I can call you Betty and Betty when you call me, you can call me Al

At our house evolution is alive and well in the form of the names we call each other. If my poor kids ever have to fill out a background check and list all the names they've been known by, they'll need an extra sheet.

Corie quickly became Corie Bug because she was such a cute little bug of a baby. But "Bug" lasted as she grew, and was cemented when she got a VW Bug in high school. So even to this day, Jim refers to her as Bug, or The Bug -- "Who was on the phone? The Bug?"

Dave began as David, which isn't at all unusual, and is sometimes Davey. Still fairly normal. But after a short stint as Bear, Bearky, Rarekin Bearkin, and Beark, he ventured into a rhyming name groove with Dave the Snave, Snavey Davey, Snavely, and just plain Snave.

In the case of Dan, my middle child, it started when we inflicted upon him the curse of going by his middle name. I use my middle name, and so do my brother, my sister, and my dad. So you think I'd have known better. We began innocently enough, when James Daniel became Danny and then Dan. Soon it was Dan the Man, which Jim shortened to DTM. DTM is such a mouthful, though, so before long that had been shortened to just DT, which seemed to stick. Around the house it was all right, and didn't sound too bizarre when I'd shout at football games, "GO DT!!!" Until someone would ask what his middle name was. "Oh, it's Daniel." "????....So what's the T for?" "Ummm......'the' ........"

Garrison, my fourth, has a name that doesn't lend itself well to being shortened, so when he was little and cute, we started calling him Gair Bear, which morphed into Gairby or Gairbin, which soon became Gairbs. Lately, in an attempt to call him something more grown-up (really, what almost-16-year-old boy wants his mom to call him Gairbs??) we've been referring to him as GR, and his nieces and nephew call him G, short for Uncle G.

But I think Susannah has endured the most inexplicable array of monikers. Of course the normal shortenings of Susie, Sue, and Suse all occurred and are used with frequency. But then she started being Pooz and Poozer, and The Pooz. Dan called her Junior for a spell. Jim started calling her Buggy - a throwback to his days with our first daughter -- and that soon became Bucky. That was when Garrison jumped in and made it BuckWheat. Sometimes she's RuckBuck and occasionally RuckBack, but most recently it's been WheatPack. She accepts all of these with grace, and only ever bristles if Garrison tries to call her Susan.

So now you know. I've heard that your name is crucial to your self-esteem. If my children suffer from identity issues, who could blame them?

helloooo?

Is anyone there? I am timidly dipping my big toe in the water here in bloggyland again after lo these many moons. I suppose it shouldn't make any difference if no one was reading, but I'm the kind of girl who needs the tiniest bit of encouragement in situations like this.


It's not that I have anything to say, exactly. I just feel like maybe it's time to re-emerge from my self-imposed tunnel. I've still been writing, it's just gone underground, in journal form.


Maybe someday I'll get the motivation to recount my caregiving journey, but I don't think it will be today.


Here's a quick status report, just so you're up to speed:

• We moved my mom into an elderly ladies' home last month. She's adjusting as well as we could hope. It's really a lovely place. I'm adjusting. I think. Some days. She's close enough that we can take her to church with us and to the occasional track meet, and have her over for Easter dinner and stuff like that. Here she is with Lily and Tessa when they were here not long ago (I got to have them to myself for FIVE WHOLE DAYS).




• Dan is almost done with his freshman year at college. How did this happen? We enjoyed getting to see him almost every weekend, since he was only a bit more than an hour away. I'm not even deluding myself that he was coming home to see me. This lovely lady in pink was undoubtedly The Draw:

• Dave is teaching cardio fitness at the middle school where Susannah attends, and she actually has him for a teacher this marking period. Weird.





• Garrison is running track now. Y'all know how much I love track meets in Michigan, right? 75 degrees on Saturday, 43 degrees and rainy on Tuesday. But it's extra exciting this year because Dave is also Garrison's track coach. Some interesting family dynamics going on, as you can imagine.





• Jim and I are planning to revisit our old stomping grounds in El Paso in June. We're on the docket to speak at a military marriage seminar -- the first one since January 08 when we went to Korea. We're excited because we have friends from our Germany days who are living there now and it will be wonderful to reconnect.


