should be held back either.  Let's stand and praise our nation's chilren for their accomplishments, efforts and successes... in the classroom, on the sports field, in serving the community.  Let's encourage them to try harder, work smarter, enjoy learning and help others. 

Stand by your man

Well, I have done my man wrong, not once but twice this past weekend.

1) I stand corrected. Apparently the infamous unshaved toe/ski event did not take place in a hotel in Michigan. It happened in Wisconsin. But he did not deny that it happened, just emphatic that I had the state wrong. Sorry, I’m a little vague on the significance – both are snow covered, cold and have ski-able hills. But I was wrong, he was right. Write it down please.

2) I also discovered that I seemingly don’t “embellish” stories that directly relate his heroics sufficiently, in fact I apparently downplay the events.

So...

We’re stepping back in time again… circa 1991-1992. We’re living in a small house on a river, deep in the woods, on a country road about 5 miles from the nearest 1-stop light town. We’re talking boon docks here folks. Now, to set the tone, I’m returning home sometime from somewhere in the evening, but it’s full dark. Mark is at home waiting, can’t remember if we had Ethan yet or not, but if we did he’s a baby and it’s pretty irrelevant to my story.

Now, in the country, where the road is straight and flat for miles and miles, you can see an oncoming car for a very, very long way. And sometimes people don’t change to their dim headlights right away, 1) because it really is a long, long way until you need to, 2) there’s deer that have a habit of bounding into the road and the farther you can see them, the better.

So… when someone has “forgotten” to turn down the brights it’s customary to give a quick “flick” of the brights to remind them, “Hey… you’re pretty close now”. And, when they don’t get the hint to “flick” them again, to just say “Hey! That’s getting really bright, do you mind?”. And, should they be stubborn, or just plain jerks, you turn your own on in self-defense with a “Fine! I can play that game too.” and you drive on down the road until a few miles later you see the next car. Honestly, if you weren’t supposed to give a courtesy blink then cars wouldn’t be equipped to, and if you weren’t supposed to honk if there’s danger or someone’s in the way or being an idiot then cars wouldn’t have horns either.

Now, I play this game pretty well. Still do although with the concealed-weapons laws I’m more cautious. But usually 1 flick, maybe 2, are all that’s needed and the person just turns them down with an “oops, sorry bud” and we go on our merry way.

This particular night I had gotten to the second flick, well, maybe I had finally flashed my brights, but this specific car was a van full of preppy guys on the town (where, I don’t know, I think they were lost) with their girls and they obviously didn’t know the game. They spun around and began following me, right on my bumper, brights in my mirror.

Now, I’m not a city girl, but I’m not that stupid. I did not stop the car, I did not even slow down. Instead, I sped up. These kids were pretty serious and kept following. I swung off what passes for a 2-lane highway in that part of the country and onto our road. From there it was a mile to the house so I laid on the horn. Not honking. Just 1 long blare with a couple of short staccato bursts so Mark would know someone wasn’t just leaning on a horn. About 100 yards from the house I rounded a corner and pushed the garage door button.

I coasted into the driveway as the door lifted, yuppies still close on my tail. As the light came on, the door rose and a pair of steel-towed boots, worn jeans, flannel shirt, and then strong, broad shouldered, rugged man came into view, an axe in one hand. (Seriously prepared)

Now, my husband, at this point in our lives, well okay at every point in our lives, has a 5 o’clock shadow by breakfast, and at this time was driving a 1991 Electra-Glide Sport Harley Davidson motorcycle complete with tattoos, black leather jacket, long hair and attitude. You just don’t mess with him. Especially not in the dark. And certainly not following his young, blond wife home and thinking you’re going to jump out of the car and yell at her. Not happening. Let’s not forget the axe he grabbed on the way out the door unsure what was following me. He was not happy, no not happy at all.

Driver-yuppie jumps out of his car and stalks to my door where he yells at me through the closed window.  He's very big, he's very brave.  He keeps looking back to his friends in the van.. "see me, see how big and brave I am, see how I can yell at a young girl and make her scared, look at me, look at me".  He's so busy yelling and gloating he fails to see Mark.

