"A long time ago there was a ghost that made the rain and thunder. It also liked to eat people."
by TheBoyWhoDoesNotTalk(much)
He just might grow up to write mysteries for his Mama.
Friday, September 12, 2014
Thursday, August 07, 2014
Who's the Boss?
Nickel and I were doing our best imitations of Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck's "Rabbit season/ duck season" argument when TheBoyWhoDoesNotTalk(much) interrupted us.
"Hey! If you two want to fight, go to my room!"
I guess we were told.
"Hey! If you two want to fight, go to my room!"
I guess we were told.
Thursday, July 31, 2014
So, what is microfiche?
I don't consider myself old, sure I used computers with 5 inch floppy discs (briefly-more so the 3 1/2" discs), phones with cords, cassette tapes and AOL Dial-UP, but today a lovely young coworker was perusing some binders that I inherited with my office and ask me, "What is microfiche? Is it something Microsoft use to make?" I asked if she remembered microfiche or microfilm from elementary school to which another lovely young coworker replied, "We're not that old."
I started weeping then proceeded to Google "microfiche" for her to see what she missed out by being born so recently.
Rub it in ladies, just rub it in.
Rub it in ladies, just rub it in.
Monday, June 23, 2014
Summertime Learning and Fun
The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much) as you may have gathered has a few speech delays. I didn't start to worry about them until he was 3 and even now I'm not overly concerned. He talks when he has something to say. He started working with a Speech Pathologist, who happens to be a very dear friend of mine, at the age of 3. After several months of progress she asked if I had considered putting him into the school system. At age 3. I had never heard of such a thing. There was testing to be done but we soon discovered that he did in fact qualify for school services at the age of 3. The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much) enjoys school and it has helped tremendously. However, as we all know, summertime is when even the brightest children can have some regression.
To combat this Peanut has accepted the challenge of helping The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much) during the summer months. I have come up with some "lesson plans". I use the quotes because nothing is really set in stone. I have divided the summer up into units that have a specific theme. For the first two weeks the theme centered around camping because the second week we spent at a cabin in the woods down by the lake. Peanut and I read stories to him like "Curious George goes Camping" by Margaret Ray, "Just Me and My Dad" by Mercer Mayer, and "Fred and Ted Go Camping" by Peter Eastman. There were crafts that could be related to camping like painting with marshmallows, making an owl out of feathers I found on clearance at Walmart. Pinterest led me to some great activities such as colorful pages with rows of fish. The fish were in a certain pattern and the fish at the end were in black and white and could either be colored but we used the colorful Goldfish Crackers and this lesson was fun, delicious, AND helped with math skills.
The second unit was about dinosaurs. This is not The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much)'s favorite subject. He thinks dinosaurs are mean and scary and I had hopes that during this unit he would come away more brave. Dinosaurs are still not his favorite, and that's ok. He was able to work on his fine motor skills with a giant coloring book I found at the Dollar Tree. It only had 30 or so pages, but that was plenty for our two week lessons. Each day I also prepared three lines for him to read and then rewrite in a writing tablet I purchased at Walmart. His Kindergarten teacher was kind enough to send home a copy of the sight words he worked on (and will continue to work on next year when we do another round of Kindergarten). With these sight words and a few extra here and there I've come up with a few sentences. During the Camping Unit his sentences looked something like, "I like to fish", "We like to camp", or "I see a red fish". Fish and Camp were not a sight words but they fit the unit. I only add one or two non-sight words to his writing pages. For the Dinosaur Unit I threw in the word "dinosaur". My goal here is that the more he writes these words the better chance he'll have at remember them. I've noticed the words I used more frequently were the words he was able to read during a little quiz I gave him yesterday.
As a reward, Nickel and I took him to a local museum where they currently have a dinosaur display. Peanut was sound asleep when we left so we gave her the afternoon off from all of us.
Pictured here with daddy, The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much) was a little nervous at the sheer size of the beasts that actually moved (albeit robotically) and roared.
This little gadget allowed you to put a "real" dinosaur egg in to be scanned and you could learn what sort of dinosaur is inside. There were four eggs and of course The Boy had to do them all. We stayed in this area just long enough to see them but quickly moved on to see the rest of the museum and to play. Outside, across the street there is a castle that with admission to the museum could play at as well. The Boy led Nickel and I to the top of one tower and around in circles. I should have taken a picture of the castle as it is quite impressive. At the back of the castle we found some xylophones and the The Boy wrestled with an alligator!
We concluded our Dinosaur Unit with a trip to Cherry Berry where we cooled down a bit. Up next is the most anticipated Space Unit, which happens to be high on The Boy's interest list. We're considering taking a trip to the Science Museum in OKC in a couple of weeks.
"Tell me and I forget. Teach me and I remember. Involve me and I learn." Benjamin Franklin
To combat this Peanut has accepted the challenge of helping The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much) during the summer months. I have come up with some "lesson plans". I use the quotes because nothing is really set in stone. I have divided the summer up into units that have a specific theme. For the first two weeks the theme centered around camping because the second week we spent at a cabin in the woods down by the lake. Peanut and I read stories to him like "Curious George goes Camping" by Margaret Ray, "Just Me and My Dad" by Mercer Mayer, and "Fred and Ted Go Camping" by Peter Eastman. There were crafts that could be related to camping like painting with marshmallows, making an owl out of feathers I found on clearance at Walmart. Pinterest led me to some great activities such as colorful pages with rows of fish. The fish were in a certain pattern and the fish at the end were in black and white and could either be colored but we used the colorful Goldfish Crackers and this lesson was fun, delicious, AND helped with math skills.
The second unit was about dinosaurs. This is not The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much)'s favorite subject. He thinks dinosaurs are mean and scary and I had hopes that during this unit he would come away more brave. Dinosaurs are still not his favorite, and that's ok. He was able to work on his fine motor skills with a giant coloring book I found at the Dollar Tree. It only had 30 or so pages, but that was plenty for our two week lessons. Each day I also prepared three lines for him to read and then rewrite in a writing tablet I purchased at Walmart. His Kindergarten teacher was kind enough to send home a copy of the sight words he worked on (and will continue to work on next year when we do another round of Kindergarten). With these sight words and a few extra here and there I've come up with a few sentences. During the Camping Unit his sentences looked something like, "I like to fish", "We like to camp", or "I see a red fish". Fish and Camp were not a sight words but they fit the unit. I only add one or two non-sight words to his writing pages. For the Dinosaur Unit I threw in the word "dinosaur". My goal here is that the more he writes these words the better chance he'll have at remember them. I've noticed the words I used more frequently were the words he was able to read during a little quiz I gave him yesterday.
As a reward, Nickel and I took him to a local museum where they currently have a dinosaur display. Peanut was sound asleep when we left so we gave her the afternoon off from all of us.
"Tell me and I forget. Teach me and I remember. Involve me and I learn." Benjamin Franklin
Monday, June 09, 2014
Career Options
Last night The Boy Who Does Not Talk (much) came into the living room and though he didn't exactly say "Look at me! Look what I did" he had a bit of a smug look on his face. He was proud of himself. At first I noticed the blue maker on his leg as if he had gotten a little carried away. Then I saw the perfect "D" on his foot along with the now blue toenails. His fingernails were all this same shade of dark blue. There was no way I could yell at him for what he had done. No sense in explaining that boys don't paint their nails, many boys do these days. Besides, I only buy the washable markers and even if it didn't come right off what's the big deal, he's a little kid! So I did what any good mother should do. I took his picture. I call the whole family in to see his accomplishment. Thank goodness this kid has some career choices.
