Poopshe Bears

Dare to be Predictable

I love my hairdresser.  I love to have my hair washed.  I swear I could take a nap while she massages my scalp.  I don’t really love to have my hair cut though.   After the dentist it has to be one of the most stressful events and the appointment I avoid the most.  

 

I wait, and I wait, and I wait;  until my hair is halfway down my back, every curl practically straightened by the very weight of itself.  I know I’m in trouble when I struggle to get my naturally curly hair to produce even one curl, buying product after product to tame the frizz my laborious efforts produce and finally, in resignation, throw it up in a clip. 

 

Inevitably, I snap and call my hairdresser in a panic… “Do you have an opening.. TODAY.. Now? Perfect.”

 

My hair is fine, my hair is thick and my hair has it’s own curl.  Which sometimes is a good thing, most times it is not.  It will not take a curling iron or curlers and the more I fuss the more it frizzes.   Scrunch and go, that is my motto. 

 

My daughter, with the gorgeous straight, fine, non-frizzing gold hair that is so in fashion for today’s styles envies my curls.  She can’t wait until the day she can curl her hair so it looks like mine, while I wish mine would behave as nicely as hers.

 

Still, I have got to be the most boring customer ever to land in Carrie’s chair.

 

I want to be daring, I truly do.  My darling sister changes her hairstyle and color with the seasons it seems and looks adorable and chic no matter what. 

 

I was brave once…it was an unmitigated disaster.  I can’t begin to explain.  I’m still not really sure what happened.  It’s all a blur.  I must be repressing the memory.  I had always wanted a body-wave, convinced that a bottle could tame my curls when I couldn’t, and the frighteningly young hairdresser was delighted to “experiment”.  I walked out of there with a perm cut somewhere above my ears and about $50 worth of products to support it.  The top of my head looked like a curly q-tip.  My husband’s jaw dropped, my toddler's jaw dropped, there was a collective gasp and then they both said, “it looks… nice”.  Yeah, right.  Could NOT grow it out fast enough.  And it has never been above my shoulders again.  Nearly 20 years and I still get a shiver up my back at the thought.

 

So, there I was Saturday, sitting in a chair waiting patiently for my turn with the much adored Carrie, a seasoned hairdresser, who is close to my age and who I am confident would never turn me into a q-tip.  I flipped through magazines admiring the different “do’s”, flirting with change, but as soon as my back side hit her chair and she asked “what are we doing today…” the answer, as always, was “just chop off an inch or two and layer me”.  And please, oh please, give me my bangs back, ‘cuz it is going to curl right at my eyes anyway regardless of the length so we might as well make it look right.

 

Boring I know. 

 

But she is a magician, truly.  As the locks fall the curls spring and I walk out of there with a bounce in my step, swearing to never neglect myself again and knowing that I will….

 

As soon as I hit the front door, I was met by Ethan, wisest of all wise oldest sons who greeted me with a hug, a smile and “your hair looks great!”… and Grace, who, not quite as experienced in these things, scrunched up her face, turned her head critically from side to side (as if viewing me at a 45-degree angle would make it look any different), and said “it looks just the same”….  Yes my love, it does… but my curls are back, as well as my smile.  And my hairclip?  Safely lost in the bottom of my purse.

 

And this morning…. 6 minutes from towel to door… scrunch and go…. I just love Carrie.  There should be a Hallmark holiday for good hairdressers.

 

You don't miss what you don't have, until you don't have it.

Ever noticed how:

...you never need to go anywhere until you don't have a vehicle.

...no-one is every looking for you until you're on the phone.

...you're never hungry until you walk into the grocery store.

...you never have to go to the bathroom until you realize you aren't within 10 minutes of one.

Generally I don't take a lunch, or if I do it's at my desk.  There's a million and one reasons:  it's too cold, it's too hot, gas is too expensive, I'd rather leave early, it's too far from the nearby restaurants and stores for a daily jaunt, etc., etc., etc... And generally I just work it on through or take a quick break at my desk and bug out of here early on Friday's.  Until this week.  I don't have my truck you see.  Ethan's high school is taking their Ohio Graduation Tests, something all 10th graders are required to do, and something he's already done.  So all other grades cannot be on school grounds until 9:45-ish AM. 