• It must be the act of getting old that is prodding me to look up old acquaintances. I've even found my best friend from junior high on facebook, and several of my high school classmates, too. Ahh, technology! Either that or it's my dearth of current day friends. Hmmm. Either way, it's sort of fun.


• If you have had any contact with me at all in the past few months, you know that I'm all a-flutter over American Idol. Matt Giraud (who is now in the TOP FIVE, people!) is not only from Kalamazoo, but he goes to our church! At least he did, before he became famous and all. I'm doubtful he'll ever actually come back, to tell the truth. But he once sat right behind me, and even signed my bulletin. So don't even bother trying to call me on Tuesday or Wednesday nights. I'll be watching. I'll be voting. You should, too.

So that's the Christmas newsletter edition. We're all still here, just older and bigger.

And I think that's all for now. I have to pace myself, you know. Let me hear from you, if you're out there.

at last

Summer is here.

Not technically, I realize, which by the way has never seemed right to me. Who can wait until June 21 for summer to be "official"? The clearest definition of the beginning of summer for me is that glorious first day of summer vacation.

Dan has graduated and is actually gainfully employed already, making money for all the driving he will be doing between college and home next fall. Not to see me so much, more for his sweetie.

It's hard to believe Susannah will be at the middle school next year. Yikes.

I've been only partially successful in getting my mom to abandon her turtlenecks under sweatshirts now that the weather is hovering just below 90 degrees, and we have no air conditioning. She says she doesn't like the way her arms look. I guess vanity is more tenacious than logic. But today she has on a short-sleeved shirt, so that's good.

Garrison now has his learner's permit. Jim and I have insisted that our kids know how to drive a stick shift before they can get their license. I learned to drive in a VW Fastback, and it's been a source of smug pridefulness that I know how to operate a clutch. It's a lost art, you know.

We've been borrowing my mom's 5-speed, manual transmission Honda Civic, primarily because it gets upwards of 45 mpg. And it makes her happy that it's being used, since she obviously isn't driving anymore. So Garrison and I have spent some happy times lately stalling out at stop signs, on hills, with cars lining up in back of us. But I think he's beginning to get the hang of it.

Jim's been traveling a lot.

I gave the dog a summer hair cut.

Danny's graduation open house is Monday and my dining room has been overtaken by photos, school papers, posterboard, stickers, and football clippings. I've been trying to put together some posters and such, and I think I'm almost done. Still slightly overwhelmed at all that needs to be done to get ready for the open house, but I have lots of helpers.

My yard's a mess, but I'm a little afraid to get out there and start pulling weeds because poison ivy is supposedly at its peak this year, and I am not confident I would recognize it. All I remember from my childhood is "leaves of three, let it be."

I wish there was a market for dandelions. I could be hauling in some serious dough, because my dandelions are simply spectacular.

And I'm out of words.

hello

Apparently I'm due for a new post.

I can promise you without equivocation, though, that if each time you came here looking for mindless drivel you went instead to Stuff Christians Like, your lives would be enriched.

Thank you for your prayers, though, and your not-so-subtle prompting (in the case of my darling oldest daughter). I think having my hubby actually leave his first ever comment since I wrote my first post in January 2005 was the shocking event that finally motivated me. I'm not even going to attempt to bring you up to date. If my life has not been interesting enough even to myself, I am quite certain no one would be entertained in the least in the retelling of it.

It hasn't just been a blog writing drought. I haven't read anything, either, even from my favorites. So if Pioneer Woman is pregnant or if BooMama has dyed her hair blue, I wouldn't know. It's been a pretty comprehensive computer avoidance on the whole. Weird. And unexplainable, so I won't try.

Danny is done with school. He graduates this Thursday. He's so happy. Susannah was asking me what my favorite day of the year is and I really have to say that for me each year, it's the last day of school. It is just so freeing -- so exhilarating. The thought of a whole summer ahead to sleep in and laze around eating popsicles with no schedule and no demands. Christmas is fun, but Christmas is work, and expectations and shopping. The other kids still have two more weeks, which seems unbearable at this point. I don't think kids should have to be in school in June.