"Being a kid and growing up is such a cool part of life. When you're young, you have no worries, no drama, on your imagination. It's the best!" -Devon Werkheiser
"Being a kid and growing up is such a cool part of life. When you're young, you have no worries, no drama, on your imagination. It's the best!" -Devon Werkheiser
Sunday, June 08, 2014
The Blog...take nine
Sometimes things require more than 140 characters or a status update that will be scrolled past for a day, maybe two before it's forgotten. Sometimes things require a lengthy explanation so that years from now each moment, each emotion can be remembered and treasured. And this is the reason I still have my blog, long after they hype of blogs have worn off. Oh yes, lots of people still have blogs but I don't see very many personal blogs actively being used, but there are a few. Mine hasn't see much traffic over the last six years. It seems a little crazy to me when I stop and think that this blog is almost a decade old (July 29, 2005 was the first entry). Through the Fresh-Cut Flowers I have shared some highs and a few lows.
Peanut was five years old when I started writing here. The same age The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much) is now. I feel this is significant and it is time to start again. Again. To pick things back up that I've put down for a season. Much has happened over the quiet years. I finished my Associates Degree and am continuing towards my Bachelor's Degree. I hope to accomplish that little goal in December of 2016. Peanut will start high school in the fall and The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much) will give Kindergarten another go. Nickel is still plugging right along. Recently, I was given a promotion at The Land of Books. While I enjoyed my job at the Circulation Desk and will miss seeing my regulars every day or week, I have moved into the roll of Administrative Assistant. I will like this job very much. I get along very well with the director and I believe we will make a wonderful team. With this move I hope to be able to sit and blog again from time to time. The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much) is as entertaining as his sister at that age (and what kid isn't?) so I will have stories to tell and maybe even a few pictures as well.
In the meantime I plan to clean up the blog a bit. Some of the 495 posts in my archives need to be weeded through for content sake. That project alone might take a month. Eeks.
"The most effective way to do it, is to do it." Amelia Earhart
Peanut was five years old when I started writing here. The same age The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much) is now. I feel this is significant and it is time to start again. Again. To pick things back up that I've put down for a season. Much has happened over the quiet years. I finished my Associates Degree and am continuing towards my Bachelor's Degree. I hope to accomplish that little goal in December of 2016. Peanut will start high school in the fall and The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much) will give Kindergarten another go. Nickel is still plugging right along. Recently, I was given a promotion at The Land of Books. While I enjoyed my job at the Circulation Desk and will miss seeing my regulars every day or week, I have moved into the roll of Administrative Assistant. I will like this job very much. I get along very well with the director and I believe we will make a wonderful team. With this move I hope to be able to sit and blog again from time to time. The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much) is as entertaining as his sister at that age (and what kid isn't?) so I will have stories to tell and maybe even a few pictures as well.
In the meantime I plan to clean up the blog a bit. Some of the 495 posts in my archives need to be weeded through for content sake. That project alone might take a month. Eeks.
"The most effective way to do it, is to do it." Amelia Earhart
Friday, January 24, 2014
Coaxing Creativity
I am suppose to be writing an essay on Hamlet and how I see him as the "flawed and unique individual" that is expressed throughout the play, what devices win my sympathy for Hamlet and whether or not I think that Shakespeare thinks Hamlet can make a difference. I think it safe to say that Hamlet might be the most picked apart man of literature. For that, I almost feel sorry for him. Here he is, grieving for his father, cannot believe the audacity of his mother marrying his uncle-which is gross, and there are people spying on him at every turn. And there's a ghost. I might go a little mad as well, both real and feigned. Hamlet does pull at my heart strings and poor Ophelia is caught in the middle not knowing where she really stands with this man whom she loves to the point of madness. Her own father is killed accidentally by Hamlet and she is then left alone because her brother left for France near the beginning of the play and Hamlet is shipped off to England to be killed (which uncle dearest plotted).
So, instead pulling all my loose thoughts together for this essay (which I will probably end up writing over the differences between Catholic Baroque and Protestant Baroque in the end) I am trying to force my poor lax brain into controlled creativity. By the way, this 6-7 page essay is due on Sunday.
I use my brain all day in the library answering all sorts of questions but it's not the same as critical thinking for writing. I even put my bookkeeper hat on this week and created some invoices. I put my 10-Key skills to use and that was fun. However, that's not the same as critical thinking for writing either. Not that this little writing exercise here is very critical and minimal on the thinking part as well, but I'm stringing words together to form sentences and paragraphs that I hope in some way makes sense.
I need to focus. I need to decide on which essay I'm really going to write and begin planning it. I have to work tomorrow so that's 8 hours I won't have to write, but if I know what I'm going to write about I could research. Think. Think. Think.
So, instead pulling all my loose thoughts together for this essay (which I will probably end up writing over the differences between Catholic Baroque and Protestant Baroque in the end) I am trying to force my poor lax brain into controlled creativity. By the way, this 6-7 page essay is due on Sunday.
I use my brain all day in the library answering all sorts of questions but it's not the same as critical thinking for writing. I even put my bookkeeper hat on this week and created some invoices. I put my 10-Key skills to use and that was fun. However, that's not the same as critical thinking for writing either. Not that this little writing exercise here is very critical and minimal on the thinking part as well, but I'm stringing words together to form sentences and paragraphs that I hope in some way makes sense.
I need to focus. I need to decide on which essay I'm really going to write and begin planning it. I have to work tomorrow so that's 8 hours I won't have to write, but if I know what I'm going to write about I could research. Think. Think. Think.
Monday, November 18, 2013
Love is in the Air
The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much) has a girlfriend.
The Boy has a hard time with transition. He doesn't like going to P.E., Music, the cafeteria, or recess. He would happily play in the classroom all day. One particular day when the teachers were insisting on fresh air a little girl took The Boy's hand and together they ran all over the playground. The Boy isn't overly fond of touching. This was significant. The teachers told me this girl would probably be moving into their classroom soon.
Today, Nickel asked me if The Boy told me about his girlfriend. He hadn't so of course I asked. She gave him some conversation hearts today. Apparently she is pretty and has brown hair like Mama. He's not giving up her name though. Somethings are private.
I will, of course, ask his teachers tomorrow.
He reminds me of Peanut at this age and the time Pokes Fan proposed. Such a fun age.
The Boy has a hard time with transition. He doesn't like going to P.E., Music, the cafeteria, or recess. He would happily play in the classroom all day. One particular day when the teachers were insisting on fresh air a little girl took The Boy's hand and together they ran all over the playground. The Boy isn't overly fond of touching. This was significant. The teachers told me this girl would probably be moving into their classroom soon.
Today, Nickel asked me if The Boy told me about his girlfriend. He hadn't so of course I asked. She gave him some conversation hearts today. Apparently she is pretty and has brown hair like Mama. He's not giving up her name though. Somethings are private.
I will, of course, ask his teachers tomorrow.
He reminds me of Peanut at this age and the time Pokes Fan proposed. Such a fun age.