Mark just walked over to driver-yuppie and, with relative calm, asked him what he thought he was doing. The driver-yuppie, who must not have seen the axe yet, turned and began yelling something about “brights” and “dark” and “driving”, with quick glances over his shoulder at his van for his friends’ support and acting as if Mark is a sane, rational and fellow-yuppie man who totally agrees that women drivers should be outlawed and I totally deserved to be followed by a strange vehicle in the dark and yelled at while my husband joined in.

“and …”, “and…” and the friends aren’t nodding, no, in fact they’re mouths are open and they’re looking a little panicked and they’re pointing and gesturing.  About this time he turned back to Mark, sees the axe… and realizes that he is in big trouble.  This guy isn't nodding, he's not commiserating, he's not glaring at me... there is that very large, very sharp axe in his hands.

“No”, Mark said, “You are NOT going to yell at her, I don’t care what she did.  What you ARE going to do is get your yuppie (%^# back into your *()& van with your *(@%^ friends and get the (*)& out of my yard.”

The guy is back stepping towards the van now, stammering and stuttering “but, but, but” all the way, where the somewhat smarter yuppie friends, having already seen the axe, have locked the doors. 

His friends?  There is just no way they’re getting out... they’ve seen the movies... you don’t go in the door... you don’t go looking for Johnny… you don’t get out of the car.  So now driver yuppie is stuck outside the van being yelled at by a very sinister looking man with an axe in the deep, dark woods by a river 5 miles from the nearest pretense of a town about the poor decision to follow a young girl in the dark and he's not looking that cool or big and brave anymore.

They eventually did let the guy back in and they just about left their tire on the road peeling out of there.

And my hero? He’s my personal knight in shining armor: yes I’ve kept him around and even have 3 more in training, and no, I don’t loan him out. But it’s going to be very interesting around here when Grace gets old enough to date.

Me? I still flash my brights when idiots drivers forget to put the dims on, but only when I know I’ve got Mark around or close enough to run to.

Now, that’s the true story, although I was still safely in the car patiently waiting for Mark to kick their ever-loving !#%)& because it never even occurred to me that he wouldn't take my side or run off the entire carload of yuppies should they have tried, so I may not have heard every word, but you get the jist.

Now, where did I go wrong this weekend? Well, apparently this story was told when I wasn’t around and I was later asked for support as a witness and my response; “yes I flashed my brights, yes they followed me home, yes he had an axe and yes the guy freaked” was decidedly anti-climactic.

Sorry baby, you know you’ll always be my hero and a fine figure of a man. I know you’ve always got my back and you’ll have them stacked 10 deep in the door with your bloody corpse in the doorway before you let them in.  I’ll be sure to relate all the bloody, gory details in the future and shine up your armor all nice and pretty.

Enough of the blood and guts though, it’s still birthday weekend and we have all been in a state of sugar-shock with the cakes.

Time flies

when you're having fun... and even when you're not.

Seriously... where has January gone? 

Mentally I'm still back in September and yet I know it's almost February, if not because of the piles of snow and wet clothes on my kitchen floor, because my two Valentine's babies are hinting (rather strongly) about birthday lists. 

This month has been crazy.  So crazy that I haven't been knitting.  No, seriously, it's my stress relief, but two weeks ago I noticed I was "holding" Grace's skirt in my hands.  Just sitting there.  Last week I stopped dragging my knitting bag back and forth to work under the pretense that I might actually knit on my newly non-existent lunch hour.  This week?  I'm sad to say I don't even know where the knitting bag is. 

And just what is making me this crazy... let's take stock because I have the honest fear that the metallic whir I keep hearing is the hamster wheel spinning again and I don't want all these projects to hit me in the head when we spin off the axle:

1)    Work... I actually have a job! 

I say this with great amazement.  After 2½ years of waking up at the crack of dawn and dragging myself to a desk and computer and "inventing" work because I was in a newly created position, I found that I actually have a job... and it's busy... and it's pretty cool.  The company, in all their wisdom, agreed on 1 good cost saving method:  to reduce outsourcing by 50%.  This is great for me, because I'm in Marketing, (or I should say I'm being channeled into Marketing from Business Development), where I have become the sole designer/creator of our marketing material - from brochures to catalogs and mugs and everything in between.  This has been the drive of all my training these past 8 months.  Now, I've also officially become responsible for all "print management" which means I'm the one getting my little projects produced.  This means my email box has started stacking up as the marketing person throws things at me left and right.  And my phone has been ringing off the hook with printers wanting our business.  And in this new job I have a big, really big, 250+ page big, catalog project.  Which means I get to design it, create it, import the data, compile it, gather quotes, and have it produced.  It was due to be sent to the printer today.... I'm still waiting for the data.  Good news is I've designed, created, tested and quoted it.   Now.... I'm waiting for the data.