My mom has found her purpose in life -- sweeping our driveway. She's a sweeping zealot. This time of year we have all kinds of stuff falling from our abundant tree population, but by golly it doesn't have a chance to accumulate with my mom and her mighty broom. She keeps a running "whew, whew, whew, whew.." going while she's sweeping. And of course we praise her up and down and thank her profusely. Then she beams.

Her Fox News watching has subsided a little. I think her desire to be with the rest of the family is outweighing her drive to keep up with the most fair and balanced reporting ever. Last night she sat on the couch in our living room and laughed and laughed to Zoey 101. All by herself.

She used to enjoy American Idol. It made Susannah so mad when she would say every time about Simon,"Awww...He shouldn't say that. That's mean." And each and every time Susannah would say, "He's just being honest, Grandma. That's his job. Sometimes he says nice things." And then Susannah would roll her eyes at me and make an exasperated, infuriated face. It was funny to me that Susannah's response was just as predictable as Grandma's comments.

So let me ask you this -- if you had a 73-year-old mother with Alzheimers, who had a tentative grasp on the real world at best, and it was the season finale of the 4th season of Lost, the most complicated, puzzling show ever viewed, and she had never seen even one episode before -- would you think it was A Grand Plan to let her watch with you? Yeah, that's what I thought, too. But she insisted, and was on the verge of getting all feisty and "you're certainly not MY boss"-ish. So we had no choice. We warned her that it would be confusing and troubling, and that we wouldn't be able to explain it.

"Whose baby is that?" "Why is he doing THAT?" " Are those the good guys?" "Well that's weird." "What is she talking about?" "Why would they want to go back to the island?" "How did she get electricity? I thought she was on a raft." "Is he a bad guy?"

And once or twice when I let out with an anguished "NOOOOOO!!!" (at events transpiring onscreen) she said, "Well, I don't think it's really happening. I think it's just fiction."

Whew.

do what I say right now and I mean it or else young lady.. oh all right whatever

I've lost my mothering mojo.

I have no more mom muscle. I feel like Rodney Dangerfield. I get no respect.

Holding the line is hard work. It takes a lot of determination to be consistently strict. Kids wear you down. They aren't dumb. They know where the weaknesses in your wall are.

I know I did a better job when I only had one kid, or two. Or even three. I wasn't SO shabby at four, but I'm telling you right now--this number five child of mine, while I love her skinny eleven-year-old self with all my heart, is pushing and testing and she is relentless. I don't know if I'm just weary of the whole mom routine, or if I'm just weary in general, but I know she is getting away with stuff that would curl the toes of many a stronger mom. She is young and brave. She has tenacity and motivation. I have stiff knees and flabby resolve. With the other kids I wielded a wooden spoon. Now it's more like a white hankie.

Is it just me? Or is there a reason that birth order stereotypes endure? How many first borns out there can raise their right hand in solidarity and say that the baby of their family got away with murder? What about you youngest kids? Do you think you turned out okay anyway?

I wonder what Michelle Duggar would say about this. How do you keep your authority intact when the kids far outnumber the grown-ups, when you've been saying the same things for 26 years now, and you just don't have the energy to battle anymore? Especially because for me, right now, I have the added responsibility of keeping my mom in line. (Where does she fit in? She's the oldest person, but she acts like the youngest!)

I have to trust that God didn't make a mistake when He placed Susannah in my care. He isn't surprised by my circumstances, and He hasn't abandoned me to raise this child on my own. And as I've counseled so many younger moms.....God has no grandchildren. So I think I need to tell her, "You just wait until I talk to your Father about this." And then do it.

the weather could be a factor, too

I never wanted this to turn into The Dementia Chronicles, but it seems like that's where I am, so my choices are not to post at all, or to post what I'm living.

I do have other things going on in my life, but I'm not giving them the attention I should.

I have a son who's graduating in a month. How can this be? I haven't even begun to process that, emotionally or practically. I finally gave up on the scrapbook, realizing and coming to terms with the fact that it just wasn't going to happen. Not now, anyway. But I keep thinking I should be doing something to plan for his open house.

I have a son who's started driver's training (his white Nikes were recovered, by the way. Dan happened to see a kid at school with them. Now Garrison isn't so sure he wants them back after they've been, well, sullied and debased).

