"This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it."
Those are pretty well-known words from from my childhood memorizing days that popped into my head this morning, as if saying, "Now don't you forget it ..." It's a beautiful, sunny Sunday morning (although way too warm for October) and I'm not in church. I really like going to church, for many reasons (both human and divine), and when I miss it for reasons not of my choice or doing -- like today -- I feel "off." Grace's fever spiked again last night, and the poor thing still can't shake it, having woken up this morning with it as well. She's miserable, whimpery, lethargic and clingy. Clearly no church for her.
Aidan's home too, for even though he's "technically" well, he's still not quite "right" and the last thing we need is a relapse. His attitude is horrible and his behavior is terribly aggravating -- 99.5% of the time a request that is made of him is met with an obnoxious "NO!" coupled with screaming, whining, and what looks like a toddler's tantrum. I toyed with the idea of sending him along to church with Don, just to get him out of my hair but there was a big catch: Don is involved with the Praise Team so most of the time he's up front leading worship. Aidan's too young to sit alone, and I don't think he's comfortable enough yet to sit with someone else. I also thought of sending him to church with my parents, but church alone is exhausting for my mom in her current chemo-state -- saddling her with a young child (even though he would be very well-behaved for them) is just too much. So here he is with me.
We put the TV on -- their energy levels are so low that even playing is difficult. Aidan wanted to watch Over the Hedge but I nixed that choice -- since he's missing Sunday School, and since it is Sunday after all, I thought Veggie Tales would be more appropriate. Despite the expected and ear-splitting screaming fit (what the heck? It's a stinking cartoon!), Jonah is on the tube. That's ironically appropriate, as it turns out -- Jonah threw a few fits of his own. I wish I had God's patience. I don't.
So how am I doing? I am utterly exhausted. Spent. Beaten down. We are going on a full week now of illness and I feel that it's taking its toll on me. I haven't slept well in days, getting up multiple times in the night to take care of a medicine-induced nightmare-riddled boy and dispensing Tylenol every 4 hours for a fever-ridden girl. I have that strange feeling like I'm on the verge of something -- a cold, what the kids have, whatever -- but I'm fighting tooth and nail not to go over the edge. I'm a mind-over-matter girl, usually -- I just keep plugging along, ignoring how I feel, thinking that if I just go through my day as I normally would it won't get to me. I can't let it get to me -- because if I crash, who will pick up the pieces? I'm worn thin and I know it shows in my own short-tempered outbursts. I need to apologize for that -- that's my weak point. I am thirsting for quiet, for solitude, for a big chunk of the day to curl up in a dark room, under the covers with my book and no noise, no kids, no responsibilities. I know it's not going to happen, but it's OK to write about it. It's all part of being a mom.
I have to watch my nephews tonight for a few hours while my brother and sister-in-law attend their Bible study. I sure hope I have enough energy for that. Jonah's over now, and it's time to change a diaper, dress Grace (who's still in her pajamas), dole out some snacks and juice, and get on with my day. This was a nice little respite.
Oh, by the way ... the apple pie was FABULOUS! I was sorely tempted to have some for breakfast, but opted instead for a delicious bagel and cream cheese. You have never had a true bagel until you've come to NY/NJ -- this one shop near our house has the best bagels I've ever tasted in my life. But that pie ... oh, drool! Incredible. And The Queen, too, was an outstanding movie -- I could watch Helen Mirren in that role for days. She has an almost unearthly talent.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Saturday, October 6, 2007
A Great Fall-ish Day ... Minus the Heat
Today came very close to being a perfect fall day. The two things that kept it from being so were:1) sick kids (well, Aidan's on the mend now but Grace is in the throes of it)
2) the very un-fall-like temperature, hitting the mid/high 80's today with nasty humidity. Our air conditioner is on ... in October.
OK, now that those two glitches are out of the way, let's just pretend my kids are healthy and full of glee, and let's just pretend that there's a delicious tang in the crisp, fall air. Ah, now the picture is set.
We left mid-morning and took a short drive to a local nursery/farmer's market-type place, which is always a fun place to visit in the fall. (Yes, Grace is sick, but I simply could not spend one more minute in that house, and some fresh air wouldn't hurt her one bit.). The place was loaded with mums of all colors and sizes, ditto with the pumpkins, and there were scores of Halloween decorations as well as a very small petting zoo, which the kids loved (but didn't touch). I was in heaven -- this is my favorite time of year, and there's nothing quite like the sharp, sweet smell of freshly picked apples, the mellow scent of pumpkins, and the bit of spice from the mums. Add to that the fresh farmy smells of hay bales and corn stalks and you have a perfect olfactory joy-ride.