2)    Two of my children are having birthdays.... Kelley will be 14 and Grace 6.... in the next two weeks. 

So, we've got birthday parties to plan, cakes to order.  Kelley is easy... just a friend overnight.  Simple.  Grace?  Well, she's the only girl so we're (read me) looking into all manner of 'girly-girl' parties for 6 year olds.  And the cake?  They are born 2 days apart, so it's a family tradition that they share their "family" cake.  Now don't misunderstand me, they are polar opposites.  Kelley's all boy, Grace is all girl.  So the cake is not just a simple chocolate cake.  Oh no!  It has to be special ordered, both children in tow to "design" their side.  Last year's was a beautiful cake from the grocery store... all chocolate with Kelley's side decorated in brown chocolate butter cream icing and Grace's side in all white/pink butter cream icing.  Tasteful, delicicious, beautiful, less expensive than the home-made creation of the previous year.  I'm hoping they have the same idea this year.

3)    The dogs have moved in... to the garage... for the weekend.... about 3 weeks ago.

They're still there.  They are outside dogs, have been for 10 years, have survived all types of weather.  But it was agreed some years ago that when the weather goes below 0 I will capitulate and allow them to live in my garage.  That was then so what happened now that they are still there?  Snow...Snow... and more snow... oh and some ice.  We're surrounded by about 3 feet of snow and the ice has frozen the kennel door.  So even if we could get these 1½ feet tall dogs through the snow we can't close the door.  So here they stay.  They don't bark so that's not my problem.  What is you ask?  Did I mention the snow?  They have to track through my dining room and kitchen 5-6 times a day to go out and then back in and the snow comes with them.  And they get distracted.. by the kids, the garbage, the crumbs under Grace's chair the vacuum missed, etc.. so they romp around my living room for about 2 minutes tracking the said snow before they're rounded up and shoved out the garage door for another 2 hours until we repeat the whole process.

4)    I have snow out the ears...

Literally, I think it might come to my ears.  I'm certainly hesitant to send Grace out to make snow angels.  I'm afraid she might just *plip* right out of site and it would take a rescue dog to unbury her.  Fortunately I have 3 snow movers.... Ethan, Kelley and Austin... and even Mark has gotten into the action when Ethan got the car stuck the other day.  What I do have is laundry... First they go out to shovel, so we need to dry the gear and wash the towels from mopping up the puddles.  Then they go out to play... so repeat.  Then they take the garbage around, get the mail, reshovel... so repeat.  Weekends have become "snow gear" drying days and we're thinking of installing a diving board in the kitchen floor with the idea it might just be cheaper than trying to clean up the puddles.... oh, I almost forgot... the multiple pairs of boots upside down on every heater vent.

5)    Grace has a social life. 

Apparently the majority of her class was born between December 31st and February 28th and they are all having birthday parties.  And this daughter who lamented "I don't have any friends" has been invited to them all.  It's a good thing she doesn't have any friends, can you image how busy we would be if she did?

6)    Austin has a social life. 

Between Boy Scouts, Just Say No (an anti-drug program at school), Awanas, and his Destination Imagination club he's only gone about 3 days a week, but usually it's with at least 2 events each night.   Austin was also recently diagnosed with Tourette's Syndrome this past fall.  We're just learning about it so we haven't really discussed it very much outside the schools and his clubs.  But now I'm neck deep in IAT meetings (some kind of academic intervention) with a sweet, energetic and caring teacher who is also, unfortunately, only 24 and lacks the experience; a older, more experienced, and not so understanding principal who thinks my son might be disruptive or lazy but hasn't bothered to get to know him; and a mediator who has some official function but can't be bothered to research Tourette's and has never met Austin.  Aaaahhh!   So, homework is a chore, finding out that there is actually homework is a chore.  Add in the weekly emails, phone calls, notes and meetings.  The teacher now calls me by my first name and I suspect they have me on speed dial.