I have a daughter who is paddling her canoe as close to the waterfall of adolescence as she can without dropping right off the edge. Mouthiness is the order of the day. I am certain much of it is a desperate need for some quality Mom time. She really gets the leftovers, I'm afraid. And this whole Grandma thing is probably the hardest on her. Simply because the rest of us can draw on our memories of Grandma the way she used to be, and that helps us be more tolerant of her quirks and weirdnesses now. I could spend hours analyzing and dissecting the psychological, emotional dynamics at work in their relationship and this new living arrangement. But I won't.

I have a hubby who certainly, certainly means well and wants to be supportive and helpful. It's hard for him, because he has his ministry work which is pretty demanding in and of itself. I haven't been a very nice wife. I know I must be sheer delight to live with...

I have a dog who needs a bath.

I have a house that has been neglected since January.

I have a broken camera. They just don't make cameras to survive being dropped on the kitchen floor like they used to. I'll add that to the small appliance cemetery with my iPod.

I have fifteen (at least) extra pounds of potato chips and bagels that I'm carrying around in frankly unflattering places.

And I have a mama who tried to hand me her dirty clothes through my kitchen window opening this morning. I don't know how I'm going to do this, this next phase. I don't know how to be a daughter to her while telling her to put her wadded up kleenexes in the trash instead of on the floor. I don't want to be bossy, but she clearly needs direction. Literally. She can't remember where the refrigerator is. I don't want to be annoyed but her behavior defies logic. I keep thinking, "Where are you, Mama? Where is the lady I know and love and have always admired?" How do I strike that balance between controlling her and honoring her dignity? How do I keep from becoming her? How do I sort out my feelings of knowing this is the right choice, but not liking the choice? I couldn't imagine making any other choice, though.

Sorry. I know this isn't jolly fun reading. I miss myself, too.

weekend update. ish.

I know I should have done this yesterday when it would have been more timely and current, in a news-reporting way. But I didn't.

Before I try to recap one of the fullest weekends in recent memory, I have some things I have to just put out there:

1. I am addicted to McDonald's sweet tea in a serious way.

2. Jim burned a bag of popcorn in our microwave yesterday. I mean it caught on fire, burned -- not just got a little brown. So my whole house has smelled just horrible, in spite of the eleventeen candles I have lit. And the inside of my microwave is now an icky brownish color. This morning when he microwaved his oatmeal, it refreshed the burned popcorn smell. UGH.

3. We were given some tickets to a Michael Buble' concert last weekend and I've been neglecting to tell you about the warm-up act. Michael Buble' was pretty swell, too, but this group, Naturally 7, just amazed and astounded us. They have a video on youtube that you have to check out. When you hear them you will not believe that they make every single sound vocally, or at least without any instruments whatsoever. Every percussion sound, every bass sound, every guitar sound. It's unbelievable. But I saw them in person and it's a true fact. I would enjoy their music anyway, but listening to them and knowing they're doing it all by themselves is just pretty impressive.

So there you go.

Instead of trying to recreate the events of the weekend, and since I've heard a picture is worth a thousand words, here are some highlights:


Grandbabies!


Jim took the grandgirls for a spin in the bike trailer.




Friday night was the sleepover. Three eleven year-old girls. I'm sure your imagination can fill in the rest.

James was glad his daddy was around to keep him grounded. That's a lot of girl energy.

Susannah wanted to go climbing on her birthday, which was Saturday. She was bitten by the climbing bug in Nashville when she and Garrison went with my sister. So we rounded up some brothers and an uncle to do the belaying (listen to me throwing around climbing terms like that). She is fearless. There's no way I'd be up there like that -- I don't care how many ropes were tied around me.




Saturday night was the prom. Danny and Sam looked like a million bucks. That's just slightly less than the cost of her dress and his tux, by the way.






Sunday was a bridal shower. I didn't take any pictures there, because I sacrificially volunteered to take a fussy Tessa out to walk around "so she wouldn't disturb the other guests." Or so I told them. My real motivation was to get some one-on-one snuggle time with her.


Before Corie left, I wanted to get this shot. I'd seen a similar one attached to a poem called, "Grandma's Hands".