Now, either I'm the greatest mother in the world, or I have a giant "sucker" stamp on my forehead - I'm not really sure which - but he pouts his lip, flutters his eyelashes and gives me one of those rare "I love you Mom" hugs and I melt and he drives.  My husband, knowing I'd get sick of not being "able" to go somewhere at lunch suggested the child ride his bike the 2 miles and the groans of dismay just broke my resolve.  "Mom, I can't ride my bike!"  Which means, Mom, it's not cool for a senior to ride his bike to school.  and here I am being chauffeured. 

Shoot!  You know, there's a million things I want/need to do on my lunch hour this week.  Like.... I don't know... shop for yarn?

And the sock drama continues

It's funny, really, when you think about it.. well perhaps you never do, actually before yesterday I'm not sure I did either... do people notice your socks? 

After the sock drama this week I was left with only 1 pair of clean matching socks.  Now, I'm certain I have more, but being all black, gray, navy, or brown they were most likely all gathered somewhere out of sight in mourning for the 3 lost socks (the optimist in me would prefer to think they've organized a full-scale sock search and rescue mission, but that's just me). 

In my haste to get out the door and running late as usual - because I'm a notorious "snooze-hitter" in the morning and most particularly the 10 or 20 mornings after the Daylight Savings Time event - the only socks I found were peach, or maybe apricot.  What they definitively were not is black or even gray, either of which would have been acceptable since I was wearing black pants and a blue blouse.  And they might even have matched, since the peach socks and blue blouse were complimentary colors, if it was the 1980's and I was coordinating my socks, blouse and eyeshadow.  But what's a girl to do.... surely no-one would notice my socks.  Right?  I mean my pants are long enough to hang over the tops of my dress shoes.  So I'm safe.  Right?  I mean who notices socks, unless they're a sock connoisseur or a sock knitter or you're wearing black knee high socks with sandals and shorts?  Who? 

Snort!

Apparently they do!  I think I made it until 10:00 AM before someone noticed my socks and commented on them.  Now, a seasoned veteran and survivor of the "uneven, mismatched shoe event of 1993" where I went to work in not only 1 black and 1 navy shoe, but of different heights (don't ask... I'm not sure myself except to say I had a nursing baby) I have learned the valuable lesson of not even trying to hide the problem.  Better to just walk in, shoulders back, chin high, and say something  like, "You would not BELIEVE what I did this morning".  Note:  It also doesn't help to say it was because of the early hour, dark room, late night partying, children who won't sleep, pets who make a mess, or any other excuse that immediately goes through your head.  Just own up to it. 

Me... well, I settled for a compromise.  I owned up to it, laughed along and then promptly blamed it on the sock monster.  As soon as the person was out of sight tugged my pants legs down as far as I comfortably could and decided to stay in for lunch, avoid the kitchen club as well, and sit at my desk until time to go home thereby reducing the risk of someone else seeing.  Because, really when the 2nd person notices the only thing left is to post a sign on your chest that says

"HELLO, my name is....

the doofus that wore peach colored socks to work."

Sock Monsters and Rubber Tree Plants

Wow!  I'm am moving this week. 

Remember that laundry nightmare?  Well the last load went in and there are only 4 lonely socks - matches even - left in the basket.  Hurray!  Of course the load is in the washer and the dryer is full as well, but we're still counting it success since the other 13 loads have been folded, hung and put away in drawers.  Well, I'm pretending they're in drawers because, after all this is a "boy" house and the reality is they're probably on the bookshelf, desk chair, foot of the bed, toy box or any place but inside the drawers.  I know for a fact Grace's are in her drawers.  She's still trying to keep her room clean.

Of course there is the issue of my 3 missing socks, but I have hopes they're around somewhere.  I mean, really, I have 2 feet, I wear 2 socks and on a daily basis I pick 2 socks that match.  I take them off together and I even remember sorting them into the piles together.  But somehow, by the time I dumped the dryer basket on the sofa to be folded they were gone.  I even set the 3 aside for a couple of loads because I figured their matches were a load or so behind from the shifting piles in the hall.  So it was with mixed emotions that I threw that last load in, which are jeans and not socks, and saw the 4 little socks in the basket.  Relief and elation that I had reached the bottom before Saturday morning.  Dismay at the very sad fact is that the 4 socks in the basket are all white, no-show socks... Ethan's.  Not a navy, gray or brown girl's trouser sock in sight. 