7)    Kelley has a social life. 

Fortunately the bowling team just ended, but we're still hip deep in Ski Club and Jazz Band.  Kelley is also heading into high school which means planning meetings for schedules and the like. 

8)    Ethan has a social life. 

He too is in Ski Club and let's not forget the never-ending pursuit of scholarships (which we - again read me - has to download and follow up on and push, prod and nag to complete, and then print and mail).  And the Army ROTC?  Somewhere, somehow they dropped the file, or missed a flag, or some such nonsense.  The long and short of it is, after 2 weeks of emails and about 8 hours on the phone I've gotten it reopened and we should have an answer by next week.

9)    Mark has a social life. 

Fortunately it's usually with at least one of the children.

10)    Me? 

I don't have a social life.  What I do have is the only computer, phone, printer, email and car available between the hours of 7 am and 5 pm.

Side note:  During a recent birthday party Grace attended the mothers were discussing their volunteer days.  Apparently they are all "stay at home moms" and volunteer in the classroom.  Somehow it got around to me.  Although I would LOVE to volunteer, I work outside the home, 40+ hours a week and can't.  They were very understanding.  One mother patted my shoulder and said "oh, don't worry, it's okay, not everyone can be involved in their child's education and activities"

??????   !!!!!!!

There are just no words.

So.... here I sit, under a heated throw blanket, too blasted tired to click my heels together and wish for Texas where it's 78+ degrees F, much less duck when the hamster wheel careens of the track again.  May it be kind and run right over me on it's way out the door... I could use the time in traction for peace and quiet.

Still alive and kicking

Just a quick dash in to say "hey!" and "yes, I'm still alive" and "no, I didn't finally get that heel-clicking thing to work and woosh me to Texas, which would at least explain why I've been out of contact so long".

No, I'm still here... in the frigid northern midwest... and no, I'm not snowed in.  We've had a few feet, fortunately the snow has been falling steadily but in staggered days so we've had time to shovel out and a much-appreciated neighbor who has even surprised us with snow-blowing out our driveway a time or two.  The snow is still falling, but fortunately the temps seem to be recovering.  We were down below zero for about 4 days last week and the children had a "wind chill" day off last Thursday on top of their 4-day weekend so it's been crazy. 

No power outages, the Steelers have won their last two games, my laundry is caught up and my daughter finally got to have a friend play over (which was wonderful for her after 5 house-bound days of boys and scary for us - two 5-year olds are a lot squealier than boys  - is that a word?  I'm not sure but that's what they were - squealy, giggly, loud in a high pitched sort of way).  We're doing good here in Chaosland.

Of course the Steelers games were a little crazy... my "boys" do it up big.  It was during the game against the Chargers that Kel discovered the color-order on the emblem of his hand-knit Steelers towel was out of "official" order.  Not sure how I did that, but thank heavens he didn't care.  (If you're wanting to knit it for yourself, just reverse the second and third diamond colors.) 

Forgot to tell you about how that whole present went down.  Kelley asked for a Steelers hand towel back in September or so and I turned it into a knit-a-long (you can check out the blogs in the category section:  Steelers towel).  I was pretty good at hiding my sketches and knitting, but there were a few times that I sat knitting with him running through the room or even once sitting next to me.  In early December he saw his father's camping set and "mentioned" his towel request again.  I was all like, "really? seriously?  you really want me to make one?  I thought you were kidding." Of course at the time it was already done and wrapped...  Ethan was over in the corner rolling his eyes.  He had been sitting next to me a few times as Kelley ran through the room you see.  Christmas morning came and it was not under the tree.  Kelley was very gracious, never said a word.  My sister and her family arrived late Christmas afternoon and we had the "family" presents that night.  I had hidden the towel in the way back and when he opened it up he was, well, surprised!  How very surprising.  He seriously hadn't known I'd knit it, had given up on it actually.  Sweet boy but boys are just scary how much they don't see.  Like the Chocolate Fudge recipe in the very front of the drawer that just couldn't be found during Christmas - but we shall name no names Love of My Life, I forgive all... especially since I found the recipe and it is not actually lost.  In fact, silly me, I think it's out on the website under Recipes, hadn't thought to look there.

So, the towel, he's put it to good use during the play off games and I'm sure it'll come out during the Super Bowl.