Saturday, November 09, 2013
Three Magic Words
The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much) has made leaps and bounds in his vocabulary over the last two years. When he was about three and a half he started seeing one of my best friends an hour a week for speech therapy. That helped, she not only helped him but she helped me learn ways to help him One day she asked if I would be interested in having him tested to possibly getting him into the school system early where he would get more help. This sounded like a great idea to me so we proceeded. With just a few weeks left of school The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much) started going to school half a day Monday through Thursday.
He loved it.
When he turned four and started Pre-K he had the same teacher and went half a day Monday through Friday. More progress was made. He started calling me "Ma" and Nickel is "Da". To him, the word "no" comes out "nay". I tease that he's obviously Scottish and we should get him a kilt.
Kindergarten brought us to full days all week but he has mostly the same kids in his class this year as last year. This helps. So far this year we've seen him pretend to talk on the phone to some of his classmates as well as an abundance of new words. We still don't understand all of what he says, it's sort of like talking to a two year old at this point. But we're getting there. Patience is a skill I am perfecting.
His whole life I have waited to hear those three magic words from him. The best three words there are. I tell him over and over, "I love you." I whisper it in his ear when he's sound asleep. I tell him when we're playing on the floor. I tell him when we're standing in the check out line at the store.
He has never said it back. I don't doubt that he loves me. Somethings in life you just know. But still, it would be nice to hear those words
Today, I needed to leave the house to work on some homework. I find it much less distracting if I hide in a corner of the library. So I was digging in my closet for my backpack (that I've had since my first semester of college in 1997 thank-you-very-much) when he came up behind me.
"Hey Ma."
"Hey Baby, what's up?" I asked without turning around.
"Iloveyou" He garbled.
"What was that?" He repeated himself twice before I realized exactly what he was saying. My son, the boy of very few words told me loves me. He ran off to play giggling over the whole interaction.
I held it together while I packed my bag but as soon as I got in the car the tears started to fall. Two hours later they still threaten to overwhelm me.
He told me he loves me. Those three magic words from the keeper of my heart.
We take words for granted. But when someone is stingy with their words you should always stop and listen. And appreciate. And love.
He loved it.
When he turned four and started Pre-K he had the same teacher and went half a day Monday through Friday. More progress was made. He started calling me "Ma" and Nickel is "Da". To him, the word "no" comes out "nay". I tease that he's obviously Scottish and we should get him a kilt.
Kindergarten brought us to full days all week but he has mostly the same kids in his class this year as last year. This helps. So far this year we've seen him pretend to talk on the phone to some of his classmates as well as an abundance of new words. We still don't understand all of what he says, it's sort of like talking to a two year old at this point. But we're getting there. Patience is a skill I am perfecting.
His whole life I have waited to hear those three magic words from him. The best three words there are. I tell him over and over, "I love you." I whisper it in his ear when he's sound asleep. I tell him when we're playing on the floor. I tell him when we're standing in the check out line at the store.
He has never said it back. I don't doubt that he loves me. Somethings in life you just know. But still, it would be nice to hear those words
Today, I needed to leave the house to work on some homework. I find it much less distracting if I hide in a corner of the library. So I was digging in my closet for my backpack (that I've had since my first semester of college in 1997 thank-you-very-much) when he came up behind me.
"Hey Ma."
"Hey Baby, what's up?" I asked without turning around.
"Iloveyou" He garbled.
"What was that?" He repeated himself twice before I realized exactly what he was saying. My son, the boy of very few words told me loves me. He ran off to play giggling over the whole interaction.
I held it together while I packed my bag but as soon as I got in the car the tears started to fall. Two hours later they still threaten to overwhelm me.
He told me he loves me. Those three magic words from the keeper of my heart.
We take words for granted. But when someone is stingy with their words you should always stop and listen. And appreciate. And love.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Mama Says
I just spent a very nice weekend with my mother. Just the two of us. No husbands. No little distracting children. I drove over to the pretty side of the state on Wednesday and Thursday morning we took off on our adventure to Northwest Arkansas.
We followed the directions I had previously printed out and made it there without incident. After a little bit of driving around to get a feel for where the hotel was at and what was nearby I asked Mom what she wanted for lunch. We had seen an Olive Garden as we exited the highway so of course my mama said, "Olive Garden." Being unfamiliar with the town and not entirely sure how to get back there I whipped out my phone, turned on the GPS and typed in my destination. The directions would have made more sense if we had been familiar with the town but we got there. We decided since our hotel check-in time was still a few hours away we'd go ahead and go to the craft show we had specifically come for. Again I turned on the GPS and familiarized myself with the street names and we took off. If you ever have a chance to visit Northwest Arkansas, the Ozarks, I recommend you go. Late October early November should be even more beautiful as the trees were just barely starting to turn.
The next day we did some shopping and decided to head to up Eureka Springs. Again, another lovely town. Mom really wanted to see the Passion Play but due to the terribly windy roads (without many guardrails) she decided it would be safer if we drove back to our hotel during the daylight. We decided next time we'll do better at finding a hotel closer to Eureka Springs. The town just begs to be explored. We ended up going back a different way than we went. This was only partially on purpose and GPS kept us from actually reaching Missouri (the wrong way). But Mama said she preferred it this way. Seems my dad only knows one way to wherever they go and she enjoys all there is to see.
Saturday brought an end to our trip. We checked out one more craft show (they're really big in Northwest Arkansas during Fall Break) and headed home. At lunch I consulted with the GPS again. I had planned to take the way back but didn't realize until it was too late that GPS was taking us home by a different route. I confirmed that the road we were taking would in fact get us there and just drove. Mama said she didn't mind and eagerly soaked up the scenery as it passed by.
After exiting the interstate highway we drove a two-lane road the rest of the way home. We went through several small towns that looked very interesting. "This is Summer, Arkansas!" Mama said as we passed by some old abandoned looking buildings. "My daddy brought us here one time. All the way to Summer, Arkansas." She told me how my grandfather would get an itch to go for a drive from time to time. Seems he too liked to see different scenery from time to time. So he would load up my grandmother and the four kids, pick a direction and just drive. Sometimes they would stop and buy a loaf of bread and a package of bologna. Grandma would bring a jar of water and they would have a picnic where ever they stopped, then they would load back into the car and drive home. Restaurants were fewer and farther between back then, but they didn't have money to stop at them anyway."Those were the best times! People don't do stuff like that these days." Mama reminisced. "Can you imagine four kids in the back seat? We probably enjoyed it more than he did." Mama said looking out the window, no longer seeing what was passing her by in the present.
"Mama," I said though I never knew my grandfather, "I imagine he liked it just fine." I'm sure he liked it because they were together. And they were happy. What more could a person want for their family. I'm glad my GPS took us home that way.
We followed the directions I had previously printed out and made it there without incident. After a little bit of driving around to get a feel for where the hotel was at and what was nearby I asked Mom what she wanted for lunch. We had seen an Olive Garden as we exited the highway so of course my mama said, "Olive Garden." Being unfamiliar with the town and not entirely sure how to get back there I whipped out my phone, turned on the GPS and typed in my destination. The directions would have made more sense if we had been familiar with the town but we got there. We decided since our hotel check-in time was still a few hours away we'd go ahead and go to the craft show we had specifically come for. Again I turned on the GPS and familiarized myself with the street names and we took off. If you ever have a chance to visit Northwest Arkansas, the Ozarks, I recommend you go. Late October early November should be even more beautiful as the trees were just barely starting to turn.