Someday, when we rip up the concrete flooring or dismantle a wall we're going to find a sock-monster colony wallpapered with mine and Grace's socks.  They only seem to take ours... perhaps because they're pink or have flowers...  probably because they don't have holes in the toes from nasty, uncut, unpainted toenails or smell like old gym lockers or permanently brown from splashing through mud puddles and football fields.

We've lived here almost 12 years and you would think with all the missing socks stashed away somewhere my heating bill would be seriously impacted in a positive way.  All that cotton and wool... it should be like living in a knitting stash. 

It has occurred to me that I just might be clinging to my hope of finding my socks a little too desperately... I feel rather like the ant and the rubber tree plant, but I have to be honest, I'm starting to think I'm never going to see my cute little navy blue socks with the blue flowers again.

Daylights Savings Time

I don't know how, I don't know why, and I don't know who so it must be Daylight Savings Time.  It's the only answer really.  Or at least the only one that gives me hope that this last weekend has been a once-a-year occurrence and can't be repeated, or at least not all at the same time.

This weekend started pretty well... with the exception of my nagging bronchial cough that just won't go away or get better (despite antibiotics and repeated hits on my inhaler) everyone seems to have recovered from the viruses that have been ripping through here.  The weather even warmed up and I threw open all the windows and doors in the hopes that fresh air would help the clorox/lysol saturated surfaces to throw off any lingering germs.  Friday was shaping up to a pretty good weekend...

Then Saturday hit.  Not really Saturday morning, because that was pretty good, but Saturday afternoon.   Wow! 

I screwed up the times for Austin's Destination Imagination practice.  That wouldn't have been so bad, considering this leader has changed the schedule no less than 4 times and the emails are starting to cross over each other, but with his illness he'd already missed 2 and his competition is next weekend.  Fortunately the leader called to check on him when he didn't show up, so he shoved his sandwich down his throat while Mark ran him out the door.

The washing machine, who had also slept in with me, starting pouring water on the floor.  Not a good sign.  So when Mark got back he grabbed the toolbox, Ethan, and the snake.  That should have worked, but it didn't.  So he headed across the street where our neighbor works for one of those companies like Roto-Rooter that does this for a living.  His wife assured us he would be home "early" and he would come over with his machine before they left the weekend and invited Grace over for a playdate.  Great on both counts!

Unable to wash clothes, I headed for Grace's room armed with garbage bags.  Grace recently got a twin bed which takes up much more room than her old junior bed and so a little deep cleaning and reorganizing was in order.  3 hours later.... oh my gosh, no wonder her room was never clean lately.  Grace back home and in love with her spic-n-span clean room went in and closed the door. 

Somewhere around 8 pm we realized that neighbor was not coming home any time soon or even close to what would be considered "early" and laundry was going to have to wait until Sunday afternoon.  Now, I'm not complaining, really, but 6 people, 4 of whom are men, 1 little girl and 1 woman with "work clothes", a flooded floor, and a 14-year-old who went out to "clean the yard" of winter's debris which apparently meant "shove your first down as far into the mud as it can go to see how deep it is" and there is a lot of laundry piling up.  Those of us who had hung our towel after the last shower were in good stead, the rest, not so much.  The hallway had about 12 semi-orderly (depending on when you walked by) piles of laundry color-coded and in priority order.

Scattered throughout this weekend was my oldest son's, Ethan, physics project the infamous and notorious "spaghetti bridge" for which we have cleaned off the dining room table and are eating off of t.v. trays.  We have hot glued, white glued, elmers glued, I think we've even gorilla glued, cooked and dried, twist-tied and rubber banded almost a box of spaghetti.  Ethan's eaten about ¼ box of raw spaghetti and the only thing we have to show for it is 1 long bundle that probably wouldn't hold up a cheerio.  At intermittent moments throughout the weekend I caught Ethan, sitting perplexed, head on hand, staring at the spaghetti and chomping. 

Today is Monday and we're still suffering the aftershocks... The washing machine has been band-aided until the neighbor can get over and I stayed up until 2 AM washing about 9 loads before I crashed.  There's still about 5 to go.  The spaghetti is still sitting right where it was and there is not a bridge in sight.  Half the children overslept, the other half grumbled and growled their way out the door.  Sweatshirts worn every day have been "misplaced", everything is soaked from 3 days of persistent rain, and it's Monday morning.  Sitting down at my desk I opened my email and discovered that my catalog that I thought was ready for the printer, needs margin adjustments - on all 272 pages!