We decided to celebrate the arrival of Don's first paycheck by making a few purchases: a fairly large pumpkin (gret for carving in a few weeks), a giant cornstalk, a velvety deep red mum (my favorite), a bag of fresh apples, and a gallon of apple cider. Nothing says "autumn" like that combination. When we got home, I set to work decorating the front steps of our house with the cornstalk and pumpkins (my dad bought 4 small ones a few days earlier) and mums. It's delightfully festive. This was the first bright spot of the week for me, after playing nursemaid to sick children. I was happy. Not perfectly happy -- we had to, sadly, back out of our NY city night-on-the-town outing, and that is a big sore spot. But the taste of autumn this morning did soothe some of that sting.
Ah ... our Fall Day continues! Get ready for this one ... I decided to make an apple pie. I make apple crisp fairly often (an easy, incredibly delicious recipe), but a pie is a little more work so I don't do it often. In fact, I don't bake often at all -- I think I am more of a cook, rather than a baker. Oh, don't get me wrong -- I love to eat baked goods ... I'm just not into making them so much. But when I do, I thoroughly enjoy myself ... and thoroughly enjoy the outcome! With some flourish, I got out my favorite apple pie recipe and re-read the history behind it:
From Salem Cross Inn, West Brookfield, MA "Apple pie is the dessert of choice in this 1705 farmhouse, now a country inn. Why? The inn is home to New England's Annual Beehive-Oven Baked Apple Pie Contest. This 1993 grand champion pie was baked to blue-ribbon deliciousness in the Inn's 300-year-old brick beehive oven, and now appears on the Inn's Thanksgiving menu."
Yes, I am a true history geek -- even my recipes have to have some kind of history in them! :) While I don't bake in a 300-year-old beehive oven (now wouldn't that be cool, Chef Ramsay!), this pie is always a winner. I had a helper this time, my little chef in the making. Aidan helped dump in all the ingredients, and his favorite part was using the Pampered Chef apple-peeler-corer thing (which never works as well as they say it does). We cheated on the pie crust, using a frozen Pillsbury roll-out number, but that's fine with me. The last time I made a true pie crust, with dough and rolling pin, was ... 10 years ago, crammed in my tiny galley kitchen with a huge bag of apples and my friend Jeff, baking two pies of this same recipe. (We also baked quince tarts, from the fruit of our quince bush/tree, and they were nasty. Some memories are best forgotten, I suppose). Jeff's in another state, and I have two kids now, so Pillsbury will do the trick. It's in the oven now, filling the house with the warm, cozy, autumnal smells of honey and apples and cinnamon.
Yes, it has been a near-perfect autumn day. Would it have reached perfection if my kids were well ... if it wasn't 80 and humid ... if we finished it off this evening in Manhattan ... ? Sure. But whaddya gonna do ... I'll relax tonight, in just a few minutes, with a piece of apple pie, a glass of cider, and our Blockbuster rental, The Queen ... all which comes pretty close to curing all ills.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Sick and Sick Alike
I am very intrigued with my children, how in some ways they are very similar, yet in others they couldn't be more different. Many people, upon meeting them, comment on how much they look like each other. Frankly I don't see it, yet from time to time I will see an uncanny flash of Aidan in a particular expression on Grace's face. Yet now with both of my kids sick, I am intrigued to see how each react to their state of illness, and who perhaps they take after in that regard.
Aidan was predictable. He's not a very good patient and is quickly reduced to a short-tempered, whiny, belligerant invalid. That's how I know he's due for more Tylenol -- when the medicine is working he's OK, but when it wears off ... watch out. I do cut him some slack -- he feels miserable so he just lets it all out -- but regardless of how he feels, I won't tolerate an obnoxious attitude directed toward me. Symptomatically he takes after me, consistently tending toward sinus congestion (rather than chest/bronchial, like Don). He gets a bug -- it gets in his sinuses, 99% of the time. Rarely do we have to deal with coughing, or if we do it's a byproduct of what's going on in his head. But there's one thing that I will never understand about him when it comes to being sick. He's been this way ever since he was an infant and it seems as if he will continue to be this way for life. But as a parent and caregiver, it drives me crazy:
He doesn't sleep.
Now tell me -- who doesn't want to sleep when they're sick? Just drug yourself out, curl up in bed, and hibernate until it passes? That would be Aidan. Why, I have no idea, but he just doesn't sleep when he's sick. He has not had a good, full night's sleep Monday -- OK, it makes sense to some degree, because that's when he's at his worst, with fever and congestion. He's absolutely miserable, so he can't sleep. I get that -- but the lack of sleep doesn't help in the healing process, so you'd think that he would make up for that during the day, right. Wrong. After a poor night's sleep, he wakes up at an obscenely early hour (like 5:00 a.m.) thereby cutting his sleep potential even more. OK, that stinks beyond belief, but he'll make up for it with a killer nap, right? Wrong. Oh, he's desperate for a nap, all right ... but a mere 30 minutes later he's walking out of my room, Blue Blanket in hand. Not only does he need the sleep, but I need the break too. Neither of us are getting that. Neither of us are happy.
