I don’t know why I thought it was so funny at the time, but as I look back on it now I can’t even raise a chuckle. Must be the rainy weather. It’s about Alexandra, of course. Who else could make me stand on my head to get her to learn her science assignment?
She came home a week or so ago and calmly announced she had failed her 5th grade science test. However, the teacher was kind enough to offer her a 2nd try at this. I gave her the evil eye and told her that we were going to study her little behind off and she would know the stuff inside out before next Wednesday. (That’s the short story. We had to get through about two hours of how boring science is, and I can’t do it, don’t understand it, I’m going to pass or mom’s going to kill me besides she promisedmefivedollarsifIgotanA.)
So, off we go to the dining room table, and I try vainly to recall the biology I had mastered over twenty years ago (or was it thirty?) Her solution was to memorize the answers in order. I asked her how she knew the teacher used the same test again. Alexandra assured me this was the case (it wasn’t, isn’t and her teacher is not as dumb as Alexandra thinks).
So out came the pencils, and the scratch paper (bits and pieces out of the recycle bucket), and off we go trying to understand what made a plant cell different from a animal cell. Her study sheets even included an appropriately useless graphic that I couldn’t make hide nor hair of, even with comparing it to pictures on google.
After about three hours of scratching my head over her notes, her answers and how to get it between her ears, I discovered body parts. Yep, body parts. So here’s my solution to the “what makes a cell a cell, and other profound questions”.
Breath deep twice (ooooooohhhhhaaaaa…ooooooohhhhhaaaa.)
Beat your chest with your fist (THUMP! THUMP!)
Wiggle your fingers (wiggle wiggle wiggle)
Raise raise your arms high over your ears and wave (making like deer antlers).
Ready? GO! OOOOOHHHAAAAA OOOOHHHAAAAA THUMP THUMP WIGGLE WIGGLE WAVE WAVE WAVE!
Those are the answers, you just have to ask the following questions:
1) What do cells use chlorophyll for? (Respiration!)
2) What cells have small fingers that poke out? (Heart cells!)
3) What cells move your skeleton system around? (Muscle cells!)
40 What cells have long branches that poke out ? (Brain cells!)
Now… all together - OOOOOHHHAAAAA OOOOHHHAAAAA THUMP THUMP WIGGLE WIGGLE WAVE WAVE!
Well, it was funny at the time.
(P.S. She got a B.)
Monday, November 9, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
Michigan Blueberries and Other Assorted News Items
Anybody know that Michigan is the #1 source of cherries for the U.S .(adding sweet and tart cherries together)? That when the National Cherry Festival is held every year in early July that the sweet cherries are not ripe and we import them from other states for the Festival? That over half of our economy is based on agriculture? That Michigan is famous for more than Motown, unemployment and cars no one buys anymore?
You didn't?
Well, now you know...
We also grow blueberries...yep, we do. I know because I saw them at the local Save-a-Lot in 5 lb boxes...I get how the blueberries grow, but how do they grow the boxes around them? Gotta think on that one...(we are also famous for a lot of non-high school grads...)
Speaking of blueberries, the ever industrious Alexandra (now age 10, going on smart mouth 15) planted some old pumpkin seeds in a flower pot in the kitchen window. I thought it was a nice exercise in playing in dirt - two days later they sprouted (all 10 of them). They are growing at a rate of 2 - 3 inches a day! (Like looking at a camera fast forwarding cloud movement), She got so excited that she planted red pepper seeds and cucumber seeds in the other flower posts. We discussed having 20 foot pumpkin vines in the house over the winter but she is undeterred. She now wants to work in a greenhouse when she grows up...as soon as she finds out what a green house is...
So what is happening in Michigan besides an unpopular governor (just ask Dave who is a staunch Republican), an out of this world deficit (again, ask Dave), and a broke school system? (ditto Dave)
We are adopting two (not just one, but TWO) girls from China! Despite our age (older than dirt), despite our EXTREMELY LARGE FAMILY THAT NO ONE KNOWS HOW WE DO IT?? (just ask anyone, althoug we are obviously doing something because the kids keep coming back for meals) and despite strict rules from the China Center for Adoption Affairs, they have approved us for two girls - one is 9 (and has a hemangioma - like a port wine stain only red, on her face) and one who is 10 (with mild cerebral palsy). Two different provinces, two different special needs, two different waiting child lists...all of which should have ended up with a big, fat "NO WAY IN HELL ARE YOU CRAZY" answer from the CCAA.
However, they said yes. Let me repeat that - THEY SAID YESS!!! WAHOO!!
So, sometime this fall I will travel alone, venturing out away from the safe craziness of Buckley MI (population 9 Asians and growing - our neighbor has 2 kids from Korea) to Beijing China. From there to Tianjin Province (east of Beijing on the coast), and Anhui (south of Beijing in the south) to collect "TWO MORE KIDS WHO ARE GOING TO BE TEENAGERS SOON HOW ARE YOU GOING TO DO IT ARE YOU NUTS?"
Yep, that's what we are doing. Since we don't get airwaves TV very well, we have to keep ourselves entertained somehow...
So, thank you, thank you...yes we are excited. No, I have do idea how we will do it. We obviously keep dong something because the kids are growing like weeds (about 5 inches a year for most of them, except for Alexandra, the world's smallest 10 yr old). They are all doing well in school, and no we are not nuts.
Dave tends to take the stupid comments to heart - of course the latest one being "How are you going to handle 8 kids?" Well, stupid, the same way we handled 7 - bury them in the back yard, keep them fertilized and watered and take them out when fully grown. I mean - how do you THINK we are going to handle it? The same way we do it every day...ONE DAY AT A TIME.
Sorry to sound disgruntled on such a momentous day...Dave obviously misssed most of the stupid questions when the kids were little (like the day at the mall when a lady asked me if I had a daycare...an Asian daycare?) Yeah, right.