Yep, it's got to be...Daylight Savings Time.

The only good thing?  We all get to go home that hour early.

Youth is wasted on the young

So where have I been lately... well I've been sitting in quite a few doctor's offices the last 2 weeks...

Visit 1 - With oldest son, Ethan, with whom I have to admit I have not darkened the examining room door now for about 4 years.  We're still working on that whole military thing and with the deadline looming I've been a little hectic trying to obtain a resolution of the whole "asthma" thing.  Days of calls, emails and voicemails led to a visit at his GP who, surprisingly, couldn't see Ethan without me present.  Go figure.  Of course they didn't mention that until he had been sitting in the room for 10 minutes.  I, meanwhile, was over at the school picking up another child, Mark was at Cub Scouts with another child, and the 4th was in the back seat calmly sucking on a peppermint, when I received the panicked call that if I wasn't there in less than 5 minutes they would give his coveted and hard-won appointment away.  Kidding right?  No, apparently not.  I asked for the nurse to plead my case that child #2 was on his way out and I was only 1 mile away but no, I was informed we were down to 3 minutes and counting.  I prayed Kel wasn't at the door watching me leave, called Mark to re-route him to the school, and flew across town to Ethan's side, Grace in tow.  Where.... we waited.. and waited.. and waited. 

Visit 2 - (because the GP couldn't figure out why for the life of him we were there since he's never treated Ethan for asthma (and frankly no-one has since he was 4) but we all agreed that he needs to see a specialist.  Why I had to be there for this decision, why Ethan even had to be there for this decision, why this couldn't have been handled over the phone, is anyone's guess but I'm thinking it probably had something to do with the credit card I handed to the lady behind the window.)  Another 2 days of frantic calls to specialists, specialty labs, more pleading, more begging landed us an appointment with a pediatric pulmonologist who was double booked but was very understanding and compassionate.  At this point I've decided the deadline is too close, the stakes too high and I'm going everywhere with this kid of mine so when those really strange medical history questions come up we can just cut straight to the chase. (fortunately it was a pulmonologist so the only article of clothing that came off was his shoes (note:  buy Ethan shoes, apparently the "cool" jeans hang so low I couldn't see the "faves" Converse Hi-Tops are more hole than sole)

Visit 3 - Eye doctor - for the 6th pair of glasses this year for Austin.  Of course the warranty ran out 2 weeks ago.  Naturally.  But I really did like the eye doctor... he had a great sense of humor!  During one of Austin's rants about the difficulties of life at the advanced age of 9 he turned to me, smiled and said something my grandmother used to say  "Youth is wasted on the young."

Visit 4 - New child, Grace this time, with her annual double-ear infection and "blisters" on an ear drum.  Yes!  I did say that!  Blisters!  I can see the Mother-of-the-Year award is gonna be mine again.  For my defense, it was Saturday when it started, and she was on ibuprofen, claritin and mucinex with a mentholyptus-hazed bedroom and she really only cried for that 1-hour at WalMart Saturday, and the doctor did say the blisters sometimes just happen and aren't related to severity.  Still feel like a heel though. 

So what did I learn (if anything).  I miss the little ones.  Ethan's specialist office was papered in Pooh and Piglet with children's magazines and puzzles.  Neither room we were led to had the little baby examining table.   There weren't any adorable, chubby-cheeked toddlers hanging out in the waiting rooms.  Grace gave one disdainful glance at the stool and climbed up on the examining table herself.  And I miss the days.  The smells of sweet baby cheeks and thigh rolls you just want to eat and tummies to blow on (although Grace does still let me get tummy sugar).  Just for the record, I do NOT miss the diapers.  And it's not even that I want another one, because I really and truly don't.  But it occurred to me that my baby is almost a man and my youngest is a big girl, they don't need step-stools and wrinkle their noses at Pooh, and school is a tragedy, and for a moment... it was just nostalgically sad. 

I love Pooh....

Calling all ladies..

Do you shave your toes?  The tops of your feet?

Do not ask me how in the world I got onto this inane train of thought... I couldn't tell you if I knew.  Probably because I was shaving my legs the other day and, of course, shaved my feet too.  Actually, that rings a bell, because Grace was in keeping me company and inquired. 