Clearly my boy does not take after me in the illness department. He's his Daddy's boy, through and through.
Take my little girl, now, suffering from the same malady as her big brother. Instead of belligerence, she alternates between being benignly (and sweetly) pathetic ("Mommy, I c-c-c-old!" as she snuggles into my arms for warmth) to ... normal. Last night before bedtime, she was sporting a 102 fever yet you'd never know it as she was racing around the living room, jumping off the ottoman ("Look, Mommy! Super Grace!"), giggling and cackling with joy. She's one easy patient.
What about the sleep department? My girl is like me -- shut down all systems and sleep. She took a 4 hour nap after lunch yesterday (she's usually a great napper anyway, but 4 hours is a record) and then hit the sack a few hours later, falling right to sleep with nary a protest. No multiple awakenings for her during those dark hours -- even with a high fever (I checked on her periodically) she slept right on through. Thatta girl!
It's now 8:11 a.m. and both kids are still asleep. Grace is not a surprise; Aidan -- a miracle! I'm enjoying my steaming cup of Trader Joe's Volcano coffee (ooooo, the best!) with not a sound in the house except the clacking keyboard and the air conditioner (yes, in October -- it's insane! But the humidity is killing us). Thanks, God, for this grace-snack -- after a week of sick kids and no break (since one won't sleep), I finally have a little respite this morning.
I love my kids, sick or well, as wholly unique as they are.
(Oh, why oh why did I just write that? As soon as I typed my last word Aidan walked out of his room! God's got quite a sense of humor ...) :)
Aidan was predictable. He's not a very good patient and is quickly reduced to a short-tempered, whiny, belligerant invalid. That's how I know he's due for more Tylenol -- when the medicine is working he's OK, but when it wears off ... watch out. I do cut him some slack -- he feels miserable so he just lets it all out -- but regardless of how he feels, I won't tolerate an obnoxious attitude directed toward me. Symptomatically he takes after me, consistently tending toward sinus congestion (rather than chest/bronchial, like Don). He gets a bug -- it gets in his sinuses, 99% of the time. Rarely do we have to deal with coughing, or if we do it's a byproduct of what's going on in his head. But there's one thing that I will never understand about him when it comes to being sick. He's been this way ever since he was an infant and it seems as if he will continue to be this way for life. But as a parent and caregiver, it drives me crazy:
He doesn't sleep.
Now tell me -- who doesn't want to sleep when they're sick? Just drug yourself out, curl up in bed, and hibernate until it passes? That would be Aidan. Why, I have no idea, but he just doesn't sleep when he's sick. He has not had a good, full night's sleep Monday -- OK, it makes sense to some degree, because that's when he's at his worst, with fever and congestion. He's absolutely miserable, so he can't sleep. I get that -- but the lack of sleep doesn't help in the healing process, so you'd think that he would make up for that during the day, right. Wrong. After a poor night's sleep, he wakes up at an obscenely early hour (like 5:00 a.m.) thereby cutting his sleep potential even more. OK, that stinks beyond belief, but he'll make up for it with a killer nap, right? Wrong. Oh, he's desperate for a nap, all right ... but a mere 30 minutes later he's walking out of my room, Blue Blanket in hand. Not only does he need the sleep, but I need the break too. Neither of us are getting that. Neither of us are happy.
Clearly my boy does not take after me in the illness department. He's his Daddy's boy, through and through.
Take my little girl, now, suffering from the same malady as her big brother. Instead of belligerence, she alternates between being benignly (and sweetly) pathetic ("Mommy, I c-c-c-old!" as she snuggles into my arms for warmth) to ... normal. Last night before bedtime, she was sporting a 102 fever yet you'd never know it as she was racing around the living room, jumping off the ottoman ("Look, Mommy! Super Grace!"), giggling and cackling with joy. She's one easy patient.
What about the sleep department? My girl is like me -- shut down all systems and sleep. She took a 4 hour nap after lunch yesterday (she's usually a great napper anyway, but 4 hours is a record) and then hit the sack a few hours later, falling right to sleep with nary a protest. No multiple awakenings for her during those dark hours -- even with a high fever (I checked on her periodically) she slept right on through. Thatta girl!
It's now 8:11 a.m. and both kids are still asleep. Grace is not a surprise; Aidan -- a miracle! I'm enjoying my steaming cup of Trader Joe's Volcano coffee (ooooo, the best!) with not a sound in the house except the clacking keyboard and the air conditioner (yes, in October -- it's insane! But the humidity is killing us). Thanks, God, for this grace-snack -- after a week of sick kids and no break (since one won't sleep), I finally have a little respite this morning.