So, now that I have educated all of you in the manners of what not to ask, say CONGRATS and keep praying for us! A miracle has occurred and I had to share. (True comment - when I got a call from our agency a week ago I knew it was our case worker and I knew it was approval for the 2nd little girl even before I answered the phone).
So, who says God doesn't occasionally speak in a clear low voice? Still waiting for the road signs for the rest of my life but seems to me God is doing a pretty good job keeping us along the straight and narrow...ok, the " wavy, sinuous, off the beaten track, oops we backtracked where the hell are we now" road.
Other News - Dave's grown daughter Yvette (about 32 now) is getting married next year. She just got engaged. I told Dave he would be a wonderful grandfather...his hair is getting grayer than mine by the hour but he seems to handing in there.
Just had to share,
Mary
The "HOW ARE YOU GOING TO HANDLE ALL THOSE KIDS" lady from Buckley, MI (home to the fastest Asian population in Michigan)
You didn't?
Well, now you know...
We also grow blueberries...yep, we do. I know because I saw them at the local Save-a-Lot in 5 lb boxes...I get how the blueberries grow, but how do they grow the boxes around them? Gotta think on that one...(we are also famous for a lot of non-high school grads...)
Speaking of blueberries, the ever industrious Alexandra (now age 10, going on smart mouth 15) planted some old pumpkin seeds in a flower pot in the kitchen window. I thought it was a nice exercise in playing in dirt - two days later they sprouted (all 10 of them). They are growing at a rate of 2 - 3 inches a day! (Like looking at a camera fast forwarding cloud movement), She got so excited that she planted red pepper seeds and cucumber seeds in the other flower posts. We discussed having 20 foot pumpkin vines in the house over the winter but she is undeterred. She now wants to work in a greenhouse when she grows up...as soon as she finds out what a green house is...
So what is happening in Michigan besides an unpopular governor (just ask Dave who is a staunch Republican), an out of this world deficit (again, ask Dave), and a broke school system? (ditto Dave)
We are adopting two (not just one, but TWO) girls from China! Despite our age (older than dirt), despite our EXTREMELY LARGE FAMILY THAT NO ONE KNOWS HOW WE DO IT?? (just ask anyone, althoug we are obviously doing something because the kids keep coming back for meals) and despite strict rules from the China Center for Adoption Affairs, they have approved us for two girls - one is 9 (and has a hemangioma - like a port wine stain only red, on her face) and one who is 10 (with mild cerebral palsy). Two different provinces, two different special needs, two different waiting child lists...all of which should have ended up with a big, fat "NO WAY IN HELL ARE YOU CRAZY" answer from the CCAA.
However, they said yes. Let me repeat that - THEY SAID YESS!!! WAHOO!!
So, sometime this fall I will travel alone, venturing out away from the safe craziness of Buckley MI (population 9 Asians and growing - our neighbor has 2 kids from Korea) to Beijing China. From there to Tianjin Province (east of Beijing on the coast), and Anhui (south of Beijing in the south) to collect "TWO MORE KIDS WHO ARE GOING TO BE TEENAGERS SOON HOW ARE YOU GOING TO DO IT ARE YOU NUTS?"
Yep, that's what we are doing. Since we don't get airwaves TV very well, we have to keep ourselves entertained somehow...
So, thank you, thank you...yes we are excited. No, I have do idea how we will do it. We obviously keep dong something because the kids are growing like weeds (about 5 inches a year for most of them, except for Alexandra, the world's smallest 10 yr old). They are all doing well in school, and no we are not nuts.
Dave tends to take the stupid comments to heart - of course the latest one being "How are you going to handle 8 kids?" Well, stupid, the same way we handled 7 - bury them in the back yard, keep them fertilized and watered and take them out when fully grown. I mean - how do you THINK we are going to handle it? The same way we do it every day...ONE DAY AT A TIME.
Sorry to sound disgruntled on such a momentous day...Dave obviously misssed most of the stupid questions when the kids were little (like the day at the mall when a lady asked me if I had a daycare...an Asian daycare?) Yeah, right.
So, now that I have educated all of you in the manners of what not to ask, say CONGRATS and keep praying for us! A miracle has occurred and I had to share. (True comment - when I got a call from our agency a week ago I knew it was our case worker and I knew it was approval for the 2nd little girl even before I answered the phone).
So, who says God doesn't occasionally speak in a clear low voice? Still waiting for the road signs for the rest of my life but seems to me God is doing a pretty good job keeping us along the straight and narrow...ok, the " wavy, sinuous, off the beaten track, oops we backtracked where the hell are we now" road.
Other News - Dave's grown daughter Yvette (about 32 now) is getting married next year. She just got engaged. I told Dave he would be a wonderful grandfather...his hair is getting grayer than mine by the hour but he seems to handing in there.
Just had to share,
Mary
The "HOW ARE YOU GOING TO HANDLE ALL THOSE KIDS" lady from Buckley, MI (home to the fastest Asian population in Michigan)
Monday, September 14, 2009
Dateline March, 2007 – My Imperfectly Perfect Daughter
In my life of almost constant chaos, there are a few bright spots. If anyone ever asked me I’d have to say it isn’t the deafening stillness that comes over the house when all seven kids are outside together (though that ranks right up there). It isn’t when I’m told by the school system that my eldest daughter is so smart that she is being tested for the Talented and Gifted program for next year (just had to throw that one out there), or the fact that my middle son is also a good candidate for the program (despite his struggles with ADHD.) I think I’d have to say, if anyone ever asked (which no one has) that one of the biggest highlights of our chaotic family life is my Korean daughter.
Elizabeth, now eight, was adopted from Seoul, South Korea two years ago. She was an almost seven-year-old hiding out in a baby home, flying under the radar while her caretakers hoped against hope that someone would come forward to adopt her. She had been listed for adoption for European families since she was an infant, with no takers.