The next day we did some shopping and decided to head to up Eureka Springs. Again, another lovely town. Mom really wanted to see the Passion Play but due to the terribly windy roads (without many guardrails) she decided it would be safer if we drove back to our hotel during the daylight. We decided next time we'll do better at finding a hotel closer to Eureka Springs. The town just begs to be explored. We ended up going back a different way than we went. This was only partially on purpose and GPS kept us from actually reaching Missouri (the wrong way). But Mama said she preferred it this way. Seems my dad only knows one way to wherever they go and she enjoys all there is to see.
Saturday brought an end to our trip. We checked out one more craft show (they're really big in Northwest Arkansas during Fall Break) and headed home. At lunch I consulted with the GPS again. I had planned to take the way back but didn't realize until it was too late that GPS was taking us home by a different route. I confirmed that the road we were taking would in fact get us there and just drove. Mama said she didn't mind and eagerly soaked up the scenery as it passed by.
After exiting the interstate highway we drove a two-lane road the rest of the way home. We went through several small towns that looked very interesting. "This is Summer, Arkansas!" Mama said as we passed by some old abandoned looking buildings. "My daddy brought us here one time. All the way to Summer, Arkansas." She told me how my grandfather would get an itch to go for a drive from time to time. Seems he too liked to see different scenery from time to time. So he would load up my grandmother and the four kids, pick a direction and just drive. Sometimes they would stop and buy a loaf of bread and a package of bologna. Grandma would bring a jar of water and they would have a picnic where ever they stopped, then they would load back into the car and drive home. Restaurants were fewer and farther between back then, but they didn't have money to stop at them anyway."Those were the best times! People don't do stuff like that these days." Mama reminisced. "Can you imagine four kids in the back seat? We probably enjoyed it more than he did." Mama said looking out the window, no longer seeing what was passing her by in the present.
"Mama," I said though I never knew my grandfather, "I imagine he liked it just fine." I'm sure he liked it because they were together. And they were happy. What more could a person want for their family. I'm glad my GPS took us home that way.
Wednesday, August 07, 2013
Sunday, July 28, 2013
The Dark Side Has Cookies
The Boy Who Talks (much): Ma, why those cookies there?
Me: Um, because I was eating them.
The Boy Who Talks (much): Put em up. (waits a beat) Can I have some?
Me: Welcome to the dark side.
Me: Um, because I was eating them.
The Boy Who Talks (much): Put em up. (waits a beat) Can I have some?
Me: Welcome to the dark side.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
The Smartest Stupid Thing I've Ever Done
I pride myself on not being a total idiot. Sometimes I am an idiot but I'd like to think that perhaps I'm not a total idiot. When I graduated from high school all those moons ago the State of Oklahoma said to me, "You're pretty smart and you're pretty poor why don't we pay 100% of your tuition to any school in the state for 5 years!" You know what I did? Of the 10 regular semesters I could have used that FREE money I only went for 4. See, stupid idiot.
My thinking on this was simply that I just didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up and wanted to take a stab at being a wife and mom. Not that I'm complaining about either of those decisions. Nickel and I still get along after all these years and Peanut is a pretty awesome kid.
A few years later I thought, well, why not finish up that Associates degree and so I did. Slowly, but I did. Ironically it was while taking the last of those classes that I got pregnant with The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much). A few years after the last course I actually applied for graduation and they said, "It's only been 4 years since you finished, why not have the piece of paper to go with it." See, stupid idiot.
But this latest decision I've made is perhaps the smartest stupid decision I've ever made.
I'm going back to college.
Again. But no more children this go around!
The University of Oklahoma says to me, "You only have 42 hours left why not take classes online? They're just 8 weeks a piece. Take a couple in the fall and see what you think." Ok, sign me up.
The website for OU is vast. The course outline for my first class scares me to death.
I have to write eight 1250 word essays in two months. Eep. Well, you know, I like to write. But I like to write like this. From the top of my head where grammar doesn't matter. Well, it does. For the most part but it's not like all 4 of you that read my blog are going to comment about any grammar faux pas unless they're really out there. For this class I have to make sense. I think. I mean, it's college they probably frown if your papers don't make some sort of sense, right?
But getting a college edu-macation isn't a bad thing. It might help me land a better job or a promotion somewhere along the line. Nickel's auntie wants me to continue on to get my Masters. I say, "Whoa Nelly!" Let's make sure I can survive the next 42 college hours before we go tacking on another.... I don't even want to think about how many more hours (and years) it would take to get my Masters. So, if you need me, I'll be around looking for an excuse to avoid my homework. Maybe this is the spark I need to really get blogging again. I have lots of The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much) stories to tell.
Until then.
My thinking on this was simply that I just didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up and wanted to take a stab at being a wife and mom. Not that I'm complaining about either of those decisions. Nickel and I still get along after all these years and Peanut is a pretty awesome kid.
A few years later I thought, well, why not finish up that Associates degree and so I did. Slowly, but I did. Ironically it was while taking the last of those classes that I got pregnant with The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much). A few years after the last course I actually applied for graduation and they said, "It's only been 4 years since you finished, why not have the piece of paper to go with it." See, stupid idiot.
But this latest decision I've made is perhaps the smartest stupid decision I've ever made.
I'm going back to college.
Again. But no more children this go around!
The University of Oklahoma says to me, "You only have 42 hours left why not take classes online? They're just 8 weeks a piece. Take a couple in the fall and see what you think." Ok, sign me up.
The website for OU is vast. The course outline for my first class scares me to death.
I have to write eight 1250 word essays in two months. Eep. Well, you know, I like to write. But I like to write like this. From the top of my head where grammar doesn't matter. Well, it does. For the most part but it's not like all 4 of you that read my blog are going to comment about any grammar faux pas unless they're really out there. For this class I have to make sense. I think. I mean, it's college they probably frown if your papers don't make some sort of sense, right?
But getting a college edu-macation isn't a bad thing. It might help me land a better job or a promotion somewhere along the line. Nickel's auntie wants me to continue on to get my Masters. I say, "Whoa Nelly!" Let's make sure I can survive the next 42 college hours before we go tacking on another.... I don't even want to think about how many more hours (and years) it would take to get my Masters. So, if you need me, I'll be around looking for an excuse to avoid my homework. Maybe this is the spark I need to really get blogging again. I have lots of The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much) stories to tell.
Until then.
Monday, May 13, 2013
The Best or the Worst, Take Your Pick
After today, my children will only attend school for 8 more days. Then they will officially be on summer vacation. They are both very excited. Though it means a lot more to Peanut than her brother as this is his first year of school. But he senses the excitement in the air.
It doesn't seem real. For instance today was the first day The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much) wore shorts to school. Mother nature has lost her mind and refuses to let go of winter. I try, I really do try not to complain as I know any moment now she will snap back into reality and the lows will be in the upper 80s and the highs hovering around 110.
The weather isn't the only reason it doesn't feel like the end of the school year, time just seems to pass by quicker all the time. Remember when we were kids and the school year seemed to drag and drag and we thought we would NEVER get to summer? I sort of miss those days.