I love my kids, sick or well, as wholly unique as they are.
(Oh, why oh why did I just write that? As soon as I typed my last word Aidan walked out of his room! God's got quite a sense of humor ...) :)
Thursday, October 4, 2007
I always told them to share ...
Tomorrow is Friday. I usually love Fridays, the end of (usually) a very long week. I get very excited about Fridays. But I'm not so sure I'm all that psyched about tomorrow. Tomorrow -- Friday -- is yet another day in the Sick Ward.
My kids are sick. Still. Both of them now.
Aidan was super-fine on Monday, itching to go to school, all wired up like a ... well, whatever gets wired up in some excited fashion. But then just an hour and a half after I dropped him off, his teacher called me and asked if I would pick my sick boy up from school. Wha...t? Sick? Just like that -- snap -- he went from happy-healthy to miserable-sick. That was Monday.
And my week went ... where? Forget my chores -- that's a joke. Oh, I got things done here and there, in the midst of medicine dosings and extra cuddling and random book readings. That's OK -- I'm not complaining. I always feel so badly for sick kids, for they are always just the absolute epitome of pathetic sadness. You can't help but feel that tugging of the heart-strings, believing that the extra rub on the back or cuddle on the lap will bring them that much closer to wellness. Poor thing. He'll be back in school by Wednesday, I thought.
Well, Wednesday brought with it a lower 99-degree fever and a dilemma for me: his permission slip was due that day for next week's field trip to a local family-run farm (hayride, free pumpkin, cider and donuts, feeding the animals, that sort of thing). Not wanting him to miss the event, I toted my sick boy and well girl to the school to drop off the form and the necessary $10 fee and said to his teacher, "He's just about over it. He should be back tomorrow."
Today is "tomorrow" -- Thursday. That fever has some Irish in it, I swear, for it shot back up to 102.-something first thing this morning, throwing my predictions out the window. Now I'm starting to get worried because he can't miss tomorrow's class. They're having a special visitor that Aidan has been looking forward to for the past week: a true-blue firefighter. Who can miss that and live to tell about it?
His fever seemed to break this afternoon (but who knows, the trickster!) so we'll see what tomorrow holds. But that's not my main concern any longer.
Now Grace has it.
11:30 a.m. -- My happy, healthy girl played nicely and energetically all morning, in a wonderful mood. The kids sat down to watch a half hour of Rich Scarry while I made lunch, and in that very short period of time she went from healthy to sick, sick, sick. I popped my head into the living room to announce that lunch was ready, only to see that my smiling girl had been eerily transformed into a hunched over, shivering, flushed-cheeked, runny-nosed, red-rimmed bleary-eyed mess ... with a 102.-something fever. Just like that.
I know I shouldn't get upset or turn this into something about me ... but I am tragically disappointed. I have been looking forward to Saturday night as if it were Christmas Day, for Don and I were going out for the evening ... to Manhattan ... with friends ... without kids ... to a grown-up restaurant ... without kids ... did I say "Manhattan?" This would have been a first for us since moving here -- not necessarily a trip into the city, but being with real friends, out at night, past 8:00 p.m., doing grown-up things.
And now my kids are sick.
It's part of being a parent, these disappointments. I get that. But ... man! It stinks! I think I'm learning a lot about disappointments, small and enormous, on my journey. I don't think I'm ever going to like it, small or enormous. While this isn't technically "enormous," or even close to it, it was more of a mental health thing for me -- for us -- this going out with friends. Seriously, we never go out. Ever. Not only can we not afford it -- ever -- but it's not easy to get someone to watch the kids. I am not exaggerating when I say this outing on Saturday was a dream for me, truly.
My dear, lovable kids are sick. I hate seeing them sick. They're so sad. I'm a little sad too ... but we'll all get over it. Still ... Manhattan ... ! :)
My kids are sick. Still. Both of them now.
Aidan was super-fine on Monday, itching to go to school, all wired up like a ... well, whatever gets wired up in some excited fashion. But then just an hour and a half after I dropped him off, his teacher called me and asked if I would pick my sick boy up from school. Wha...t? Sick? Just like that -- snap -- he went from happy-healthy to miserable-sick. That was Monday.
And my week went ... where? Forget my chores -- that's a joke. Oh, I got things done here and there, in the midst of medicine dosings and extra cuddling and random book readings. That's OK -- I'm not complaining. I always feel so badly for sick kids, for they are always just the absolute epitome of pathetic sadness. You can't help but feel that tugging of the heart-strings, believing that the extra rub on the back or cuddle on the lap will bring them that much closer to wellness. Poor thing. He'll be back in school by Wednesday, I thought.