It couldn’t have been because she was not a beautiful child – she has dark shiny hair and a complexion to die for. It couldn’t be the fact that she was missing her two front teeth for ever and ever – all kids at one time or another have gapped tooth smiles (although I have a sneaking suspicion her baby teeth were knocked out while learning to walk on cold tile floors at the baby house.)
I think my daughter was aging out of the baby home because she came with a scary sounding label that probably turned most would-be parents bloodto ice. My daughter has Schizencephaly. In simple terms it’s a split between the two brain halves that results in various levels of impairment. My daughter uses a wheel chair and has trouble speaking.
We first became aware of her in the spring of 2005 when we were attending a Christmas party for internationally adopted children. An agency rep was there with flyers from the adoption agency and Elizabeth was there, the top dog of waiting children. She was the oldest (almost seven years old) and on her way to the next level of orphanage by September, where there would be almost no chance of getting a family. Well, by the time we got home, back when we only had five sugar-whacked kids (instead of our present seven) I had made the decision to find out more about her.
I called the agency rep and asked to see her videos. Most of them showed the same scene over and over – a long legged little girl in foot and leg braces, walking along the row of baby cribs, holding herself up and smiling like a mad woman, a sucker clenched between her back molars. It didn’t take long for me to convince my husband that adopting just one more wasn’t as insane as it seemed.
Here it is nearly two years later and my daughter is finishing up first grade. She has gone from a seven year old in diapers with almost no speaking skills, to an outgoing, chattering, friendly, charming, stubborn princess. She is reading at almost grade level, is a social star among the 7-8 yr old crowd, has a smile that can light up a two-mile radius and is finally speaking in full sentences.
Of all the children and all the paperwork, and all the prayers that went into making our show stopping, crowd gawking family, she is surely a star. It truly breaks my heart that she lived so many years in a baby home destined to become a statistic because of a scary sounding label. After two years of taking my daughter to therapy I have seen scores of homegrown children with labels that make “Cerebral Palsy” and “Schizencephaly” seem like a walk in the park. It looks like this time our leap of faith landed us right in the middle of God’s Grace.
She is an angel in a wheel chair, a stubborn princess, a little girl with garbled speech, bright onyx eyes and shiny hair. She is the light of our lives and, at times, the bane of my existence. She is my daughter.
Elizabeth, now eight, was adopted from Seoul, South Korea two years ago. She was an almost seven-year-old hiding out in a baby home, flying under the radar while her caretakers hoped against hope that someone would come forward to adopt her. She had been listed for adoption for European families since she was an infant, with no takers.
It couldn’t have been because she was not a beautiful child – she has dark shiny hair and a complexion to die for. It couldn’t be the fact that she was missing her two front teeth for ever and ever – all kids at one time or another have gapped tooth smiles (although I have a sneaking suspicion her baby teeth were knocked out while learning to walk on cold tile floors at the baby house.)
I think my daughter was aging out of the baby home because she came with a scary sounding label that probably turned most would-be parents bloodto ice. My daughter has Schizencephaly. In simple terms it’s a split between the two brain halves that results in various levels of impairment. My daughter uses a wheel chair and has trouble speaking.
We first became aware of her in the spring of 2005 when we were attending a Christmas party for internationally adopted children. An agency rep was there with flyers from the adoption agency and Elizabeth was there, the top dog of waiting children. She was the oldest (almost seven years old) and on her way to the next level of orphanage by September, where there would be almost no chance of getting a family. Well, by the time we got home, back when we only had five sugar-whacked kids (instead of our present seven) I had made the decision to find out more about her.
I called the agency rep and asked to see her videos. Most of them showed the same scene over and over – a long legged little girl in foot and leg braces, walking along the row of baby cribs, holding herself up and smiling like a mad woman, a sucker clenched between her back molars. It didn’t take long for me to convince my husband that adopting just one more wasn’t as insane as it seemed.
Here it is nearly two years later and my daughter is finishing up first grade. She has gone from a seven year old in diapers with almost no speaking skills, to an outgoing, chattering, friendly, charming, stubborn princess. She is reading at almost grade level, is a social star among the 7-8 yr old crowd, has a smile that can light up a two-mile radius and is finally speaking in full sentences.
Of all the children and all the paperwork, and all the prayers that went into making our show stopping, crowd gawking family, she is surely a star. It truly breaks my heart that she lived so many years in a baby home destined to become a statistic because of a scary sounding label. After two years of taking my daughter to therapy I have seen scores of homegrown children with labels that make “Cerebral Palsy” and “Schizencephaly” seem like a walk in the park. It looks like this time our leap of faith landed us right in the middle of God’s Grace.
She is an angel in a wheel chair, a stubborn princess, a little girl with garbled speech, bright onyx eyes and shiny hair. She is the light of our lives and, at times, the bane of my existence. She is my daughter.
Nature or Nurture…that is the question (Dateline December 2006)
Those of us who have adopted children who look nothing like us know the questions you will be asked by total strangers, even before they open their mouths. Some people phrase it better so it doesn’t sound as intrusive as it really is (try asking a family that does look alike the same questions and see if they don’t start throwing stuff at you). You just get used to it, or you go nuts. I’m too busy to go nuts, so I just answer the question as honestly as I can and go about my business. But sometimes I’m a little surprised with what actually comes out of my mouth, despite my best intentions.
Like the time I had five of my kids at Sam’s Club (warehouse wholesaler,) all riding on a flatbed cart. Easier to keep track of the kids, easier to buy cat litter by the 100 lb weight, easier to get people to get out of my way. I had successfully cleared a path to the cashier (visualize Moses parting the Red Sea and you get the idea) and was almost out the door with my load in tow, when an elderly couple stopped and started staring at the kids. I could just feel the questions coming (know the feeling?) You can almost see their brain shifting into high gear, getting ready for the eternal question “Are they all yours?” (No, I stole them…shhhh…don’t tell anyone). And out comes the question “Where did you get ALL THOSE KIDS???! (Meaning – “We raised two and never thought we’d live through it, and you have HOW MANY?)