Beads and a prayer

Thank you everyone for your prayers for my family and my dad. 

This has been a long downhill battle for the last 7 years, but things are starting to roll faster and I'm afraid we're heading into the last lap and I'm not ready for it.

I'm a daddy's girl, always have been, so it's been difficult.  My father is the oldest of 5 and has been the patriarch of the extended family, the strong, dependable one, the one who can fix anything, the one everyone calls when there's trouble.  The one who still reminds me to take my Mucinex when he hears me sniffle or to put HEAT in my car and salt on my sidewalk in January.

Sometimes it's hard to be strong, and since I'm so close to my parents (I talk to my mom almost every day during my drive to and from work and to my dad every couple of weeks) it's hard because sometimes I see things I don't think they want me to, and since my dad's protective he doesn't always tell me everything, not that I need to know everything, but when I called him Monday after his doctor's appointment I could tell he was depressed and stressed and I got the stoic "I'm fine" and he didn't call me until Wednesday night with the news.  I'm sure he was processing the news himself.

My dad seems to be generally at peace.  He's a strong Christian, a former deacon and leader of his church, whose faith has grown stronger these past few years.  He received Christ as his personal savior many decades ago so I know where he will spend eternity and that we will all be together again in the blink of an eye, but I'm just not ready.

On a knitting note:

The stockings above are what I've been working on.  The pattern isn't ready yet, I've been tweaking and re-tweaking.  It's not an "original" concept (I've taken my pattern from about 3-4 other patterns because I like different things about each but not 1 person's pattern as a whole).

I'm knitting them with 100% cotton on US Size 2 bamboo straight needles (my favoriate pair).  They only take about 2 hours from start to finish, including the knitted handle and the vintage button.  These above are my "ready to be sewn in the truck" ones.  I'll get the FREE pattern out, but it probably won't be until after Christmas, sorry.  Each one is different, so there's about 6-8 fair isle-inspired designs.

The beaded scarf is flying along... now that I figured out the whole "beading" thing. 

It is SO much easier to carry the beads along.  I know it most likely won't work on lace-weight or if I had hundreds of beads, but I only have 100 on the entire scarf and I didn't start carrying them until I only had 60 left so they aren't heavy. 

The yarn is bamboo/silk so it's pretty thick compared to lace-weight.

I have 4 pattern repeats (or 40 rows) left and only 20 beads so we're moving right along.  Should be able to finish in about 2 hours of knitting or so.

So this is what I've been using:

   

Looped Needle Threaders - 6 to a pack, found at JoAnn fabrics, not cheap but under $8.00 USD with tax.

Pretty good instructions on the back, but this is a simple little tool, just a bent wire sealed at 1 end.  The biggest difficulty is in its fineness/thinness if you have multiple beads on the wire at a time and need to get a firm grip to slide them down over the yarn.  A little beading thimble worked great, something that can hold it firmly.

Step 1: Thread the yarn through the hole in the threader just like you would a needle (sorry, picture for that step came out fuzzy)

 

Step 2:  Pick up bead with needle end of threader

 

Step 3: Slide down threader

 

Step 4: Slide bead down over yarn

 

Ta da... beads.

Daddy's Hands

"I remember Daddy´s hands, folded silently in prayer.
And reaching out to hold me, when I had a nightmare.
You could read quite a story, in the callouses and lines.
Years of work and worry had left their mark behind.
I remember Daddy´s hands, how they held my Mama tight,
And patted my back, for something done right.
There are things that I´ve forgotten, that I loved about the man,
But I´ll always remember the love in Daddy´s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.
Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy´s hands.

I remember Daddy´s hands, working 'til they bled.
Sacrificed unselfishly, just to keep us all fed.
If I could do things over, I´d live my life again.
And never take for granted the love in Daddy´s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.
Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy´s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.
Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love .....
In Daddy´s hands."

Song by Holly Dunn

This song always makes me cry...it says everything I've ever wanted to say or felt about my dad.

It's been a rough day.... I received some bad news last night, not unexpected, but definitely not good, no not good at all.  I'm really not ready to talk about it as I'm still trying to process the information and what it means but I just wanted to ask for everyone's prayers for my father... God will know why and for what.

I love you Vati-bug

love, Poopshe Bear

Thank heaven for little girls

...thank heavens for little girls
.... without them what would little boys do? 