Now, "why" you ask am I shaving my feet in the winter?  Well, habit I suppose.  And "why do I bother at all" you ask?  Well, now that is a story, yes indeedy it is. 

And you, my darling husband know exactly why don't you.  Stop laughing I can hear you.

Let's step back in time, shall we, back to say the winter of 1985.  We were on a ski trip to Michigan with our church youth group.  We always spent one night in a hotel and this specific hotel had a hot tub, as most generally do.  This particular trip my mother was chaperoning.  I state this because it is important that I have a witness... a witness that corroborates my story and has a long memory... and because I know you my love, you will say it never happened, it is all my imagination, you don't know what I'm talking about.

There we were... about 12 of us (but memory does play tricks, so it was probably only about 6 but felt like 20) and somehow, for some unknown reason, the topic of conversation turned to shaving and girls legs.  Now most of the kids in the group were dating other kids in the group so there were quite a few couples there who may have had cause to get closer to those calves and feet than the casual observer, and at least one of these other couples were in the hot tub.  (Now, this is PG, we were all about 16-18 and this was a church group so get your mind out of the bikini wax.) 

Anywhoooo, this other boy mentioned that his particular girlfriend shaved her feet... Now I have to say, in my defense, I was only 16 and a country girl - no flip flops here, I was wearing cowboy boots all year long, to keep from getting nails jammed in the bottoms or horses stepping on the tops - and it had never occured to me in a lifetime to shave my feet... when my darling boyfriend (husband of 18+ years now) responded that I didn't and then promptly reached down, grabbed my foot and lifted it into the air for all to see up close and personal to prove his point, which of course caused me to roll backwards in the water, effectively submerging me. 

Yep, shaved my toes and the tops of my feet ever since.

Because we should learn something every day

Jo-Lynne over on MusingsofaHousewife is holding another carnival on "what I learned this week" and because I've never answered any of these sorts of posts, and because she's a fellow hamster-wheel acrobat, and because I believe that if we aren't learning we're losing I thought I'd join the games... so, what have I learned this week?

1)  Birthday parties are expensive… little girl’s parties?  even more expensive.

Tea party?  Swimming party?  Princess party?  Bowling, roller skating, ice skating, mini-golf, pizza and games?  The options are endless and so is the cost.  We’ve narrowed it down to swimming or tea party.   On the one hand a tea party is perfect for a little “girly-girl”, on the other hand they’re only 5 and 6!  Thoughts of kindergarteners and fine china sends shivers up my spine.  On the other hand, the swimming party would be fun, although surprisingly more expensive, and the smallest package would include enough extra pizza and swimming bands for Kelley to invite about 12 friends of his own.  Of course he doesn’t want a party, or friends… apparently he really was serious about just having 1 friend for a sleepover… even when presented with the option of inviting them or wasting the swim bands (not the pizza – pizza never goes to waste with boys around).

2)   There just aren’t very many books about Tourette’s Syndrome for children, and even fewer that are good.

I have exhausted the libraries.  There are a couple… one had the child at a “special school” seriously bad choice there, not sure what the author was thinking, the other is a quick read presented in a manner that a 3-5^th grade teacher could read to a class.  Austin read it in, like, 10 minutes.  It was okay, simple, but okay. 

I’ve often thought I have a story to tell, I’ve just never written it because, well frankly, with 4 kids which story would you pick.  My husband and family have been hinting (okay, pushing) for children books about my PoopsheBears but perhaps Tourette’s is the story I’ve been meant to tell all along.  Thinking…

3)                 Patience is a virtue… one I don’t possess.