Happy Birthday to my sister, Lynn!

spring broke

You are cordially invited to join Miss Ruthie at the pity party she is hostessing for herself.

Do they call it "pity" because you feel like you're in the pits? Just wondering.

I feel the way the sad face on my iPod screen looked, moments after it clicked ominously today and then stopped working. Apparently it heard us talking about an extended trip in the car and didn't think it was up to the task of keeping me entertained. And by being "entertained" I mean plugging in those ear buds and drifting away to my own little slice of harmonic heaven while the kids bicker and Jim listens to talk radio.

My iPod and I have a beautiful relationship. It keeps me company in the kitchen and in the bathroom. I take it to the dentist to supplement the novacaine. How am I going to survive a camping trip without it?

Around here spring break is a big hairy deal. Where we live there's a lot of wealth. Well, not specifically where we live, not in our house, per se. But in our general area.

Case in point -- yesterday Jim was invited to go to lunch with a friend of ours. So they hopped in his private plane and flew to pert near St. Louis. Oh yes ma'am. We are so jet set.

So when spring break rolls around, most families we know start talking about going to places like Cancun, St. Tropez, Virgin Islands.... My own son was invited to join his girlfriend's family on their trip to Grand Cayman. Yes, her mother AND father will be closely supervising and chaperoning AT ALL TIMES. No, there will be no alcohol consumed. It's really okay. I trust all parties involved.

Stop making that frowny, raised-eyebrow face.

Florida seems like a sub-par destination in comparison. But for our family, even Florida is out of reach. We don't do family vacations. I don't know how this happened. Somewhere in the unwritten code of our family description is a clause that reads, "no family trips will ever be taken just for fun unless they involve camping or visiting relatives."

It might have something to do with money. Just guessing. We work for God and He is SO faithful to meet our every need. We are blessed with many comforts, and we have no lack of provision. So clearly a family vacation that might include motels or airplanes is not a "need."

I have done an awful lot of camping, and we've made some good memories. It's just that in my experience, a camping trip doesn't really count as a vacation because I have to do the same things I do every day, just with less convenience and a less comfortable bed.

When our oldest son got married a year ago we all drove to California and back, with the pop-up. It ended up being somewhere around 6000 miles by the time we got home, and let me tell you I was plum tired of showering in my Crocs.

I'm really not grumpy or depressed. I don't even like lying on my back in the sand letting the sun soak into my grey tired chilly bones while I dip my tanned pink tootsies into sparkling teal salt water. I don't need a break from my routine. It's not at all stressful having a big hole where my kitchen window used to be.



One memorable spring break vacation was the time Jim took the kids and went up north while I stayed home, all by my glorious alone self, and cleaned the kids' rooms. Wheeee! You just can't get that kind of fun at a Caribbean resort, let me tell you.

This year, though, we will get to bring Lily with us on our camping trip. Her momma and daddy have declared her old enough to travel with Mimi and Pop (and Aunt Susie and Uncle G and Sadie dog) so that will sweeten the pot substantially. Pop even bought one of those little pull-behind bike carrier thingies for her, for when we all ride our bikes around the campground.

Life in the fast lane doesn't get any better than that.

in which the fog in my brain matches the weather

It sure is foggy this morning. It would be a perfect morning to sleep in. I wish I had planned it better all those years ago when I thought it would be a swell idea to have one more child, a child who needs her hair brushed before school. What was I thinking?

I'm just kidding of course. The blessing of this last little daughter far outweighs any joy or satisfaction I could ever receive by staying in my nice cozy soft warm comfy bed on a dreary gray moist dark morning. Sure it does. I'm sure. Surely.

Because I'm such a non-morning person, I have found that I truly require my weekends for sleeping in. I fight my natural body rhythms all week, getting up hours and hours before I want to. Saturday morning is my time to make up for it. I know that all the studies show you can't make up sleep, but it works for me.

This past weekend, though, I had to wake up even earlier than school days because Jim and I attended a Weekend to Remember marriage conference. It's always surprising to me that after all these years together, after all the conferences we've been a part of in one capacity or another, we can come away with new insight, new resolve, and renewed commitment.