Because I work every other Saturday I get every other Friday off. That may change in the future but I'm going to fight it with all I have. Fridays off are the best. It's practically the weekend. I especially love them during the school year because I drop my kids off at school and then have 7 hours ALL. TO. MYSELF! It is glorious.
During my 7 hours I run errands here and there in town and sometimes do other mom stuff like laundry or house cleaning. Sometimes I go to the grocery store and buy just the food I want to eat without anyone else throwing silly stuff into my basket. I never buy Nerds unless some child is with me. Sometimes, if I'm lucky and plan ahead I have two hour visits at a local coffee shop with one friend (sometimes local author Lucie Smoker who is amazing and you should read her book if you haven't already) followed up by a two hour lunch with another friend! Those days are my favorite but on those days I don't get any laundry done. It's all about priorities.
But during the summer my Fridays off are spent with my kids. I'm not in anyway saying this is bad. I'm just saying there are no 2 hour visits over coffee and lunch is out of the question because it's just not the same with children there thinking they need to either be included in the conversation or dominating it. And that's fine too. It's just for a couple of months, totally doable.
But this year I have devised an evil plan. I'm either the best mom ever because I'm taking care of my sanity or I'm the worst mom, you can pick but don't tell me if you think I'm the worst mom.
This year, next Monday in fact, I'm taking a vacation day. WHILE THE KIDS ARE IN SCHOOL. A stay-cation because where would I go with only one day off? I'm trying to squeeze in the last little bit of school days that I can before summer hits.
Next Monday I plan on drinking coffee, having lunch, and who knows what else I'll get into. The kids might be counting down the number of days left in school but I'm counting down the number of days until my day off! Woot!
Wish me luck!
It doesn't seem real. For instance today was the first day The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much) wore shorts to school. Mother nature has lost her mind and refuses to let go of winter. I try, I really do try not to complain as I know any moment now she will snap back into reality and the lows will be in the upper 80s and the highs hovering around 110.
The weather isn't the only reason it doesn't feel like the end of the school year, time just seems to pass by quicker all the time. Remember when we were kids and the school year seemed to drag and drag and we thought we would NEVER get to summer? I sort of miss those days.
Because I work every other Saturday I get every other Friday off. That may change in the future but I'm going to fight it with all I have. Fridays off are the best. It's practically the weekend. I especially love them during the school year because I drop my kids off at school and then have 7 hours ALL. TO. MYSELF! It is glorious.
During my 7 hours I run errands here and there in town and sometimes do other mom stuff like laundry or house cleaning. Sometimes I go to the grocery store and buy just the food I want to eat without anyone else throwing silly stuff into my basket. I never buy Nerds unless some child is with me. Sometimes, if I'm lucky and plan ahead I have two hour visits at a local coffee shop with one friend (sometimes local author Lucie Smoker who is amazing and you should read her book if you haven't already) followed up by a two hour lunch with another friend! Those days are my favorite but on those days I don't get any laundry done. It's all about priorities.
But during the summer my Fridays off are spent with my kids. I'm not in anyway saying this is bad. I'm just saying there are no 2 hour visits over coffee and lunch is out of the question because it's just not the same with children there thinking they need to either be included in the conversation or dominating it. And that's fine too. It's just for a couple of months, totally doable.
But this year I have devised an evil plan. I'm either the best mom ever because I'm taking care of my sanity or I'm the worst mom, you can pick but don't tell me if you think I'm the worst mom.
This year, next Monday in fact, I'm taking a vacation day. WHILE THE KIDS ARE IN SCHOOL. A stay-cation because where would I go with only one day off? I'm trying to squeeze in the last little bit of school days that I can before summer hits.
It's like the Labor Day of the school year for this mom. Bwahaha!!!
Next Monday I plan on drinking coffee, having lunch, and who knows what else I'll get into. The kids might be counting down the number of days left in school but I'm counting down the number of days until my day off! Woot!
Wish me luck!
Thursday, April 04, 2013
I Saw My Mother Do It
I grew up on a in a small community called Etta Bend. Once a thriving community with a train stop, a lumber mill, a one room school house, and residents hunted in the tree-dense hills and fished along the river. Today, Etta Bend it a barely a dot on a rare map. The one-room school house burned at one point and the children went to other schools in nearby communities, there are no train tracks to speak of, I have no memory of the lumber mill and I do not know how it met it's end, but I like to think that the trees won the battle of territory. People still hunt and fish and the horse-shaped road is still dirt and rock. Supposedly, the county was going to pave it in 1970. Residents are still waiting.
I learned to drive on that dirt road. I even let my slightly younger best friend drive for the first time on a straight stretch of road. I like that dirt road, part of me hopes the county forgets to pave it for another forty years.
Etta Bend is home to one little church and as you might suspect, I grew up in that church. When I started driving I became Minnie's chauffeur. Minnie was a sweet old lady who was like a second grandmother to me. She had babysat me from time to time and was my Sunday School teacher more often than not. For all the years I knew her Minnie never drove. I don't know if she even owned a vehicle. I think I remember a rusted old car that sat near her home but I don't know the details. Minnie relied on people to bring her to and from church on Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night. When her family was close they performed the duty but as her family branched out my family picked up the slack.
I loved driving Minnie to church. Not only because I loved her but because I loved driving. It was a little thing to me, barely took an extra 10-15 minutes depending on road conditions.
But Minnie wasn't the only one I even played chauffeur to. Before I started driving a woman started attending our church. She too lived on Etta Bend, but this woman didn't smell very nice. She seemed to be forgetful and would say things over and over. I had not grown up with her and I am ashamed to say, I had little patience for her. Her name was Susie.
Susie would sometimes walk to church which was over two miles from her house up and down hills over this rock and dirt road with her cane. As a teenager with a sensitive nose I did not think too kindly of my mother offering rides to this woman. It was impossible to hold my breath all the way. But my mother did not complain once. She even smiled and talked to her which I knew required breathing.
I saw what my mother did.
By the time I was seventeen I got over myself and joined the ranks as one of Susie's chauffeurs when she felt up to attending church, which honestly became less and less over the years. Time gets us all.
Fast forward fifteen years and now I'm in my car with my teenage daughter after school. We're talking about homework assignments and the substitute teacher for the substitute teacher when I saw Mrs. Miller walking down the street.
Mrs. Miller lives a block over and I see her out walking almost ever single day of the year no matter the weather. But this was a cold and rainy spring day. I could see Mrs. Miller struggle with her umbrella, which is obviously broken, a cup of coffee, a small bag from Burger King, and her cane.
I had never actually met Mrs. Miller before though we have lived in the same neighborhood for ten years. I pulled over and rolled my daughter's window down, "Would you like a ride?" She only lives three blocks away but it's a nasty day and clearly she's struggling. She takes in the car and after a moment of deliberation she agrees to the ride. I talk her into handing the coffee and sack to Peanut hold while she maneuvers her umbrella and cane into the back seat. During the short trip she asks if Peanut goes to the same Jr. High her children and grandchildren went to once upon a time. We talk about the yucky weather we've had but are thankful for much needed rain. Small talk that didn't amount to much at all. At her house I hop out into the rain taking the coffee and sack and carry them along with the broken umbrella up the three steps to her house. I smiled and said goodbye.