For those of you following this particular story… my oldest son is graduating high school this year.  Which means he’s trying to get into college.  Hopefully without incurring any loans.  (We’re a family big on not carrying debt)  We (he and I) have spent the last 6 months pushing.pushing.pushing  (okay, well, I’ve been pushing, he’s been working) to get an Army ROTC scholarship (stop that!  I did so not insist – although I admit to encouraging - he wants the Army, it’s his first step in his “career path” to get to be an FBI agent).  This weekend we received the notification that he has received a 4-year scholarship… pending that *&#$% medical waiver.  Remember the one?  The one that the Army ROTC had missed the flag on and had to reopen the case?  The one where the doctor was then out of town? Well, today was the day to call if we hadn’t heard anything.  So of course I was on the phone at 8:04 AM (no, seriously, 8:04, it’s okay the very nice officer said he was in the office at 7:00 AM).  Now the doctor is at a daily conference all week.  The very nice officer jogged (okay, well he probably marched but he said he was going to run) down to the doctor’s office and sure enough the stack with Ethan’s results is missing from the desktop.  This, he said, means the doctor has it and is working on it today.  Today!  Of course, this means that we won’t hear anything until tomorrow or Friday.  Very patiently (for me) I asked if I hadn’t heard anything by Friday and the very nice officer said I can call him Thursday afternoon.  I know, I know… One more day.  (and because we know reality is that he's at a conference all day, we have no idea how big today's stack of papers are, his wife probably needs to discuss their taxes, Wednesday is probably his t.v. show night, which he will have to te-vo because his kid (probably a 5th grader) is an aspiring musician/athlete and has an event tonight that he has to attend, which (because he's probably a 5th grader) will give dad a migraine, not mention those taxes so reality?  We'll be lucky if we have an answer Friday night).  But, it’s been 6 months and Ethan has to make a decision by February 26^th regarding which college to attend, and really, who are we kidding?  If the scholarship comes through he’s going to UTSA in Texas (which is like 1000 miles from home), but still, if it doesn’t he’s not.  So could we please, please, please get an answer?  The anticipation is killing me.

4)                 Groundhog Day means nothing in Ohio… 

Spring will not arrive any earlier than April 1^st, and sometimes not until May 1^st, whether the chubby little critter sees his shadow or not.

 

So what have you learned this week?  Drop me a note... and head on over to Jo-Lynne's website to check out everyone else's thoughts. 

 

 

 

 

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

The true gift...

So I'm knitting, and knitting, and knitting.  (My hamster wheel is spinning like crazy by the way).  I thought I was on target for Christmas... I have 3/4 of the beaded scarf left (don't look at me like that..I did go out and buy a long skinny needle for beading this weekend, along with a long skinny wire for threading to try if the needle doesn't work), a present for my brother-in-law that hasn't gotten beyond the concept phase, but I'm not going to worry about that yet, and 12 Christmas ornaments.  Well, it was 12, which is where this story is going. 

Then I remembered the teachers, and the babysitter, and my boss' first granddaughter just born, and my friend's grandson, and so on, and so on and so on until I'm was somewhere around 18 or so.  I had 7 done, and then of course my husband walked by on the way out the door to a friend's house "you have so many..." (Shelley and Brad, because I heard you read this blog... I really didn't mind, although he didn't pick the cutest one, I'm sorry I couldn't join him) and I finally settled myself into the realization that I'm going to be knitting a lot more than 18.  (Note:  This is an original pattern/designs, but I'm nowhere near ready to publish, so please don't look for it yet, I'm still tweaking.  I'll show pictures another day)

Where I'm really going with this is this morning.  Because I realized I still need 15 more stockings and I only have 6 I scrambled to knit up 2 late last night so I could take them to sew today.  Ethan was heading 90 miles away to take a breathing test for his ROTC scholarship (for those of you keeping up with this blog, he is applying for the 4-year Army ROTC scholarship but further testing on his lung function for his asthma was required.  The only Department of Defense - approved location was 90 miles away).  So I threw in some yarn, made sure my needles were in there this time, buttons, scissors, and the 2 almost complete stockings.

So, here I am sitting in a waiting room, alone, except for an elderly black man and sewing like a fiend.  He asks me who I'm knitting for and I told him.  Sitting there I felt overwhelmingly that God intended the stocking in my hand for this man and I had to get it done... now... (for those who know me, you know this was going to have to be big.  Please believe me when I say I questioned the sincerity of God's voice for at least 10 minutes while I knit frantically just in case it was) 

Ethan had been in for a while and I suddenly panicked that I still had to knit the handle and sew on the button and I wouldn't get done.  My wheel began spinning faster, my breather became shorter and that room got really hot. 

Finally, I just gave up and prayed.  After all, if God intended this stocking for this man, then God would just have to provide the time for me to finish it.  Right?  Right!  Well, Ethan got back as I tied off the button and said he had to wait a bit longer for a second test.  I smiled, got up, handed the stocking to the gentleman, said I hoped he had a very Merry Christmas.  He smiled, teared up, talked about his wife and kids, asked my name and introduced himself as Stony. 