Well, Wednesday brought with it a lower 99-degree fever and a dilemma for me: his permission slip was due that day for next week's field trip to a local family-run farm (hayride, free pumpkin, cider and donuts, feeding the animals, that sort of thing). Not wanting him to miss the event, I toted my sick boy and well girl to the school to drop off the form and the necessary $10 fee and said to his teacher, "He's just about over it. He should be back tomorrow."
Today is "tomorrow" -- Thursday. That fever has some Irish in it, I swear, for it shot back up to 102.-something first thing this morning, throwing my predictions out the window. Now I'm starting to get worried because he can't miss tomorrow's class. They're having a special visitor that Aidan has been looking forward to for the past week: a true-blue firefighter. Who can miss that and live to tell about it?
His fever seemed to break this afternoon (but who knows, the trickster!) so we'll see what tomorrow holds. But that's not my main concern any longer.
Now Grace has it.
11:30 a.m. -- My happy, healthy girl played nicely and energetically all morning, in a wonderful mood. The kids sat down to watch a half hour of Rich Scarry while I made lunch, and in that very short period of time she went from healthy to sick, sick, sick. I popped my head into the living room to announce that lunch was ready, only to see that my smiling girl had been eerily transformed into a hunched over, shivering, flushed-cheeked, runny-nosed, red-rimmed bleary-eyed mess ... with a 102.-something fever. Just like that.
I know I shouldn't get upset or turn this into something about me ... but I am tragically disappointed. I have been looking forward to Saturday night as if it were Christmas Day, for Don and I were going out for the evening ... to Manhattan ... with friends ... without kids ... to a grown-up restaurant ... without kids ... did I say "Manhattan?" This would have been a first for us since moving here -- not necessarily a trip into the city, but being with real friends, out at night, past 8:00 p.m., doing grown-up things.
And now my kids are sick.
It's part of being a parent, these disappointments. I get that. But ... man! It stinks! I think I'm learning a lot about disappointments, small and enormous, on my journey. I don't think I'm ever going to like it, small or enormous. While this isn't technically "enormous," or even close to it, it was more of a mental health thing for me -- for us -- this going out with friends. Seriously, we never go out. Ever. Not only can we not afford it -- ever -- but it's not easy to get someone to watch the kids. I am not exaggerating when I say this outing on Saturday was a dream for me, truly.
My dear, lovable kids are sick. I hate seeing them sick. They're so sad. I'm a little sad too ... but we'll all get over it. Still ... Manhattan ... ! :)
What goes in ... has to make sense
I really like the school Aidan is attending, and I'm glad for that, because when we moved here in February -- in the middle of the school year -- there weren't many openings for a stray student in other schools. Sure, he had a rough time fitting in (kids can be horribly cruel at such a young age) and handling the shock of being uprooted, but the school was wonderful in dealing with his needs and, frankly, just taking good care of his little self.
I'm especially loving the class he's in now -- a Transitional Kindergarten class that's considered "first-grade ready." Whatever -- he's doing great. I get a kick out of seeing his worksheets each day, stuffed into his bright red book bag -- drawing straight lines and following patterns; putting an "x" through a letter that doesn't belong in each grouping; starting to write numbers. I see that there's a lot of comprehension going on, a great deal of "listen and then do ____ and _____," and so far he seems to be thriving. Every Monday I can expect to get several papers in the bag for me: first is a list of everything they will be working on for the upcoming week, and then their memory verse for the week.
OK, I'm all for memorizing Bible verses. I did it when I was a kid, and while I can't say I retained all of them over the years, I can still rattle off a few. I am always amazed at those individuals who seem to have the entire Bible at the tips of their tongues, having the ability to pull up a perfectly appropriate verse no matter what the situation or conversation. My great-aunts were like that; I think they spoke more Bible verses in conversation than actual conversation. Sometimes I wish I could have such a ready, working knowledge of the Bible like that, being able to call up a verse when needed.
Aidan was excited about the prospect of learning a weekly Bible verse, so we decided to get creative about it. We have a tall, skinny, gray cupboard in one corner of our kitchen, and the side of that cupboard faces Aidan's seat at the table. We first printed out a very colorful sign that says "Aidan's Memory Verse" and each week we print out the designated verse and hang it on the cupboard. So each time Aidan sits down to eat, we go over the verse. Not only is it helping him to read, but those verses slowly make their way into his brain. It's a pretty good system.
Now that we're a few weeks into it, I have a bit of a beef: the actual verses he's assigned are ... well, kind of inappropriate for a 5 year old. I don't mean "inappropriate" in the sense that he's getting some juicy tidbits from the Song of Solomon ("Mommy, what body part looks like a gazelle? That's silly"), but rather "inappropriate" because they're really difficult! The first verse was a snap: "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth." Cool -- a great start. But then they've just gone way beyond that, especially these last two:
- "Let them praise the name of the Lord, for His name alone is exalted" -- OK, maybe that isn't so bad, but he struggled with it. First, the phrasing is odd for a 5 year old: "Let them ..." (them? why not us?); "His name alone..." And I think it took him the entire week to get out that crazy tongue-twister of a word, "exalted." The first part was fine; the second half was hard for him to wrap his little head around. It's just not how a little kid thinks.