(does anyone remember who crooned that beautiful song - I envision Gene Kelly or at least his era, Frank Sinatra?)

If I had one word to describe my girl it would be .... pink.

Pink conjures up visions of tulle tu-tus, butterfly kisses, tea parties, dress up, glittery lip gloss, white lace-edged socks, ruffled panty covers under frilly dresses, toe and finger nail polish, bubble baths, skirts that twirl and giggles.

Mark's first words to me when Grace was born... "thank you, for bringing pink into my life."

That's it... just the thought. 

(I've been a little overwhelmed by "boys" this week - catapults, homework, camouflage and boys caged in the house by inclement weather - love them dearly, wouldn't trade them for anything, but sometimes I just need a "girl day" with my girl, you know?)

On a knitting note, progress on the stockings is marching on.  I've got 6 finished and 3 more ready to be sewn up and I'm down to only needing 13 (for the moment anyway - 5 have been given away already).  I'm thinking I need to get the last 4 knitted and ready for sewing and then I'll have something to do in the car on the way to my parents next week.

I decided I had procrastinated enough on beading the last branching out scarf.  I picked it up only to find that my stitches had fallen off the needles - lace is a pain in the neck - I carefully threaded them back on, but with all the yarn overs a stitch (or 4) had been lost somewhere and after 30 minutes of trying to pick them back out of the tangle I finally resigned myself to the necessity of unknitting about 5 rows (along with 3 beads) until I had all my stitches back on.

I settled on the strange 3" wire thingy to try loading the beads.  Part of my frustration was coming from a tiny little crochet hook, little bitty beads and fluffy yarn and the fact that I was loading them one at a time as needed.  I only need 100 for the scarf, and had put on about 20, but that was enough.  This time I unwound my skein and put all the beads needed on the other end with the wire thingy.  Fairly easy, biggest problem was just that the wire is so thin that it's hard to hold if you thread on more than 8 beads at a time and occasionally a bead really is just too small to go on this yarn.  10 minutes, 100 beads on and pushed half-way up the skein until I found a knot where the manufacturer had to tie on a second yarn - aargh - I think I actually noticed it when I was unraveling the skein, but my brain was on disconnect in terms of what it would mean to an itty bitty bead train...

...well, this scarf takes 1 1/2 skeins anyway, so I cut out the knot and decided to go ahead and change yarns now.  Works pretty well, the only fiddling is getting the little bead placed just where I want it on the front of the scarf and not the back.  I tried it out for a while - 5 rows knitted (this would be the recovered 5 rows), 3 rows unknit because of a missing stitch somewhere, and I decided that at a net 2 rows lost and 80-ish beads threaded on the yarn for an hours worth of work was a good stopping point and it was time for bed.  I'll try and grab some pictures tonight of the wire thingy and the beads.

I missed out on Mark's game night with his friends this weekend, (knitting, catapults, Sahara biome poster, Kindergarten homework and the neverending pile of laundry, etc.) but just wanted to say thank you Shelley for your thoughtfulness...  delicious... homemade cheesecake squares on a cookie crust with a caramel-apple glaze and pecans...

Darlene, thank you as always for your words of encouragement.  I'm continually amazed by God's hand in our lives.  Sometimes it's so easy to overlook and we often feel like we're alone in our daily lives and struggles, but you can see His hand all around if you just look, it's in the little details.  It is very humbling and I often feel I fail Him because I'm really not assertive or confident in large groups or with strangers.  I really don't like being the center of attention.  I'm much better at serving in the background and staying busy. 

But, enough of that, happy knitting and Merry Christmas.  Lynne

Boy moms

Once, a long time ago, my mother told me a story from her childhood. 

 

The story was a typical one… of summer evenings, children, family and neighbors.  She said that there was one particular house in the neighborhood where all the children played... you know the house, perhaps you are that house, where the kids all seem to gather and everyone is having fun and the parents are “cool”  Or maybe not so great but the toys are awesome, but usually the parents are cool and fun and relaxed.