My daughter saw what her mother did.
I learned to drive on that dirt road. I even let my slightly younger best friend drive for the first time on a straight stretch of road. I like that dirt road, part of me hopes the county forgets to pave it for another forty years.
Etta Bend is home to one little church and as you might suspect, I grew up in that church. When I started driving I became Minnie's chauffeur. Minnie was a sweet old lady who was like a second grandmother to me. She had babysat me from time to time and was my Sunday School teacher more often than not. For all the years I knew her Minnie never drove. I don't know if she even owned a vehicle. I think I remember a rusted old car that sat near her home but I don't know the details. Minnie relied on people to bring her to and from church on Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night. When her family was close they performed the duty but as her family branched out my family picked up the slack.
I loved driving Minnie to church. Not only because I loved her but because I loved driving. It was a little thing to me, barely took an extra 10-15 minutes depending on road conditions.
But Minnie wasn't the only one I even played chauffeur to. Before I started driving a woman started attending our church. She too lived on Etta Bend, but this woman didn't smell very nice. She seemed to be forgetful and would say things over and over. I had not grown up with her and I am ashamed to say, I had little patience for her. Her name was Susie.
Susie would sometimes walk to church which was over two miles from her house up and down hills over this rock and dirt road with her cane. As a teenager with a sensitive nose I did not think too kindly of my mother offering rides to this woman. It was impossible to hold my breath all the way. But my mother did not complain once. She even smiled and talked to her which I knew required breathing.
I saw what my mother did.
By the time I was seventeen I got over myself and joined the ranks as one of Susie's chauffeurs when she felt up to attending church, which honestly became less and less over the years. Time gets us all.
Fast forward fifteen years and now I'm in my car with my teenage daughter after school. We're talking about homework assignments and the substitute teacher for the substitute teacher when I saw Mrs. Miller walking down the street.
Mrs. Miller lives a block over and I see her out walking almost ever single day of the year no matter the weather. But this was a cold and rainy spring day. I could see Mrs. Miller struggle with her umbrella, which is obviously broken, a cup of coffee, a small bag from Burger King, and her cane.
I had never actually met Mrs. Miller before though we have lived in the same neighborhood for ten years. I pulled over and rolled my daughter's window down, "Would you like a ride?" She only lives three blocks away but it's a nasty day and clearly she's struggling. She takes in the car and after a moment of deliberation she agrees to the ride. I talk her into handing the coffee and sack to Peanut hold while she maneuvers her umbrella and cane into the back seat. During the short trip she asks if Peanut goes to the same Jr. High her children and grandchildren went to once upon a time. We talk about the yucky weather we've had but are thankful for much needed rain. Small talk that didn't amount to much at all. At her house I hop out into the rain taking the coffee and sack and carry them along with the broken umbrella up the three steps to her house. I smiled and said goodbye.
My daughter saw what her mother did.
Monday, March 25, 2013
The Highlander
It is no secret, I love a good kilt. Especially when the man wearing the kilt is hot.
Take a moment and Google David Tennant, Gerard Butler, or even Sean Connery in kilt.
Mmmmmmmmmm....see?
What was I saying? Oh yes, kilts. I like 'em. I like 'em a lot. I even like to read Medieval Romance novels set in the...you guessed it, the Highlands. Don't judge me.
Yes, I've read Outlander by Diana Gabaldon. It was a good book and would totally read the others in the series except I became some bogged down by the story line that Nickel thought for two weeks it took me to read it I was depressed, unhappy, and was going to leave him. I tend to become one with a book (which is why I choose happily ever after romance novels over thriller horror books everyday) so I'll just let my friends tell me all the interesting plot points in the rest of the series and piece the story together in my head where everyone is happy. Especially Jamie and Claire. It works for me, ok.
Nickel knows about my kilt fetish. He still refuses to wear one for me. Bummer. That would be a sight!
Today I went visited with some close friends of mine. My Melodious friend served tea. Today's blend was a very nice Highland tea. It was delicious and I may have been a glutton drinking at least four cups. In my defense, I have a terrible cold and the tea soothed my sore body. But I digress.
After our adventures and tea I came home and made a lovely Cottage Pie for dinner and took control of the remote and decided on the 1986 production of Highlander. I've seen this movie before, many many years ago.
I now remember why I haven't watched the movie is so long. It's ridiculous, as most movies from the 80s are. What were they thinking?
I had to turn the movie off before the end because I remembered why it was rated R. Because movies like this think it's appropriate to throw in a random sex scene. "Hey baby, you just found out I'm over 400 years old. Wanna have sex on my hardwood floors?"
Uh, no.
I mean, come on, ew.
He wasn't even wearing his kilt in that scene. Not that his kilt was cute in the flashbacks. It really wasn't.
Since I have a young boy and a new teenager in the house I thought it more appropriate for The Adventures of Chuck and Friends to be our entertainment. As that genre usually dominates our airwaves.
And this, my friends is why you do not watch Rated R movies from the 1980s no matter if there are kilts or not. This warning should probably apply to the 1995 production of Braveheart as well.
Take a moment and Google David Tennant, Gerard Butler, or even Sean Connery in kilt.
Mmmmmmmmmm....see?
What was I saying? Oh yes, kilts. I like 'em. I like 'em a lot. I even like to read Medieval Romance novels set in the...you guessed it, the Highlands. Don't judge me.
Yes, I've read Outlander by Diana Gabaldon. It was a good book and would totally read the others in the series except I became some bogged down by the story line that Nickel thought for two weeks it took me to read it I was depressed, unhappy, and was going to leave him. I tend to become one with a book (which is why I choose happily ever after romance novels over thriller horror books everyday) so I'll just let my friends tell me all the interesting plot points in the rest of the series and piece the story together in my head where everyone is happy. Especially Jamie and Claire. It works for me, ok.
Nickel knows about my kilt fetish. He still refuses to wear one for me. Bummer. That would be a sight!
Today I went visited with some close friends of mine. My Melodious friend served tea. Today's blend was a very nice Highland tea. It was delicious and I may have been a glutton drinking at least four cups. In my defense, I have a terrible cold and the tea soothed my sore body. But I digress.
After our adventures and tea I came home and made a lovely Cottage Pie for dinner and took control of the remote and decided on the 1986 production of Highlander. I've seen this movie before, many many years ago.
I now remember why I haven't watched the movie is so long. It's ridiculous, as most movies from the 80s are. What were they thinking?
I had to turn the movie off before the end because I remembered why it was rated R. Because movies like this think it's appropriate to throw in a random sex scene. "Hey baby, you just found out I'm over 400 years old. Wanna have sex on my hardwood floors?"
Uh, no.
I mean, come on, ew.
He wasn't even wearing his kilt in that scene. Not that his kilt was cute in the flashbacks. It really wasn't.
Since I have a young boy and a new teenager in the house I thought it more appropriate for The Adventures of Chuck and Friends to be our entertainment. As that genre usually dominates our airwaves.
And this, my friends is why you do not watch Rated R movies from the 1980s no matter if there are kilts or not. This warning should probably apply to the 1995 production of Braveheart as well.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Life of a Teenager's Mom
No, I'm not changing the name of my blog. I could, that would be a great title, but I think I'll stick with this one. Plus, it's kind of fun to be called "Fresh-Cut Flowers Girl" when being introduced.