- "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as if working for the Lord, not for men" (Colossians). OK ... where do we start? It's just a doozy. Let's just say it's already Thursday and this verse has gone nowhere.
There's got to be some easier verses in the Bible saying the same things -- verses that are constructed more simply so a little kid can make sense of it, rather than just memorizing words that don't make a lot of sense. Retention of words doesn't mean a whole lot; remembering the context and import does. Aidan has a fantastic memory for such a little guy, but if what he's memorizing is just a jumble of words, then it will get into his head, but not into his heart. He likes it when I explain what this stuff means to him (and trust me, we have fairly lengthy conversations at lunch time about "exalted" and "working for the Lord") but then he ends up recalling what we talked about and not the verse. But I'm not surprised -- the conversation meant something to him; it was on his terms.
"Let the little children come to me ..." and let's teach them how to speak like Elizabethans. I hope next week's verse is a little more kid-friendly.
I'm especially loving the class he's in now -- a Transitional Kindergarten class that's considered "first-grade ready." Whatever -- he's doing great. I get a kick out of seeing his worksheets each day, stuffed into his bright red book bag -- drawing straight lines and following patterns; putting an "x" through a letter that doesn't belong in each grouping; starting to write numbers. I see that there's a lot of comprehension going on, a great deal of "listen and then do ____ and _____," and so far he seems to be thriving. Every Monday I can expect to get several papers in the bag for me: first is a list of everything they will be working on for the upcoming week, and then their memory verse for the week.
OK, I'm all for memorizing Bible verses. I did it when I was a kid, and while I can't say I retained all of them over the years, I can still rattle off a few. I am always amazed at those individuals who seem to have the entire Bible at the tips of their tongues, having the ability to pull up a perfectly appropriate verse no matter what the situation or conversation. My great-aunts were like that; I think they spoke more Bible verses in conversation than actual conversation. Sometimes I wish I could have such a ready, working knowledge of the Bible like that, being able to call up a verse when needed.
Aidan was excited about the prospect of learning a weekly Bible verse, so we decided to get creative about it. We have a tall, skinny, gray cupboard in one corner of our kitchen, and the side of that cupboard faces Aidan's seat at the table. We first printed out a very colorful sign that says "Aidan's Memory Verse" and each week we print out the designated verse and hang it on the cupboard. So each time Aidan sits down to eat, we go over the verse. Not only is it helping him to read, but those verses slowly make their way into his brain. It's a pretty good system.
Now that we're a few weeks into it, I have a bit of a beef: the actual verses he's assigned are ... well, kind of inappropriate for a 5 year old. I don't mean "inappropriate" in the sense that he's getting some juicy tidbits from the Song of Solomon ("Mommy, what body part looks like a gazelle? That's silly"), but rather "inappropriate" because they're really difficult! The first verse was a snap: "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth." Cool -- a great start. But then they've just gone way beyond that, especially these last two:
- "Let them praise the name of the Lord, for His name alone is exalted" -- OK, maybe that isn't so bad, but he struggled with it. First, the phrasing is odd for a 5 year old: "Let them ..." (them? why not us?); "His name alone..." And I think it took him the entire week to get out that crazy tongue-twister of a word, "exalted." The first part was fine; the second half was hard for him to wrap his little head around. It's just not how a little kid thinks.
- "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as if working for the Lord, not for men" (Colossians). OK ... where do we start? It's just a doozy. Let's just say it's already Thursday and this verse has gone nowhere.
There's got to be some easier verses in the Bible saying the same things -- verses that are constructed more simply so a little kid can make sense of it, rather than just memorizing words that don't make a lot of sense. Retention of words doesn't mean a whole lot; remembering the context and import does. Aidan has a fantastic memory for such a little guy, but if what he's memorizing is just a jumble of words, then it will get into his head, but not into his heart. He likes it when I explain what this stuff means to him (and trust me, we have fairly lengthy conversations at lunch time about "exalted" and "working for the Lord") but then he ends up recalling what we talked about and not the verse. But I'm not surprised -- the conversation meant something to him; it was on his terms.
"Let the little children come to me ..." and let's teach them how to speak like Elizabethans. I hope next week's verse is a little more kid-friendly.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
A Dollar's Worth of Laughs
It is now a proven fact for me: if you want to laugh, just go to the Dollar Store. A few months ago I had a pretty crazy experience in one such store, and each time I go I seem to see, hear, or experience something new. And it's always good for a laugh.