 

My mother told me these things many years ago – long before I had children of my own, when I was one of a family of girls, when I played dress up and dolls – that she had observed that “boy” moms were more fun.  That when you played over at a friend’s house where there were only girls the house was cleaner, quieter, calmer and the mom a little more stressed and frantic in the face of dirt.  Now, I am not criticizing all those “girl” moms out there, I know there are plenty of you who are just as fun and crazy, hunt, fish, camp, and generally play around in the dirt as much as boys.  But, we’re dealing in generalities here… generally, my mom said, boy moms are more fun and how she had always wanted to be one, or have one.

 

Now my sister, tom-boy that she was, being 5½ years older than me started off our family grandchildren and had back to back girls.  Two of them -  frilly, girly, quiet, calm, sweet girls.  Fun, but quiet. And my family settled down into being a girl family.  Here we were, two girls, now two granddaughters, besides Dad and my brother-in-law, John, the only male around was the main barn cat and my dog. 

 

Now, for those of you who have read any of my other postings, or have even noticed the pictures on this posting, you know I have boys, lots and lots of boys.  Well, 3 to be precise, that I'm legally and financially responsible for that is... the number that actually seem to be physically present at my dinner table or stacked like cord wood in sleeping bags magically increases exponentially in the summer or on weekends.

 

My first, Ethan, was quiet and calm, the typical first-born pleaser.  Afraid of pain and failure he took his time learning everything and certainly never did anything that would remotely be considered daring or dangerous… at least until he was 13 and sheered off a front tooth trying to “jump” a ditch, but I digress… I have to be honest with you, with just one I really couldn’t see what the “boy mom” hype was about.  Then we had Kelley. 

 

Kelley doesn’t do anything half-way.  He has no fear, no hesitancy and “can’t”, “shouldn’t” and “impossible” are not in his vocabulary, has a competitive streak a mile-wide and has 1 speed - Mach 5, 150%, full steam ahead.  If children came equipped with a gage or meter he would operate in the red zone.... the far, deep red, the place where steam and flames are shooting out from under the car hood.  

 

When he was 14-months old he followed Ethan up the ladder of the slide.  Kelley climbed up, and ran down the slide...  or more accurately, stepped, rolled, tumbled, fell, crashed and landed face-first into the dirt.  There was dirt up his nose, in his eyes, in his hair.  Before I could catch my breath - or launch myself up from the grass to rush to his aid - he jumped up and ran around to climb again. 

 

When my heart had returned to a normal cadence I called my mother…. Mom… (hey sweetheart) I figured it out… (what’s that dear)  Why boy moms are more fun… it’s not that they’re any more fun really, but it has occurred to me (then 27) that boy moms have realized that if they want to survive to reach the age of 40, and have any other color hair than white when they get there, they have to let it go.  Shrug, breath deeply, invest in a pair of ear plugs, and keep a good stock of band-aids, tourniquets, ice packs and snacks within easy reach.

   

Boy moms keep the following things in mass quantities and dole out liberally:  popsicles, hot chocolate, cookies, chips, pizza, cereal, chocolate, milk, balls – all kinds, footballs, soccer balls, baseballs, golf balls, bocce balls – guns – again all kinds, squirt guns, nerf guns, disc guns, paint ball guns, air soft guns, pretend to shoot guns, cap guns, wooden guns and real life hunting guns like pump shot guns and double barrel shot guns and black powder guns.

They always have at least 2 first aid kits handy and packed, one for the car and one for the house.  They don’t respond to anything, unless it is loud enough to be heard over the ever-present stereo blasting rock music, involves a siren or a neighbor, lasts longer than 60 seconds or is accompanied by a thud and silence. 

 

Every child is welcome, because the volume created by 2 boys is so great that any additional children are like adding a cup of water to the ocean.  By the same consideration, 1 teenage boy can consume a large box of cereal or macaroni and cheese as a snack so boy moms have tons of food.  Quantities prepared for dinner are so large to feed these bottomless pits that what is a few more to dinner?  Don’t bother increasing the veggies for the children’s guests, they won’t eat them anyway, just double the meat and add a few more bags of chips for snack.

 

My dubiously sage advice, if you are a new boy mom, befriend a boy mom of teenagers and visit their house… ask to take a peek in their pantry, they’ll let you I promise, awareness is the key here….but take a deep breath first. 

 

Girl moms?  Don’t go, don’t ask, don’t look… just sit back, listen to the silence of girls playing dolls or tea party and enjoy a cup of tea…

 

and perhaps invite a boy mom friend to join you – they need it.