Despite my best intentions (and my refined breeding, of course) out popped the only answer I could think of “Over in the produce section…better hurry! They’re going fast!!) The kids just looked confused. Heck, the old couple looked confused. I think I was the only one enjoying the joke…but it got me thinking about the kids and their relation to me. Obviously I don’t have to worry about them having their dad’s green eyes, my Irish complexion and quick temper (I mean excruciating wit). I just have to worry about them doing well in school and cleaning up their mess.
But the older I get the more I see their birth parents in them. For the most part it’s a great thing, linking the past to the present, and so on. But I also see a lot of me in them. Actually I’m starting to see my other relatives in them as well, people they have never met.
For instance, my mother (still alive and kicking in Florida…hi mom!) used to sleep with about 50 books, magazine, knitting and what not all over her bed. You couldn’t move anything off the bed, because she would immediately wake up and said something like “Put it back! I’m reading that!” Well, my daughter Annelise (age 9, from China) does the same thing. Don’t touch her stuff…she is reading that! I don’t care that she can’t find it under all the blankets on her bed (the ones she never folds), or that it has a months worth of dust on it under the bed…she knows where everything is despite never having picked it up in the last year.
Then there’s my daughter Alexandra (age 7, also from China). She has stubbornness down to a science. Much like my younger sister Cathy (living in Virginia, say hello Cathy!) Alexandra can turn from sweet little 7 year old to a stubborn mule in 2 seconds flat. It’s the most amazing thing. She juts her chin, squints her eyes and digs in her heels…just like Cathy did when she was growing up.
My son Tanner (also age 7, from Taiwan) reminds me of my sister Carol (living with aforementioned mother in Florida.) Whip smart, fast thinker and sometimes-slow learner about social mores. The highlight of his 1st grade year at school was the number of referrals (guess who blew it again for bad behavior) we received from the principal. I swear he set the local school district record for the number of dumb things he kept getting caught doing. By May I was halfway considering teaching him how not to get caught so I could spend some time at work in the afternoon, and not in the principals office. This year we have made it through almost four months of school with only one “referral” slip coming home for bad behavior. A big sigh of relief when we finally had him diagnosed as ADHD (emphasis on the H part) and got his meds straight. I had a friend once whose favorite phrase was “Without Chemicals Live Would be Impossible). At the time he was refereeing to illegal drugs (shhhh…don’t tell the kids), but it seems to be true.
As for the other four kids (yep, still holding at seven) I think they must take after my husband’s side of the family. Haven’t met most of them either, but I have my suspicions that somewhere in heaven there is gallery of dead relatives thinking up strange and wonderful things to share with my children.
As aggravating as it can be sometimes to see my kids do some of the dumb things I and my siblings got away with 25 years ago, it’s almost funny to watch. They may be adopted but yes, they are all mine. Funny quirks and all.
That’s it. Merry Christmas from Buckley.
Where we are still waiting for the rain to stop and the snow to fall.
Like the time I had five of my kids at Sam’s Club (warehouse wholesaler,) all riding on a flatbed cart. Easier to keep track of the kids, easier to buy cat litter by the 100 lb weight, easier to get people to get out of my way. I had successfully cleared a path to the cashier (visualize Moses parting the Red Sea and you get the idea) and was almost out the door with my load in tow, when an elderly couple stopped and started staring at the kids. I could just feel the questions coming (know the feeling?) You can almost see their brain shifting into high gear, getting ready for the eternal question “Are they all yours?” (No, I stole them…shhhh…don’t tell anyone). And out comes the question “Where did you get ALL THOSE KIDS???! (Meaning – “We raised two and never thought we’d live through it, and you have HOW MANY?)
Despite my best intentions (and my refined breeding, of course) out popped the only answer I could think of “Over in the produce section…better hurry! They’re going fast!!) The kids just looked confused. Heck, the old couple looked confused. I think I was the only one enjoying the joke…but it got me thinking about the kids and their relation to me. Obviously I don’t have to worry about them having their dad’s green eyes, my Irish complexion and quick temper (I mean excruciating wit). I just have to worry about them doing well in school and cleaning up their mess.
But the older I get the more I see their birth parents in them. For the most part it’s a great thing, linking the past to the present, and so on. But I also see a lot of me in them. Actually I’m starting to see my other relatives in them as well, people they have never met.
For instance, my mother (still alive and kicking in Florida…hi mom!) used to sleep with about 50 books, magazine, knitting and what not all over her bed. You couldn’t move anything off the bed, because she would immediately wake up and said something like “Put it back! I’m reading that!” Well, my daughter Annelise (age 9, from China) does the same thing. Don’t touch her stuff…she is reading that! I don’t care that she can’t find it under all the blankets on her bed (the ones she never folds), or that it has a months worth of dust on it under the bed…she knows where everything is despite never having picked it up in the last year.
Then there’s my daughter Alexandra (age 7, also from China). She has stubbornness down to a science. Much like my younger sister Cathy (living in Virginia, say hello Cathy!) Alexandra can turn from sweet little 7 year old to a stubborn mule in 2 seconds flat. It’s the most amazing thing. She juts her chin, squints her eyes and digs in her heels…just like Cathy did when she was growing up.
My son Tanner (also age 7, from Taiwan) reminds me of my sister Carol (living with aforementioned mother in Florida.) Whip smart, fast thinker and sometimes-slow learner about social mores. The highlight of his 1st grade year at school was the number of referrals (guess who blew it again for bad behavior) we received from the principal. I swear he set the local school district record for the number of dumb things he kept getting caught doing. By May I was halfway considering teaching him how not to get caught so I could spend some time at work in the afternoon, and not in the principals office. This year we have made it through almost four months of school with only one “referral” slip coming home for bad behavior. A big sigh of relief when we finally had him diagnosed as ADHD (emphasis on the H part) and got his meds straight. I had a friend once whose favorite phrase was “Without Chemicals Live Would be Impossible). At the time he was refereeing to illegal drugs (shhhh…don’t tell the kids), but it seems to be true.