This afternoon I took the kids on an errand to -- yes -- the Dollar Store. My main goal was to purchase hangers with clips on them, but since they only had regular (and therefore useless to me) hangers, I moved on to another aisle to pick up soap, candy corn (come on, it's October) and snack bags. When I was in the check-out aisle, an old-ish woman walked up behind me to get the attention of the check-out girl. She held up a particular item and said rather loudly:
"How much is this?"
I couldn't help myself -- really, I couldn't. I burst out laughing. Not only has practically everyone on the planet who owns a TV seen that commercial of the bored dollar store employee, repeatedly answering the same question of cost: "A DOLLAR." Here I was, on the afternoon of a not-so-very-good day, suffering from a horrible migraine-esque headache, dealing with an outrageously cranky son who's on the mend, and the two kids together who just refuse to get along (thereby adding to my headache), discovering there's some bizarre orange-powdery fungus covering our entire lawn (so the kids must stay indoors all day -- thereby adding to my headache) ... I never knew how much I needed that trap to the dollar store.
The check-out girl was very gracious and calmly answered the clueless woman: "A dollar." Then she looked at me and smiled, quietly laughing. I'm sure that wasn't the first time that's happened to her. I couldn't stop laughing.
I can't wait to go back.
This afternoon I took the kids on an errand to -- yes -- the Dollar Store. My main goal was to purchase hangers with clips on them, but since they only had regular (and therefore useless to me) hangers, I moved on to another aisle to pick up soap, candy corn (come on, it's October) and snack bags. When I was in the check-out aisle, an old-ish woman walked up behind me to get the attention of the check-out girl. She held up a particular item and said rather loudly:
"How much is this?"
I couldn't help myself -- really, I couldn't. I burst out laughing. Not only has practically everyone on the planet who owns a TV seen that commercial of the bored dollar store employee, repeatedly answering the same question of cost: "A DOLLAR." Here I was, on the afternoon of a not-so-very-good day, suffering from a horrible migraine-esque headache, dealing with an outrageously cranky son who's on the mend, and the two kids together who just refuse to get along (thereby adding to my headache), discovering there's some bizarre orange-powdery fungus covering our entire lawn (so the kids must stay indoors all day -- thereby adding to my headache) ... I never knew how much I needed that trap to the dollar store.
The check-out girl was very gracious and calmly answered the clueless woman: "A dollar." Then she looked at me and smiled, quietly laughing. I'm sure that wasn't the first time that's happened to her. I couldn't stop laughing.
I can't wait to go back.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
I am NOT an Accountant, and other musings
Oooooooo ... I just learned something new about myself! For some reason I decided to check out my blog profile and I saw, to my shock, that my "industry" was listed as accounting. What??!! Talk about an error! Of all vocations possible in life, accounting is not something I would ever do. There's nothing wrong with accountants -- I'm glad they're around. I'm glad there are people who are so skilled to work with numbers as I enjoy working with words. While I guess I could do it to some degree if I put my mind to it (I used to work in a bank years ago, oddly enough), it's just not something I'm comfortable with. Trust me -- you don't want me working with your bank account. Thankfully I found a profile industry option called "museums and libraries" so I selected that one (even though now I'm not working in either of them -- I just visit them). Maybe some day I'll be back, but at least now I'm correctly represented in Blog World!
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I had one of those bizarrely realistic dreams last night -- or rather, very early this morning, the kind where you can remember every detail and you can almost swear it actually occurred. Don, myself, and the kids were in town and we paid a visit to our local library (except it looked nothing like our local library). This super-cool library sported a huge theater (aaaahhh, I love dreams ...) and that afternoon's showing was a documentary of sorts about the history of the library -- about the founders, their role in the town, some history of the town itself, etc. We purchased tickets and settled in our seats about 3 rows from the back. Don sat on the aisle seat, then Aidan, then myself ... and Grace was being Grace, running wild all over the place. I vividly remember my feelings in this dream: I was mortified that was she running around so wildly, I felt desperate, I felt annoyed, I wondered "Why can't she just sit still for 5 minutes? Why did we even come here?" We decided we had to leave, since Grace showed no signs of behaving (or listening to us), and just as the movie started, Don and I outflanked her and hustled out of the theater. I then felt angry; "Here we go again, having to miss something really cool because of our wild daughter."
When we stepped outside into the library's huge park-like spaces, we saw cars lining up for their valet service (yes, this was SOME library!). One shiny, new Cadillac-type car pulled up near where we were standing ... and out stepped my grandmother! I was shocked ... and yet not so surprised, for apparently the fact that she's been dead for a few years had been either forgotten or considered an insignificant point. She was beautiful and about 20+ years younger than when she died. Her skin was radiant and flawless and a bit tanned (it's funny how you remember these kinds of details), and her hair was shockingly snow white. She had on a white cardigan and white accessories (my grandmother was the Queen of Accessories): earrings, beaded necklace, bracelet, shoes. I don't remember what dress she wore, but I think it was something with a bright green and white pattern. The odd thing was that when she began to talk to me, I suddenly couldn't hear her because there was so much noise in the background. I put my arm around her (oh, it felt so good to touch her! I can still feel the fabric of her sweater ...) and as I began to try to talk to her ...