One of the things that is a key principle at these FamilyLife conferences is "My spouse is not my enemy." We have an enemy in marriage, an opposing force whose aim is to deter us from mirroring God's image, but it's not our spouse. This weekend I heard one lady say, "My husband is not my project." Good stuff. I know it's real easy for me to see the bumps and flaws in Jim that I could fix if he'd just let me at him with my axe and chisel. So it was a great weekend, even if the days did start early.

Saturday night was Date Night and we wondered what we should do, not being a couple who has much experience in this arena. The kids were all away from home for the evening. Our options were dancing, bowling, riding the mechanical bull, or coming home to watch Lonesome Dove on DVD. Because we are so edgy and free, we chose the latter.

You gotta love Robert Duvall. I think this was his finest role. Kinda makes me wish I'd been a cowgirl. They slept until 10:00 every morning, didn't they?

Mommy O' Gill, I'm not

Currently listening to: My "calming celtic" playlist. Thanks to Enya, Loreena McKennit, Maire Brennan and others. Ahhhhh... Just what I need to calm my maple syrup-addled brain.

Actually I have no syrup at all. We tried all evening to get those pots of sap to boil, but the suckers obstinately refused. A lot of steam was produced, and the level of sap in the pots was diminished, but at the end of the night we gave up and stuck 'em outside to keep cool until we could figure out the next step.

Today when Dan got home from school he noticed that the two containers that were gathering sap were overflowing. Whoopee. Now we have more stuff that we don't know what to do with. Stay tuned.

Besides, I needed my stove today for simmering corned beef and cabbage.

Here's some advice that you should take to heart. Seriously. Don't ever try something fun with your kids on a holiday unless you have decided beforehand that you are committed to repeating this activity for every subsequent celebration of that holiday until you die or Jesus comes back, which ever comes first. Believe me when I tell you this.

Once upon a time there was a mom who heard a friend say that the leprechauns visited their house on St. Patrick's Eve while everyone was asleep and left little green treats on the table for the kiddies to discover in the morning. So she thought she'd try that at her home. It was fun! It made the kiddies smile! It made the kiddies expect it even when they were fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen..... And the poor mother wished she had put up a leprechaun trap that first fateful day back when the kiddies were four.

This particular mother was unfortunately a slow learner. She remembered fondly how HER mother had sometimes made green eggs and ham on St. Patrick's Day mornings. She thought that it would be a treat for her kiddies, too, and set about recreating that favorite childhood memory. It was fun! It made the kiddies smile! And they came to expect it to be recreated faithfully every single subsequent St. Patrick's Day.

Yes, I confess. 'Twas I. And sometimes I have forgotten all about St. Patrick's Day. And sometimes I have thought, pshaw -- my kids are old enough now that surely they don't still expect all this silliness.

I have been wrong. And I have wished I had never done anything more exciting for St. Patrick's Day than a well-meaning pinch or two.

This year I remembered, which is nothing less than miraculous, and I picked up the green gum and other treats. I bought the corned beef, cabbage, red potatoes, and pumpernickel bread.

But this morning Susannah asked for green eggs and ham, and I had forgotten to get the ham. Rats.

O Harland, ye done me wrong

I know that as soon as I tell y'all about our Saturday night you'll be calling and writing and lining up to party with us. Because we're that kind of crazy fun.

We love Outback. Jim's dad loves to give us Outback gift cards, so it works out swell. Usually. We had wanted to go out to eat last night to celebrate Susannah's return from camp and Danny's football visit to his college.

We had to reschedule, though, because Dan's girlfriend needed his input on which prom dress she should get. She had picked out four but couldn't decide between them. Buying a prom dress these days is big stuff. Girls from our school have been known to travel to Chicago, and spend more on their dresses than I did my whole wedding. The shop where she had selected her dresses will not sell the same dress to two girls from the same school. So she knew she needed to act fast. I can't believe the pressure.

I have to say that of all my boys, Dan would be the most likely to go along with this assignment without balking or hyperventilating. Something went right in his genes or his training and he is actually a pretty good clothes shopper. We decided to wait until tonight to eat out, and that way we could celebrate the Doing Of The Saturday Chores, as well.