As for the other four kids (yep, still holding at seven) I think they must take after my husband’s side of the family. Haven’t met most of them either, but I have my suspicions that somewhere in heaven there is gallery of dead relatives thinking up strange and wonderful things to share with my children.
As aggravating as it can be sometimes to see my kids do some of the dumb things I and my siblings got away with 25 years ago, it’s almost funny to watch. They may be adopted but yes, they are all mine. Funny quirks and all.
That’s it. Merry Christmas from Buckley.
Where we are still waiting for the rain to stop and the snow to fall.
My Favorite Martian (dateline July 2006)
My youngest daughter Alexandra came out of the bathroom recently with a totally new hair ‘do. She had taken her bangs, put a ponytail maker around them and glued them straight up with water so it looked like she had an antennae sticking out the top of her head. She walked around the house impressing everyone with her style sense, and all her sisters were eager to try it out for themselves. Must be an age thing. I thought it looked like she was trying to communicate with the Mother Ship (right about the time THIS Mother Ship was heading out the door to work).
Aren’t kids fun? Must be another time and another place, but I don’t remember growing up being all that interested in foofing with my hair, adorning myself with play jewelry or wearing dresses. I do remember getting black patent leather shoes around Easter time every year, and wondering if they were really so shiny that someone could see my underwear. (Remember that?)
All my daughters are passionate about wearing dresses. Around my house, the emphasis is always on wardrobe issues - dresses or skirts, pink or red, frilly if possible, and tights, tights, tights. It doesn’t matter if it’s 110 deg in the shade, or –40 deg below zero, dresses and skirts are the end-all, be-all of fashion. I have to admit they do seem to have a better grasp on fashion than I do. I’m still trying to figure out what my color scheme is, but my girls can get dressed in a dark room and still come out looking like they had professional help. Fuchsia socks with orange sneakers? No problem. Pink shorts with a teal green sweater? Bring it on. Three pony tails sticking out the right side of the head? Too last week…it’s antennae time now, or did you miss that one?
But try buying girls dresses these days. My girls are all under 10 and have no need to emphasize their chest area (I mean really, they’re flat as boards). But most little girl dresses have a shirt wrap to be tied underneath what will eventually become a chest (five years from now). And the length! (Or should I say “What length?”) Better double tight them up, because they have underwear longer than some of these things.
Of course my daughters can accessorize with the best of them. I eventually gave in one year and bought them all small wooden jewelry boxes to keep their “jewelry” in. Things such as strings of very large wooden beads from Kindergarten, with an occasional bell tossed in for variety; bead projects on white elastic bands to hand out to friends at school; Strawberry Shortcake bracelets worn as chokers around their necks. Makes going to bed a real work out – I do a FOD (foreign object on deck) walk-down on each kid every night to ensure they aren’t wearing things around their neck or extremities that will make their hands and feet fall off by the next morning.
And somehow the jewelry always migrates back to me. Every couple of weeks I dump out my top desk drawer and parcel it all out again. But every night it miraculously floats back, ending up in my desk drawer by sunrise each morning. I occasionally clean out the drawer and storethe googaws in my hope chest. I save all sorts of things there - first shoes, clothes they came home from the orphanage in, kindergarten baubles, drawings of alien looking people with pointed heads…I mean pictures of Mom and Dad drawn by a three year old. I have a ton of stuff, and someday I’m going to go through it all, and wait for just the right moment to bring it out. You know, first boyfriend, first date, first engagement…something really special.
In the mean time, I have a new ‘do to try. Think the Mother Ship delivers pizza?
As always,
Love from Buckley
Where the girls are beautiful,
Mom wears combat boots,
And the Alien Invasion is expected any minute.
Aren’t kids fun? Must be another time and another place, but I don’t remember growing up being all that interested in foofing with my hair, adorning myself with play jewelry or wearing dresses. I do remember getting black patent leather shoes around Easter time every year, and wondering if they were really so shiny that someone could see my underwear. (Remember that?)
All my daughters are passionate about wearing dresses. Around my house, the emphasis is always on wardrobe issues - dresses or skirts, pink or red, frilly if possible, and tights, tights, tights. It doesn’t matter if it’s 110 deg in the shade, or –40 deg below zero, dresses and skirts are the end-all, be-all of fashion. I have to admit they do seem to have a better grasp on fashion than I do. I’m still trying to figure out what my color scheme is, but my girls can get dressed in a dark room and still come out looking like they had professional help. Fuchsia socks with orange sneakers? No problem. Pink shorts with a teal green sweater? Bring it on. Three pony tails sticking out the right side of the head? Too last week…it’s antennae time now, or did you miss that one?
But try buying girls dresses these days. My girls are all under 10 and have no need to emphasize their chest area (I mean really, they’re flat as boards). But most little girl dresses have a shirt wrap to be tied underneath what will eventually become a chest (five years from now). And the length! (Or should I say “What length?”) Better double tight them up, because they have underwear longer than some of these things.
Of course my daughters can accessorize with the best of them. I eventually gave in one year and bought them all small wooden jewelry boxes to keep their “jewelry” in. Things such as strings of very large wooden beads from Kindergarten, with an occasional bell tossed in for variety; bead projects on white elastic bands to hand out to friends at school; Strawberry Shortcake bracelets worn as chokers around their necks. Makes going to bed a real work out – I do a FOD (foreign object on deck) walk-down on each kid every night to ensure they aren’t wearing things around their neck or extremities that will make their hands and feet fall off by the next morning.
And somehow the jewelry always migrates back to me. Every couple of weeks I dump out my top desk drawer and parcel it all out again. But every night it miraculously floats back, ending up in my desk drawer by sunrise each morning. I occasionally clean out the drawer and storethe googaws in my hope chest. I save all sorts of things there - first shoes, clothes they came home from the orphanage in, kindergarten baubles, drawings of alien looking people with pointed heads…I mean pictures of Mom and Dad drawn by a three year old. I have a ton of stuff, and someday I’m going to go through it all, and wait for just the right moment to bring it out. You know, first boyfriend, first date, first engagement…something really special.