I have much on my mind these days. Too much for a Facebook post. Besides, I'm on the outs with Facebook at the moment. I'm sure that tide will change again soon, but for now, old faithful blog, I turn to you to vent my thoughts and feelings.
Thirteen years ago I was in a lot of pain. Well, maybe not exactly thirteen years ago. I don't remember what time it was when I got my epidural. All I know for sure is that in a few short hours my Peanut will been a full fledged teenager. We've been through a lot that little girl and I. Some things were good and others weren't so good. I'm sure we'll have plenty more of those moments in the next thirteen years to come. I'm hoping by the time she's twenty-six she'll be the easiest person to get along with. I'm proud of her, my Peanut. She's quite an amazing young lady. She's smart, kind, and generous to a fault. The Lord is good.
Baby Butter, aka The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much) has been talking more since he started Pre-K. He was able to start at the elementary school last spring in the Special-Ed program geared for 3 year olds that are delayed. Since he didn't talk much he was considered delayed. Not being overly worried about it we thought it was a great opportunity to get him extra help. He responded well to the teacher and the structure of going to school. As luck would have it, he has the same teacher again this year. Now he talks and sings and even recognizes some letters and numbers. He is especially fond of the letter "E" and the number "5". I don't know why but I agree that those are good ones. For all his progress I am thankful. The Lord is good.
I'm feeling off lately. I don't know if there is too much clutter or not enough time or just a phase or some sort of mesh of all of the above. There defiantly aren't enough hours in the day. After work all I want to do is sit down and zone out. Much like 97% of all working adults I'm sure. I miss working at the church where I had my own office and could take my time easing into work or starting off with a bang if I felt like it. I miss the quiet time where I could sit and write for a few minutes. I miss writing. I miss blogging. People make time for what they find important, they say, which is true. Obviously, I do not find deep sea fishing important. At least, not to me. But I do think cleaning is important, yet currently my desk is in such disarray that I'm having an inner battle just to ignore it and type this little blog instead. I should probably stop it and start cleaning. Declutter my desk and declutter my mind. I wish that was how it worked. I like things to be easy. But I fear I will end up distracted for my efforts.
Now that I've come to the conclusion that I'm just rambling about inconsequential things I will wrap things up. What it all boils down to is this. I love to blog but the truth of the matter is I crave feedback. I want to know how many people have read my little ramblings and I just don't get that kind of feedback here whereas Facebook has all those Likes and people actually comment on what I have to say more often than not. So while I would love to spend everyday blogging through my life and telling you boring story after boring story of what my children are doing I will probably stick with Facebook.
I think I'll go clean my desk now.
I have much on my mind these days. Too much for a Facebook post. Besides, I'm on the outs with Facebook at the moment. I'm sure that tide will change again soon, but for now, old faithful blog, I turn to you to vent my thoughts and feelings.
Thirteen years ago I was in a lot of pain. Well, maybe not exactly thirteen years ago. I don't remember what time it was when I got my epidural. All I know for sure is that in a few short hours my Peanut will been a full fledged teenager. We've been through a lot that little girl and I. Some things were good and others weren't so good. I'm sure we'll have plenty more of those moments in the next thirteen years to come. I'm hoping by the time she's twenty-six she'll be the easiest person to get along with. I'm proud of her, my Peanut. She's quite an amazing young lady. She's smart, kind, and generous to a fault. The Lord is good.
Baby Butter, aka The Boy Who Doesn't Talk (much) has been talking more since he started Pre-K. He was able to start at the elementary school last spring in the Special-Ed program geared for 3 year olds that are delayed. Since he didn't talk much he was considered delayed. Not being overly worried about it we thought it was a great opportunity to get him extra help. He responded well to the teacher and the structure of going to school. As luck would have it, he has the same teacher again this year. Now he talks and sings and even recognizes some letters and numbers. He is especially fond of the letter "E" and the number "5". I don't know why but I agree that those are good ones. For all his progress I am thankful. The Lord is good.
I'm feeling off lately. I don't know if there is too much clutter or not enough time or just a phase or some sort of mesh of all of the above. There defiantly aren't enough hours in the day. After work all I want to do is sit down and zone out. Much like 97% of all working adults I'm sure. I miss working at the church where I had my own office and could take my time easing into work or starting off with a bang if I felt like it. I miss the quiet time where I could sit and write for a few minutes. I miss writing. I miss blogging. People make time for what they find important, they say, which is true. Obviously, I do not find deep sea fishing important. At least, not to me. But I do think cleaning is important, yet currently my desk is in such disarray that I'm having an inner battle just to ignore it and type this little blog instead. I should probably stop it and start cleaning. Declutter my desk and declutter my mind. I wish that was how it worked. I like things to be easy. But I fear I will end up distracted for my efforts.
Now that I've come to the conclusion that I'm just rambling about inconsequential things I will wrap things up. What it all boils down to is this. I love to blog but the truth of the matter is I crave feedback. I want to know how many people have read my little ramblings and I just don't get that kind of feedback here whereas Facebook has all those Likes and people actually comment on what I have to say more often than not. So while I would love to spend everyday blogging through my life and telling you boring story after boring story of what my children are doing I will probably stick with Facebook.
I think I'll go clean my desk now.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
The Long Night
10:58 pm
My bed is crowded with an extra body as I prepare to find my rest. I smile and gather the little boy into my arms and carry him to his couch. He doesn't like to sleep on his bed. His sister is already asleep on the other couch. I'm not sure why I even keep beds in their rooms really. The boy coughs in his sleep. I fill a humidifier to help him breathe easier throughout the night. Finally, I can go to bed.
11:24 pm
The bed shakes as someone crawls into bed next to me. I smile and make room.
11: 42 pm
The Boy cries and crawls out of bed. He coughs as he finds his way to his couch. I get up and find his cough medicine. His dad had tried to give him some earlier but the boy wouldn't take it. I try anyway hoping that in the sleepy haze he'll forget about how much he hates taking medicine. He hasn't but still he took some. I fix him some juice to help get rid of the taste in his mouth. He settles back down. I go back to bed.
12:17 am
A mumbled cry wakes me from slumber. I begrudgingly leave the warmth and comfort of my bed to follow the cries. In the darkness of the living room I find Boy Who Doesn't Talk (aka Baby Butter) standing there holding his monkey close to his heart. He coughs. I can hear that he is wheezing slightly as well. I go to him as he lays down in front of the dark Christmas tree in the dining room. I plug in the tree to give us some light and hold him. I rock him in my arms. Usually he does not allow this sort of comfort. He coughs again. He isn't running a fever. For that I am thankful. He sits up though he makes no move to leave me. He is still wheezing slightly so I set him down.
12: 24 am
I set up his nebulizer. He actually allows me to place the doggy mask by his face. I am frightened by the sense of helplessness. After a few minutes I go get his pillows off the couch and mine off my bed. I grab the big Spiderman quilt I made. He has abandoned his breathing treatment for the pillows. I show him he can have both. We lay there together as he takes in the fogged air. I feel helpless as I watch him watch me. He smiles slightly. We lay there together for a long time. I tell him to close his eyes. He says no. Boy Who Doesn't Talk does talk from time to time.