We interrupt this post to bring you an important report on The Dress.
They made a decision and she brought the dress by here and oh my word is it ever gorgeous. You know the dress that Glenda the good witch of the north is wearing in the Wizard of Oz when she comes floating down in that bubble? How it stands out around her in billowy layers of shimmery sparkles? Well that's what her dress looks like. In mint green.

Isn't she beautiful? If you could see her in this dress, you'd know that it was a completely legitimate reason to postpone dinner out. The words Fairy Princess spring to mind. And it makes me wish I could go back to my high school prom and wear something like this, instead of my Gunny Sax peasant dress that had a big bow in the back and ecru ruffles on the puffy sleeves.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled post, already in progress.

We thought we'd leave early enough to beat the Saturday crowds at Outback, and incorrectly guessed that if we were there before 6:00 we'd be in pretty good shape.

We just needed a quick stop at DB's to admire Baby JR on our way. His mom said we could go ahead and hold him because it was time for him to wake up, anyway. He's so cute and dear. Even when I played "patty feet" with him he did not want to wake up. But it was okay, because he was making all kinds of funny faces in his sleep. I'm pretty sure I'm not anywhere near that entertaining to watch while I'm sleeping. (This has been just a small rabbit trail on the road to the main story line.)

When we got to Outback at 5:50 there was an HOUR wait. The girl with the clipboard said that even if we'd been there at 5:00 we would have had to wait that long. As much as we love Outback, we were all too hungry to wait until almost 7:00. Jim left me there with the beeper while he drove up and down the main street, but every other eating establishment seemed to have hungry people spilling out into the parking lot as well. So we decided to forget the whole dining out experience and stop at KFC on the way home, because the "you were in a band?" commercials lately have been making me crave their mashed potatoes.

But the whole time in the car we had to try to ascertain that no one was going to be too upset about that plan. Because some of us were thinking we should try the Chinese buffet, and some of us were thinking we should try the sub sandwich place and some of us were thinking maybe Qdoba and some of us were kicking our brother's seat and some of us were grouching at our sister and some of us were embarrassed because Dan's girlfriend was with us and certainly this would never happen in her family.....

When you're feeding six ravenous people --people who are already a bit grumpy about spending the last hour salivating in anticipation of Outback steaks, only to have to settle for fried chicken -- and they all have different ideas about what kind of chicken they will even consent to eat, and you know you're going to need extra mashed potatoes, it can add up to a pretty big order. I felt confident that we were covered, simply because I'd ordered a little of everything, gave the girl my Visa card, took our two bags, and we were on our way.

We didn't realize until 25 minutes later once we were unpacking it all in our dining room at home, that we were missing the 12 pieces of chicken strips. The last thing we felt like doing was driving all the way back to the store, so I just called them up, trusting that they could credit my card. If it had been an order of french fries I wouldn't have bothered, but it wasn't a tiny amount of money. And there was a principle at stake. Plus one or two picky chicken eaters. Not to mention a husband who said that it would cost $6 in gas to drive there and back again.

But the sweet thing on the phone said there wasn't a thing she could do for me unless I came into the store tonight and brought my credit card with me. Jim thought maybe he could talk sense to a manager, but she in turn referred us to the 1-800 corporate number, where the helpful customer service agent said they'd have to submit the request or some such rigamarole, and we should have someone contact us by Tuesday to see IF we would be entitled to any money back.

Not "Oh, here, let us send you a coupon for a free bucket to compensate you for your inconvenience." Not "Oh, definitely let us credit your account and we'll go ahead and take off the cost of the 12 biscuits, as well." Not "We're terribly sorry that we're not set up to do credit card refunds, but the next time you stop into the store, we'll be happy to offer you 12 pieces of chicken strips and a medium popcorn chicken at no charge."

We'd been so hungry, but it was frankly hard to eat, what with all the smoke pouring out of Jim's ears and the tension so thick you could spread it on the biscuits. Clearly the days of "keep the customer satisfied" have passed away, along with the Colonel himself.


I think next Saturday night we'll stay home and eat peanut butter. There will be plenty -- just get your name on the phone ahead seating list and you can have some, too!

the one in which I'm left girl-less

It seems like this is the way it always happens. From full to empty in one swell foop.