In the mean time, I have a new ‘do to try. Think the Mother Ship delivers pizza?
As always,
Love from Buckley
Where the girls are beautiful,
Mom wears combat boots,
And the Alien Invasion is expected any minute.
True Confessions: How Vacation Bible School Kicked My Butt
I’m tired. Truly, unbelievably, nightmarishly tired. Night out with the girls? An all nighter with a sick child? Making whoopee with my husband in the basement after the kids go to bed? Nah….it’s that dreaded time of year called “Vacation Bible School”.
Sounds innocuous enough, doesn’t it? I mean face it…how hard can it be – drag seven kids to church each afternoon for five days, someone else feeds them dinner and then turn them over to a group of dedicated volunteers who run them around the church for three hours. They do crafts, sing (atthe top of their lungs), eat snacks and at the end of all this you have just given your child enough Christian Education to last them the rest of the summer. Easy, right? Not a chance.
Let me tell you how it really is. Vacation Bible School at our church hasn’t been held during normal working hours in about five years (not enough volunteers). When they went to evening hours we dropped out of it (it’s hard enough to corral seven kids to bed at eight p.m. without the added distraction of coming home two hours later and still needing baths, teeth brushed, etc.)
But this year they got me. I took some time off from church. I admit it. Guilty, guilty, guilty.
This year it seems that Sunday is the only day I didn’t have a therapy appointment, scout meeting, or what ever. My days have started to stretch well beyond the seventeen-hour mark and I just hit the wall. Running. Smack. Right into my face.
Being away from church for a couple of weeks sets you up for other things (God might work in mysterious ways, but sometimes He just hits you over the head with a nerf ball.). You get susceptible to guilt trips (ahh, flash backs to my Catholic school days). Vacation Bible School was coming up the 2nd week after school ended. Guaranteed to be fun, filling (they were cooking) and fast paced. The kids are older and more able to stay up later than normal for a few days. They have the rest of the summer to recuperate. So I decided to sign the kids up for VBS (filling out identical forms for seven kids with identical info is another story in itself). My schedule went something like this:
The first night (Sunday) went reasonably well. The kids ate, played, sang, ran around and generally found Jesus at the top of their lungs. Got to bed at 10 p.m.
Monday morning I got up at 4:30 a.m., dragged my daughter out of bed, drove two hours to see an orthopedic specialist in Grand Rapids (who was on vacation that day). Convinced the nurses at the office that something had crawled inside my daughters leg cast and died. Got the cast changed. Flew home (wheels never touched the ground), went to work, met kids at church, did VBS night #2 stuff, went home, got to bed 10:30 p.m. So what’s an 18-hour day to a mom, right? (And who has time to count anyway?)
Tuesday I got up at 5 a.m., went to work and stared at paperwork, moved my pencil around, met kids at 5 p.m., ate church food, listened to the music program (again), discovered that the music system had only one flavor (loud), went home and did seven baths and seven sets of teeth, crawled into bed at 10:30 p.m
Wednesday, crawled out of bed at 5 a.m., crawled to work, stared out the window, tottered to church, sat there in a dumb founded stupor, got home, threw water at the kids, waved toothbrushes in the general direction of their teeth, got to bed at 10:15 p.m.
Thursday, opened one eye, miraculously showed up at work, imagined I met the kids at church, slept under a table for 3 hours, got carried to my car by several volunteer parents (those still awake) and seven little kids, waved my magic wand and got home, stepped over the door sill and died.
Friday, woke up, blew up the church, locked the kids outside and went back to bed.
So, what did you doing this summer?
As always, love from Buckley,
Where the kids know Jesus, the church won’t let me back in, and I’m still trying to figure
if getting a face lift will put the bags back under my eyes instead of under my chin where
they are currently parked.
Sounds innocuous enough, doesn’t it? I mean face it…how hard can it be – drag seven kids to church each afternoon for five days, someone else feeds them dinner and then turn them over to a group of dedicated volunteers who run them around the church for three hours. They do crafts, sing (atthe top of their lungs), eat snacks and at the end of all this you have just given your child enough Christian Education to last them the rest of the summer. Easy, right? Not a chance.
Let me tell you how it really is. Vacation Bible School at our church hasn’t been held during normal working hours in about five years (not enough volunteers). When they went to evening hours we dropped out of it (it’s hard enough to corral seven kids to bed at eight p.m. without the added distraction of coming home two hours later and still needing baths, teeth brushed, etc.)
But this year they got me. I took some time off from church. I admit it. Guilty, guilty, guilty.
This year it seems that Sunday is the only day I didn’t have a therapy appointment, scout meeting, or what ever. My days have started to stretch well beyond the seventeen-hour mark and I just hit the wall. Running. Smack. Right into my face.
Being away from church for a couple of weeks sets you up for other things (God might work in mysterious ways, but sometimes He just hits you over the head with a nerf ball.). You get susceptible to guilt trips (ahh, flash backs to my Catholic school days). Vacation Bible School was coming up the 2nd week after school ended. Guaranteed to be fun, filling (they were cooking) and fast paced. The kids are older and more able to stay up later than normal for a few days. They have the rest of the summer to recuperate. So I decided to sign the kids up for VBS (filling out identical forms for seven kids with identical info is another story in itself). My schedule went something like this:
The first night (Sunday) went reasonably well. The kids ate, played, sang, ran around and generally found Jesus at the top of their lungs. Got to bed at 10 p.m.