End of story?  oh ye of little faith... let's not forget God was definitely in charge today and, if God was speaking loud enough to blast me out of my introverted shell, propel me across the room to speak to a stranger, something great was going to happen.

As Ethan headed back in and I worked on the 2nd stocking Stony asked about Ethan.  I explained about his asthma and ROTC and we struck up a conversation, of sorts.  People came, people went and we sat.  Apparently he had only offered up a last-minute ride for someone else so he was waiting as I was. 

Presently, Ethan returned and still we sat waiting for the results, the room was filling up by now.  Stony, asked Ethan about his tests and if he would need more.  He explained that he has a hospital ministry for praying for healing for the sick and chronic illnesses.  He asked Ethan if he would like him to pray for him.  Ethan said yes.  Bless his heart, he stood up in the then crowded waiting room, walked over, anointed my son with oil (I don't know his denomination, sorry, we're Southern Baptist and I'm not familiar with this particular tradition) and then prayed over my son for healing through the saving grace of our Lord Jesus Christ.  My eyes were filled with tears.  How can I tell you what that meant to me?  All through that little stocking and the fact that, for once, I actually listened when God spoke to me and told me to give it to him.  Stony told Ethan, "God works in mysterious ways, I wasn't supposed to be here today but he orchestrated this entire meeting.  Turn to God, grow to know him deeper.  Read Psalms 91."

I don't know where that stocking will go, or whose hearts it will touch for Jesus, but speaking to this stranger in a medical waiting room 90 miles from home it touched our lives more than I can express. As Ethan and I left we stopped by Stony and gave him sincere hugs and thanked him for his prayers and asked God's blessing on him.

God bless each and every one of you, and may you know the peace and love of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, the true Christmas gift, this holiday season.

Lynne

Psalms 91:  King James Version

Abiding in the Shadow of the Almighty

1  He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High

         shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.

 2  I will say of the LORD,

         He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.

 3  Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler,

         and from the noisome pestilence.

 4  He shall cover thee with his feathers,

         and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler.

 5  Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night;

         nor for the arrow that flieth by day;

 6  nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness;

         nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday.

 7  A thousand shall fall at thy side,

         and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.

 8  Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold

         and see the reward of the wicked.

 9  Because thou hast made the LORD, which is my refuge,

         even the Most High, thy habitation;

 10  there shall no evil befall thee,

         neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling.

 11  For he shall give his angels charge over thee, Mt. 4.6 · Lk. 4.10

         to keep thee in all thy ways.

 12  They shall bear thee up in their hands,

         lest thou dash thy foot against a stone. Mt. 4.6 · Lk. 4.11 

 13  Thou shalt tread upon the lion and adder:

         the young lion and the dragon shalt thou trample under feet. Lk. 10.19 

 14  Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I deliver him:

         I will set him on high, because he hath known my name.

 15  He shall call upon me, and I will answer him:

         I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honor him.

 16  With long life will I satisfy him,

         and show him my salvation.

 

Psalm 91 - New International Version

 1 He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High
       will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

 2 I will say of the LORD, "He is my refuge and my fortress,
       my God, in whom I trust."

 3 Surely he will save you from the fowler's snare
       and from the deadly pestilence.

 4 He will cover you with his feathers,
       and under his wings you will find refuge;
       his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

 5 You will not fear the terror of night,
       nor the arrow that flies by day,

 6 nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,
       nor the plague that destroys at midday.

 7 A thousand may fall at your side,
       ten thousand at your right hand,
       but it will not come near you.

 8 You will only observe with your eyes
       and see the punishment of the wicked.

 9 If you make the Most High your dwelling—
       even the LORD, who is my refuge-

 10 then no harm will befall you,
       no disaster will come near your tent.

 11 For he will command his angels concerning you
       to guard you in all your ways;

 12 they will lift you up in their hands,
       so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.

 13 You will tread upon the lion and the cobra;
       you will trample the great lion and the serpent.

 14 "Because he loves me," says the LORD, "I will rescue him;
       I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.

 15 He will call upon me, and I will answer him;
       I will be with him in trouble,
       I will deliver him and honor him.

 16 With long life will I satisfy him                
       and show him my salvation."