This morning Corie and her two girls left for home, and Susannah left for a week at 5th grade camp. I've spent the morning wandering around in my empty house, mournfully picking up Polly Pocket shoes, stowing the pack-and-play, putting away baby toys, and wondering what I'm going to do with myself now that the only other female here is Sadie.

Who will watch Friends with me? Who will watch American Idol? Who will help make cookies?

Who will hide in my cupboard with the canned goods?




Who will drop crumbs on the floor for the doggie?





Maybe once I recover I'll catch up on my journal, and see if I can remember where I left off in "World Without End"...

The good news is that my sons are all here. And the men in my family couldn't be more delighted at the prospect of another generation of Denver Bronco fans.

all because two people fell in love

I was thinking today about how full my household is. Actually that's not entirely accurate, because that implies a sort of quiet contemplative pondering. "I was socked in the nose with the inescapable reality of how full my household is" is more like it. It's an extension of the fullness of my family, and my life, and the events swirling around and through and in us. It could make a girl dizzy. In fact, reading this post could make a girl dizzy, as it veers wildly and un-connectedly from one thought to the next.

I can't imagine what an empty nest would feel like. I had ALL my little birdies in my nest today...and their little birdies, too! It was JR's first trip to Mimi and Pop's house. We also had an extra mother-in-law and eight or thirteen workmen outside, with all their big backhoe bobcat pneumatic drill hammer shovel thingies. Sand trucks and lumber trucks and bears -- oh my! Just kidding about the bears.
I think.

It felt like a zoo at times today. I wish that I could just yell "hold it!" to everything else except helping baby JR and his momma get in sync with each other. You remember how it was that first week with a new baby? Just the overwhelming hormones and emotions and questions and physical exhaustion and lack of sleep? Doesn't it seem like a dirty trick for car batteries to die and cameras to break and laptops to start making funny noises and luggage to get lost? Doesn't it seem like there should be a moratorium on things going wrong? Just a grace period of sorts?

Right in the middle of it all my mother called because her washing machine was overflowing. When my amazing fix-it-hubby went to help her with it, he discovered that she had six bottles of Downy in her laundry room, but no detergent. So who knows how long she's been washing her clothes with just Downy... This addition, it is not happening any too soon.

Garrison forgot his lunch, and didn't stay after school to lift weights so he needed to be picked up. Danny stayed to lift, because he's still not sure what next year holds for him regarding football and college, so he's trying to be prepared for his upcoming visit to meet the coaches and I don't even know what else. I just know it seems like a lot is hinging on it. No.... no stress there at all.

Just like there wasn't any stress when Danny called me to ask if someone else had picked Susannah up after school today (they hadn't) because he was there at her school to get her and she wasn't there. I know she's the fifth kid, but I still hate to think she wouldn't be where she's supposed to be! She did turn up, but it was a brief scary moment.

It's a funny thing about my family -- we eat. We're just kind of odd like that. So even though I'd rather be reading to Lily or bouncing Tessa or watching JR run through his repertoire of facial expressions, meals still need to be made. Laundry still needs to be done (extra laundry needs to be done!). Groceries need to be bought. And then more groceries. Every day. Because as soon as we get home from the grocery store, we're out of milk. Then somehow Valentine's Day has crept up on me again, like most holidays do in recent years, which necessitated an eleventh-hour run to Target for Corie and me, where I was compelled to spend many drooly minutes in the Choxie chocolate aisle, counting and re-counting how many people I was buying Valentine treats for. Oh, and by the way, Susannah needs to bring brownies to school. But that's okay because she gave me plenty of advance notice. Like eleven minutes.

I think about my life with Jim, and how it started out just the two of us, and now here we are at the center of this hurricane that our family has become. I told JR today, "This chaos is your family, darlin'. Welcome and get used to it."

You know, I wouldn't have it any other way.

great baby wait of 08

Here's how we've been passing the time around here lately:


Watching our daughter-in-law's belly.....

Any signs of hatching yet?

............arm wrestling a little....


Lily's the reigning champ. We've also had another snow day, so we did some hair braiding

.......and some sledding

And then Corie whupped up on our daughter-in-law and me playing Friends Scene-It. She would probably beat Jennifer Aniston.

So the days are as full. As is my heart -- having everyone here. DB's wife's belly is full, and the dishwasher is, too. It's all good.