Monday morning I got up at 4:30 a.m., dragged my daughter out of bed, drove two hours to see an orthopedic specialist in Grand Rapids (who was on vacation that day). Convinced the nurses at the office that something had crawled inside my daughters leg cast and died. Got the cast changed. Flew home (wheels never touched the ground), went to work, met kids at church, did VBS night #2 stuff, went home, got to bed 10:30 p.m. So what’s an 18-hour day to a mom, right? (And who has time to count anyway?)
Tuesday I got up at 5 a.m., went to work and stared at paperwork, moved my pencil around, met kids at 5 p.m., ate church food, listened to the music program (again), discovered that the music system had only one flavor (loud), went home and did seven baths and seven sets of teeth, crawled into bed at 10:30 p.m
Wednesday, crawled out of bed at 5 a.m., crawled to work, stared out the window, tottered to church, sat there in a dumb founded stupor, got home, threw water at the kids, waved toothbrushes in the general direction of their teeth, got to bed at 10:15 p.m.
Thursday, opened one eye, miraculously showed up at work, imagined I met the kids at church, slept under a table for 3 hours, got carried to my car by several volunteer parents (those still awake) and seven little kids, waved my magic wand and got home, stepped over the door sill and died.
Friday, woke up, blew up the church, locked the kids outside and went back to bed.
So, what did you doing this summer?
As always, love from Buckley,
Where the kids know Jesus, the church won’t let me back in, and I’m still trying to figure
if getting a face lift will put the bags back under my eyes instead of under my chin where
they are currently parked.
The Wild, Wild…North? (Dateline June 2006)
Life in Northern Michigan is always exciting. You just never know what is going to happen next. Like when the dryer stopped heating in January and we had to string a clothes line across the dining room (any idea how long it takes kids jeans to dry?) Or when the furnace stopped working on a Friday evening in February because the oil tank got so low that the furnace was sucking air.
I had visions of camping around the propane stove in the kitchen during that one. The longer I live here the more great new life skills I acquire - like unstoppering the kitchen sink in under half hour, or working the toilet plunger like a pro when one of the kids toys goes mysteriously missing.
But life in Northern Michigan isn’t all excitement and glamour. Besides the everyday chaotic rhythms of my home life, there are the more natural rhythms of the local wild life to admire. Let me clarify…not my wild life, the natural wildlife. You know…critters. The only wild life I get is on Tuesday evening after the kids go to bed for the 10th time and I get to watch NCIS uninterrupted. My dad, bless his heart, keeps asking me what Dave and I do socially. Let me think…clean house, mow the grass, pick up toys, occasionally throw 50 lbs of toys into a bag and rush to the local Good Will donation center before the kids find out, dishes, laundry, vacuum, dishes, clean up cat hair balls, and did I say laundry? A onetime party girl confession – I can’t remember the last time I had alcohol in any shape or form other than the alcohol I put in the kids ears to get the goo out.
My oldest daughter has just been taught the evils of social vices like smoking, drinking and illegal drugs, and she is just full of questions. I keep telling her I don’t have time to drink, smoke or do drugs…I have one kid on the potty, one kid crossing his legs for the last time, dishes in the sink, counter, dining room, bedroom, laundry room…. you get the idea. I just don’t have time for vices anymore (not that I ever smoked…)
So I get my kicks where I can and one of them is the view from my kitchen window. It’s soothing to watch the local wildlife enjoying themselves in relative peace and quiet. We have a winter visitor every year – a great snowy owl. This past winter I knew he had arrived when I spotted the world’s largest tern (like a sea gull only sideways) flying away from my car and over a nearby field. It took me a few minutes to realize we don’t see the terns in the winter much less terns with 4-foot wingspans. When I got home that evening my husband mentioned the snowy owl had visited us for most of the day, keeping watch on our barn roof. Probably has something to do with the five tons of birdseed I put out every winter for the local bird population.
We do get quite a few birds at our place. In the winter we host the Northern Michigan Local Small Bird Convention and Poop-a-Thon whose members include sparrows, chickadees, mourning doves, starlings, ring-necked pheasants (escapees from the local pheasant farm), and hawks. In the summer we get pileated woodpeckers knocking holes in the trees and nuthatches hanging upside down sucking down bugs. We have the usual gang of suspects as well - red wing blackbirds, robins, yellow finches, yellow martins, barn swallows, bats and, of course, wild turkeys. In the fall we see the Canadian Geese going south and if we are lucky they overnight in the fields behind our house.
We also have a nice selection of ground animals. Our yard is mine fielded with holes made by the chipmunks, gophers and ground squirrels. In the summer it’s a lesson in urban warfare watching them run from hole to hole as they make their way to the piles of birdseed under the trees. We also occasionally get a regular tree squirrel wintering over with us. They are usually gone by spring, up the road to the cemetery to find a mate.
Deer come visiting occasionally as well. I remember the first winter we were here the pickings for deer was so slim I found evidence that a few had licked the bird seed down to the icy ground several times. In the winter they leave hoof marks behind in the snow to show their passing. In the fall they can be spotted high tailing across the local fields into the woods to escape the hunters. In the summer they run across the road in front of my car in groups of three to six, playing chicken.
The local mice population deserves an honorable mention too. Most of the time the mice stay in the basement and leave us alone. But occasionally one will venture through the heating ducts and we’ll hear them scratching around between floors. Woe be it to the mouse who makes it into the main living area. Our cats will sit endlessly at the heater vents listening and watching, waiting to see if any of the critters dare come into their space to play. When that happens the cats launch a reenactment of the D-Day invasion - seventy-five pounds of cat fur whirl around the house chasing, cornering, holding, and generally traumatizing the mouse until I intervene (for the sake of my hardwood floors, if nothing else). It’s not so humanitarian as it appears - deworming a cat is not something I like to dwell on. If the mouse gets lucky I put him in a jar and transport it across the street to the farmers field. In the winter I dump them in the garage (right next to the 150 lb of bird seed I keep there). If they don’t make it, it’s not for lack of food.