12: 49 am
I move to a nearby chair. It is hard for me to lay on the floor. I'm not as young as I use to be. But I can't go back to bed and leave him alone. Boy Who Doesn't Talk sits on his knees and talks in a language I cannot understand to the tree. He is excited and bounces on his knees.
1:29 am
He still admires the Christmas tree from his place under it. Most of the ornaments he placed on it himself. I wonder what he is thinking. The wheezing has past for now, I am thankful. "What's that?" he asks when I join him again. "Snowman" I whisper. "What's that" he asks and points to another ornament. "Dragonfly." "What's that?" he asks again. "An angel. What's that?" I ask him this time. "Car. Vroom." "And that?" I ask. "Ball!"
1:44 am
I remind him it is night-night time. He shakes his head at me and pokes out his bottom lip. I wonder when I'll get sleep again. He drags the Spiderman quilt into the living room and lays back down under the Christmas tree. I retrieve the quilt "Huh-uh" he says shaking his head and palm no. He goes and gets the quilt Nana made him. He and his monkey look almost ready for sleep. Almost.
2:14 am
The Boy is wide awake. I yawn and yearn desperately for my bed. The boy pats my head in comfort. "Heart" he says as he holds up the first Christmas ornament I bought his dad and my's first Christmas, two red hearts with each of our names written on them. I smile at the memory.
2:41 am
He's starting to wheeze again. The last breathing treatment has kept us up over two hours now. I don't know what to do. He's rearranging the ornaments on the tree and seems very happy doing this. Occasionally he lays down with me but only lasts a few moments before he up and busy again.
Sometime around 3:30 am
Sweet sweet slumber. Thank you Jesus.
My bed is crowded with an extra body as I prepare to find my rest. I smile and gather the little boy into my arms and carry him to his couch. He doesn't like to sleep on his bed. His sister is already asleep on the other couch. I'm not sure why I even keep beds in their rooms really. The boy coughs in his sleep. I fill a humidifier to help him breathe easier throughout the night. Finally, I can go to bed.
11:24 pm
The bed shakes as someone crawls into bed next to me. I smile and make room.
11: 42 pm
The Boy cries and crawls out of bed. He coughs as he finds his way to his couch. I get up and find his cough medicine. His dad had tried to give him some earlier but the boy wouldn't take it. I try anyway hoping that in the sleepy haze he'll forget about how much he hates taking medicine. He hasn't but still he took some. I fix him some juice to help get rid of the taste in his mouth. He settles back down. I go back to bed.
12:17 am
A mumbled cry wakes me from slumber. I begrudgingly leave the warmth and comfort of my bed to follow the cries. In the darkness of the living room I find Boy Who Doesn't Talk (aka Baby Butter) standing there holding his monkey close to his heart. He coughs. I can hear that he is wheezing slightly as well. I go to him as he lays down in front of the dark Christmas tree in the dining room. I plug in the tree to give us some light and hold him. I rock him in my arms. Usually he does not allow this sort of comfort. He coughs again. He isn't running a fever. For that I am thankful. He sits up though he makes no move to leave me. He is still wheezing slightly so I set him down.
12: 24 am
I set up his nebulizer. He actually allows me to place the doggy mask by his face. I am frightened by the sense of helplessness. After a few minutes I go get his pillows off the couch and mine off my bed. I grab the big Spiderman quilt I made. He has abandoned his breathing treatment for the pillows. I show him he can have both. We lay there together as he takes in the fogged air. I feel helpless as I watch him watch me. He smiles slightly. We lay there together for a long time. I tell him to close his eyes. He says no. Boy Who Doesn't Talk does talk from time to time.
12: 49 am
I move to a nearby chair. It is hard for me to lay on the floor. I'm not as young as I use to be. But I can't go back to bed and leave him alone. Boy Who Doesn't Talk sits on his knees and talks in a language I cannot understand to the tree. He is excited and bounces on his knees.
1:29 am
He still admires the Christmas tree from his place under it. Most of the ornaments he placed on it himself. I wonder what he is thinking. The wheezing has past for now, I am thankful. "What's that?" he asks when I join him again. "Snowman" I whisper. "What's that" he asks and points to another ornament. "Dragonfly." "What's that?" he asks again. "An angel. What's that?" I ask him this time. "Car. Vroom." "And that?" I ask. "Ball!"
1:44 am
I remind him it is night-night time. He shakes his head at me and pokes out his bottom lip. I wonder when I'll get sleep again. He drags the Spiderman quilt into the living room and lays back down under the Christmas tree. I retrieve the quilt "Huh-uh" he says shaking his head and palm no. He goes and gets the quilt Nana made him. He and his monkey look almost ready for sleep. Almost.
2:14 am
The Boy is wide awake. I yawn and yearn desperately for my bed. The boy pats my head in comfort. "Heart" he says as he holds up the first Christmas ornament I bought his dad and my's first Christmas, two red hearts with each of our names written on them. I smile at the memory.
2:41 am
He's starting to wheeze again. The last breathing treatment has kept us up over two hours now. I don't know what to do. He's rearranging the ornaments on the tree and seems very happy doing this. Occasionally he lays down with me but only lasts a few moments before he up and busy again.
Sometime around 3:30 am
Sweet sweet slumber. Thank you Jesus.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
You need Jesus
Working the front desk at the library I am able to talk to a wide array of people of varying of degrees of education, income and religion. On any given day I will speak to Catholics, Mormons, and atheists. Apparently there is something in my aura this week because three people have given me a "little something" from their church.
I thought I had a pretty good relationship with Jesus, but maybe they know something I don't.
I thought I had a pretty good relationship with Jesus, but maybe they know something I don't.
Friday, August 10, 2012
Did That Just Happen
I spent my day off with Peanut today. Butter likes to stick to his schedule and would really rather not go shopping so he spent a few hours at daycare. Besides, the lucky girl leaves for her annual summer Tulsa trip tomorrow. Then on Thursday Butter and I will pick her up and head to Tahlequah to visit for a few day. Pretty sweet vacation.
Nickel has threaten to "clean" Peanut's room while she is gone. That word strikes fear in both her and myself because Nickel's definition of "clean" very different ours. His involves lots of garbage bags. I'm not opposed to getting rid of junk and trash but sometimes he goes a little overboard. So to help her out we bought some clear tubs for her to sort her important things.
In the car on our way home she told me that she was actually in the mood to clean her room and was a little excited to organize these tubs. I told her I would help her pick up her room.
"Let me work on it for thirty minutes by myself, first!" she exclaimed.
"Uh, sure," I replied.
Wait, did she just say she was going to clean her room by herself? Sweet! I wasn't even trying to use reverse psychology but it worked.
I am amazing!
Nickel has threaten to "clean" Peanut's room while she is gone. That word strikes fear in both her and myself because Nickel's definition of "clean" very different ours. His involves lots of garbage bags. I'm not opposed to getting rid of junk and trash but sometimes he goes a little overboard. So to help her out we bought some clear tubs for her to sort her important things.
In the car on our way home she told me that she was actually in the mood to clean her room and was a little excited to organize these tubs. I told her I would help her pick up her room.
"Let me work on it for thirty minutes by myself, first!" she exclaimed.
"Uh, sure," I replied.
Wait, did she just say she was going to clean her room by herself? Sweet! I wasn't even trying to use reverse psychology but it worked.
I am amazing!
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