"Sue, it's time to get up. The kid are awake." 6:45 a.m.
I was very, very sad when I woke up. Not only do I hate waking up while in the midst of a dream (it's very hard to do!), but my grandmother instantly vanished, with a smile on her face, as soon as I heard Don's voice. I had so many things I wanted to talk to her about ...
Dreams absolutely fascinate me. I would love to study dream analysis some day. I so very, very often remember my dreams so there would be an endless supply of fodder for analysis. I wonder what this one represented ... I also had a strange one weeks ago that I was bitten by a snake -- it was horrible.
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We're on Day 3 of Aidan's illness but thankfully he's on the mend. The thermometer read only one degree (99.6), so he's still fighting the remnants of something. I think one more day at home should do the trick. Besides, he cannot miss school on Friday, because their class visitor that day is a true-blue firefighter. And no one else can catch this thing because on Saturday night Don and I -- as well as a few friends -- are going New York (city) to visit friends there in their new apartment, and celebrate a birthday. This is our first real outing with a group of new friends since we've been here -- an important, "we've finally arrived" kind of milestone that we can't miss. Did I just jinx the whole thing by writing it down? :) I hope not. Pray for health!
****************************
I had one of those bizarrely realistic dreams last night -- or rather, very early this morning, the kind where you can remember every detail and you can almost swear it actually occurred. Don, myself, and the kids were in town and we paid a visit to our local library (except it looked nothing like our local library). This super-cool library sported a huge theater (aaaahhh, I love dreams ...) and that afternoon's showing was a documentary of sorts about the history of the library -- about the founders, their role in the town, some history of the town itself, etc. We purchased tickets and settled in our seats about 3 rows from the back. Don sat on the aisle seat, then Aidan, then myself ... and Grace was being Grace, running wild all over the place. I vividly remember my feelings in this dream: I was mortified that was she running around so wildly, I felt desperate, I felt annoyed, I wondered "Why can't she just sit still for 5 minutes? Why did we even come here?" We decided we had to leave, since Grace showed no signs of behaving (or listening to us), and just as the movie started, Don and I outflanked her and hustled out of the theater. I then felt angry; "Here we go again, having to miss something really cool because of our wild daughter."
When we stepped outside into the library's huge park-like spaces, we saw cars lining up for their valet service (yes, this was SOME library!). One shiny, new Cadillac-type car pulled up near where we were standing ... and out stepped my grandmother! I was shocked ... and yet not so surprised, for apparently the fact that she's been dead for a few years had been either forgotten or considered an insignificant point. She was beautiful and about 20+ years younger than when she died. Her skin was radiant and flawless and a bit tanned (it's funny how you remember these kinds of details), and her hair was shockingly snow white. She had on a white cardigan and white accessories (my grandmother was the Queen of Accessories): earrings, beaded necklace, bracelet, shoes. I don't remember what dress she wore, but I think it was something with a bright green and white pattern. The odd thing was that when she began to talk to me, I suddenly couldn't hear her because there was so much noise in the background. I put my arm around her (oh, it felt so good to touch her! I can still feel the fabric of her sweater ...) and as I began to try to talk to her ...
"Sue, it's time to get up. The kid are awake." 6:45 a.m.
I was very, very sad when I woke up. Not only do I hate waking up while in the midst of a dream (it's very hard to do!), but my grandmother instantly vanished, with a smile on her face, as soon as I heard Don's voice. I had so many things I wanted to talk to her about ...
Dreams absolutely fascinate me. I would love to study dream analysis some day. I so very, very often remember my dreams so there would be an endless supply of fodder for analysis. I wonder what this one represented ... I also had a strange one weeks ago that I was bitten by a snake -- it was horrible.
*******************************
We're on Day 3 of Aidan's illness but thankfully he's on the mend. The thermometer read only one degree (99.6), so he's still fighting the remnants of something. I think one more day at home should do the trick. Besides, he cannot miss school on Friday, because their class visitor that day is a true-blue firefighter. And no one else can catch this thing because on Saturday night Don and I -- as well as a few friends -- are going New York (city) to visit friends there in their new apartment, and celebrate a birthday. This is our first real outing with a group of new friends since we've been here -- an important, "we've finally arrived" kind of milestone that we can't miss. Did I just jinx the whole thing by writing it down? :) I hope not. Pray for health!
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