Of course there’s always the neighborhood cat population coming over at 3 a.m. to say hi to my gang of five. We’ve also seen foxes, raccoons and coyotes using our yard like the Indy 500 Speedway enroute to more interesting garbage cans. I once spotted a badger sitting in our back yard (picture a thirty pound squirrel sitting up with it’s paws on his tummy). I have seen an osprey in our apple tree, turkey vultures circling the fieldsin front of our house, possums, beavers, and even a baby black bear trying to cross the road.
So when life gets me down and the dishes appear out of nowhere, dirty undies are hanging from the banister and life feels like one endless round of cleaning, I just look outside, watch a desperate hawk tear apart a mourning dove for a February dinner and feel that life is ok after all. (Maybe Garrison Keilor is right – I just need ketchup.)
As always, love from Buckley,
Where the kids have wet pants,
The oil furnace says, “Feed me”
And my husband refuses to come out of the closet on days the kids are home from
school…
I had visions of camping around the propane stove in the kitchen during that one. The longer I live here the more great new life skills I acquire - like unstoppering the kitchen sink in under half hour, or working the toilet plunger like a pro when one of the kids toys goes mysteriously missing.
But life in Northern Michigan isn’t all excitement and glamour. Besides the everyday chaotic rhythms of my home life, there are the more natural rhythms of the local wild life to admire. Let me clarify…not my wild life, the natural wildlife. You know…critters. The only wild life I get is on Tuesday evening after the kids go to bed for the 10th time and I get to watch NCIS uninterrupted. My dad, bless his heart, keeps asking me what Dave and I do socially. Let me think…clean house, mow the grass, pick up toys, occasionally throw 50 lbs of toys into a bag and rush to the local Good Will donation center before the kids find out, dishes, laundry, vacuum, dishes, clean up cat hair balls, and did I say laundry? A onetime party girl confession – I can’t remember the last time I had alcohol in any shape or form other than the alcohol I put in the kids ears to get the goo out.
My oldest daughter has just been taught the evils of social vices like smoking, drinking and illegal drugs, and she is just full of questions. I keep telling her I don’t have time to drink, smoke or do drugs…I have one kid on the potty, one kid crossing his legs for the last time, dishes in the sink, counter, dining room, bedroom, laundry room…. you get the idea. I just don’t have time for vices anymore (not that I ever smoked…)
So I get my kicks where I can and one of them is the view from my kitchen window. It’s soothing to watch the local wildlife enjoying themselves in relative peace and quiet. We have a winter visitor every year – a great snowy owl. This past winter I knew he had arrived when I spotted the world’s largest tern (like a sea gull only sideways) flying away from my car and over a nearby field. It took me a few minutes to realize we don’t see the terns in the winter much less terns with 4-foot wingspans. When I got home that evening my husband mentioned the snowy owl had visited us for most of the day, keeping watch on our barn roof. Probably has something to do with the five tons of birdseed I put out every winter for the local bird population.
We do get quite a few birds at our place. In the winter we host the Northern Michigan Local Small Bird Convention and Poop-a-Thon whose members include sparrows, chickadees, mourning doves, starlings, ring-necked pheasants (escapees from the local pheasant farm), and hawks. In the summer we get pileated woodpeckers knocking holes in the trees and nuthatches hanging upside down sucking down bugs. We have the usual gang of suspects as well - red wing blackbirds, robins, yellow finches, yellow martins, barn swallows, bats and, of course, wild turkeys. In the fall we see the Canadian Geese going south and if we are lucky they overnight in the fields behind our house.
We also have a nice selection of ground animals. Our yard is mine fielded with holes made by the chipmunks, gophers and ground squirrels. In the summer it’s a lesson in urban warfare watching them run from hole to hole as they make their way to the piles of birdseed under the trees. We also occasionally get a regular tree squirrel wintering over with us. They are usually gone by spring, up the road to the cemetery to find a mate.
Deer come visiting occasionally as well. I remember the first winter we were here the pickings for deer was so slim I found evidence that a few had licked the bird seed down to the icy ground several times. In the winter they leave hoof marks behind in the snow to show their passing. In the fall they can be spotted high tailing across the local fields into the woods to escape the hunters. In the summer they run across the road in front of my car in groups of three to six, playing chicken.
The local mice population deserves an honorable mention too. Most of the time the mice stay in the basement and leave us alone. But occasionally one will venture through the heating ducts and we’ll hear them scratching around between floors. Woe be it to the mouse who makes it into the main living area. Our cats will sit endlessly at the heater vents listening and watching, waiting to see if any of the critters dare come into their space to play. When that happens the cats launch a reenactment of the D-Day invasion - seventy-five pounds of cat fur whirl around the house chasing, cornering, holding, and generally traumatizing the mouse until I intervene (for the sake of my hardwood floors, if nothing else). It’s not so humanitarian as it appears - deworming a cat is not something I like to dwell on. If the mouse gets lucky I put him in a jar and transport it across the street to the farmers field. In the winter I dump them in the garage (right next to the 150 lb of bird seed I keep there). If they don’t make it, it’s not for lack of food.
Of course there’s always the neighborhood cat population coming over at 3 a.m. to say hi to my gang of five. We’ve also seen foxes, raccoons and coyotes using our yard like the Indy 500 Speedway enroute to more interesting garbage cans. I once spotted a badger sitting in our back yard (picture a thirty pound squirrel sitting up with it’s paws on his tummy). I have seen an osprey in our apple tree, turkey vultures circling the fieldsin front of our house, possums, beavers, and even a baby black bear trying to cross the road.
So when life gets me down and the dishes appear out of nowhere, dirty undies are hanging from the banister and life feels like one endless round of cleaning, I just look outside, watch a desperate hawk tear apart a mourning dove for a February dinner and feel that life is ok after all. (Maybe Garrison Keilor is right – I just need ketchup.)
As always, love from Buckley,
Where the kids have wet pants,
The oil furnace says, “Feed me”
And my husband refuses to come out of the closet on days the kids are home from
school…
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